R.M. ENGELHARDT

Poet Writer Author Albany NY

  • Jim Morrison Lives In My Basement

    Jim

    Didn’t really

    Die in

    71

    He actually

    Moved back to

    The states &

    Drank alot of

    Booze

    Where no one

    Recognized him

    Or knew his

    Name

    Then one day

    He showed up

    On my doorstep

    Asking for a

    Notebook & a

    Pen claiming

    He was once

    The Lizard King

    And that’s

    How it all

    Began

    So I let him

    Move into

    My basement

    Where now he

    Just sings old blues

    Songs all day long

    And quotes Rimbaud

    & William Blake

    He just

    Drinks beer and

    He never bathes

    His old leather

    Pants reeking

    Stinking

    Of pee

    But his

    Writing

    His poetry

    Is amazing

    But mostly

    All about his

    Beard & magical

    Realms where

    Old guys who

    Only have beards

    Are kings

    He’s strange

    But he’s Jim

    Last week

    I gave him a

    A Taylor Swift

    CD just to

    See what he

    Would do

    He uses it

    As a drink

    Coaster and

    Is now convinced

    That the end times

    Are nigh

    I agree

  • The Clown & The Ballerina

     

    The Clown & The Ballerina

    Walked down the isle

    They fell in love

    Despite all denials

     

    And the world

    Continued to fade

     

    In these times we

    Love in these times

    We hope in these times

    Of dark days where

    Nobody wants laughter

    Or romance, dancing

    Or swan lake

     

    Because the world

    Demands conformity

    This world demands

    Fake this world demands

    Hate over the beauty of

    Love

     

    So The Clown & The Ballerina

    They tried to challenge fate

    And they laughed & danced

    Forever under the stars

     

    And ignored a world

    Of conflict, a circus

    In their hearts

    That they no longer

    Wanted

     

    And they are still

    Madly in love

    To this day

     

  • Some Days

    Some days I question human behavior I question what we are doing here I question where I came from where mankind came from after I watch the news on tv after listening to people talking on there cell phones screaming at other human beings on the bus. But somehow I never give up. Somehow I just keep moving on. So I light another cigarette, and in that motion I become Buddha I become I God I become just another lost soul lost traveler moving through the process of life. Just another one of Darwin’s monkeys philosophizing why we all even bother anymore as somewhere aliens are watching from a spacecraft in the stars drinking beer & having a conversation about us saying

     

    “Damn. When are all these monkeys going to be smart enough to free themselves from their own fucking cages?”C__Data_Users_DefApps_AppData_INTERNETEXPLORER_Temp_Saved Images_tumblr_p272wwEP6W1rlb7pso1_500

  • In The Silence

    In The Silence

    Political headlines
    The same ol’ shit
    Not a day passes
    Without anger

    Somehow
    The gods of war
    The gods of pestilence
    The gods of media
    Have destroyed our
    Inner peace as each
    Part each peace of
    Our soul fades away
    And dies a little bit
    As the darkness
    Overshadows our
    Faith

    Our country tis
    Of thee sweet
    Land of liberty
    Let freedom ring

    But the world
    All changed
    One day when
    We were at work
    Or taking care of
    Our children or
    Taking the dog
    For a walk

    We didn’t
    See it coming
    We didn’t believe
    That such things
    Could ever happen

    Here.

    And just like
    Germany just like
    God we turned our
    Backs and walked
    Away

    Sick
    In the silence
    Hateful of our
    Own cowardice
    Our own useless voices
    Now too late to
    Stop the darkness

    Now

    So
    In years to come
    Remember this
    This time this
    America this
    Moment

    That moment
    When you said
    Nothing did
    Nothing & ran
    Away from it all
    Like a frightened
    Child

    Who doesn’t
    Remember
    His own home
    Or where he belongs

    Anymore

    #secondcivilwarletters #trump #independenceday #ignoringthetruth #rmengelhardt

  • Nothing Grows

    In this garden

    The flowers

    Are for the dead

     

    A memorial to

    The fallen

    In memory of

    Lives once lived

     

    But in the season

    Of each child

    In the passing of

    Each son

     

    We sow the

    Seeds of promise

    In the hope of

    Another one

     

    Who will lead

    Us to a new land

    Who will let us

    Rest in peace

    Who will stop

    The wars of selfish men

    Who will finally

    Bring us peace

     

    But nothing

    Grows in this garden

    Except the flowers

    Of the dead

    As another century

    Passes and another

    Prayer is said

     

    ” Mors vincit omnia ”

     

  • NOTICE

    My long dead
    Animal spirit
    Doesn’t give
    2 shits about your
    Drama, symbols, politics
    Pornographic presidents
    Or clever displays

    In my dialect
    A long lost forgotten language
    Of primitive signs  smoke filled
    Bars, cigarettes, man caves  &
    Sun gods on vacation
    Riding old motorcycles

    Into the dusk

    The last of my tribe
    Who share these
    Ancient memories of
    The earth the trees
    And the sky &
    Of getting laid
    On a Saturday night

    Tequila
    Poetry
    & Open
    Mics

    The zine ?
    Now the only
    True bible
    True words which still
    Remain sacred

    Poetry
    Once again overthrown
    By the domestication
    Of the human race
    A totem left here & there
    For posterity’s sake

    But the voices
    Will always
    Stay as they
    Travel upon
    The wind

    Never extinct
    Not yet
    Not ever
    As long as
    We remain

    Logos

  • Coffee Ass Blues EngelhardtNow Available:

    My new book of poems “Coffee Ass Blues & Other Poems” is now available on Amazon through Alien Buddha Press with illustrations by friend & fellow poet Red Focks. Get your copy today …

     

     

  • Guns Shootings Murder Hate

    No sides. Just shock and sadness. It’s time to stop and reflect.

    Guns are weapons.

    But so is hate.

    via “Do You Know Why There’s Night All Around Us?”

  • R.M. ENGELHARDT POET AUTHOR WRITER's avatarR.M. ENGELHARDT

    image

     

    I went to the crossroad
    Fell down on my knees
    I went to the crossroad
    Fell down on my knees
    Asked the Lord above “Have mercy now,
    Save poor Bob, if you please”

    “Crossroad Blues”

     

    ~ ROBERT JOHNSON

     

     

    Robert Johnson: the Legend, the Devil, the Crossroads, and 27 The Dark of a Moonless Night… Story of the bluesman, the Devil, and the deal at the crossroads, as retold in Stephen Davis’s Hammer of the Gods. In the delta of the Mississippi River, where Robert Johnson was born, they said that if an aspiring bluesman waited by the side of a deserted country crossroads in the dark of a moonless night, then Satan himself might come and tune his guitar, sealing a pact for the bluesman’s soul and guaranteeing a lifetime of easy money, women, and fame. They said that Robert Johnson must have waited by…

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