“It is the quality of one’s convictions that determines success, not the number of followers.”
~ Remus
Thanks For Your Support And For Following “The Resurrection Waltz” !
Poet Writer Albany NY
“It is the quality of one’s convictions that determines success, not the number of followers.”
~ Remus
Thanks For Your Support And For Following “The Resurrection Waltz” !
Note:
Humanity?
I am tired of your self-centered
Bullshit & whining ways
Stop this train, stop it now.
For we shall all remain… Dream.
Persevere
Into this life,
Or the next.
An ode to the dead world that is poetry, lost and faraway.
The ancient soul of Sappho gone and golden days.
Tear these words, voices away. Now only left with memories.
Let the prophets burn,
And create the visions of what shall be
Under the currents and beyond the sleep of the icons reach…
Let us
Speak of that which is human,
Love …this eternal dream
Forget the fools, the mundane
Apocalypse, Etc.
A wild ride,
An action packed extravaganza
With spooky, scary thrills
Coming soon to an idiot near you.
Fuck it… Fuck them.
I’m going out
For a drink &
Kiss my wife & kids
Goodnight.
Love thy neighbor
Love thy friends
For this life
Is all too short
To waste.
_______________________
R.M. Engelhardt 2012
R.M. Engelhardt Poet~Writer, Albany, NY http://rmengehardt.tumblr.com Albany, NY based poet, writer R.M. Engelhardt has published several books over the last decade including Nod~Logos~Alchemy~The Last Cigarette: The Collected Poems of R.M. Engelhardt & others. His current experimental book of poetry & prose is called “Versus-Lexikon” A poet & writer, Engelhardt through his ideas & visions has helped to create a large amount of the Upstate, Albany, NY spoken word~poetry scene and is the host of “SAINT POEM READING SERIES” an Open Forum-Mic For All Poets held every 3rd Monday of each month at The Upstate Artists Guild (UAG).His work has also been published by many journals on the net & in print including Retort, Verve, Industrial Nation, Sure! The Charles Bukowski Newsletter, Thunder Sandwich, Fashion For Collapse, 2nd Avenue, The Angry Poet, Danse Macabre, Full of Crow & many others.
They say in Deadwood
Hickok’s final hand included the aces &
eights of both black suits,
A Deadman’s Hand, a 5 card draw
And that death came with it,
But in life it all depends
Upon the cards
That you are dealt.
For I’ve seen the world thru
A narrow glass,
An empty glass
And a terrible glance
That revealed all the best &
The worst…
The worst oh love
The worst kind of chance
In life.
For you can dance with the devil
In the pale moonlight,
You can save & save and work
all your life. And hope… And pray or
Spend. But either way the man
Will come a knocking soon
No matter what… in the end.
For your life can be a million things but
It all depends on you.
For luck is only half the game,
And the rest is up to you.
Because the truth?
Is that you are not
Completely, supremely, or eternally fucked or
Somehow destined to self destruct
But everyone you love will fall in the end
No matter what you do.
So the best kind of dance?
Your best card to chance?
Is always the ace of hearts.
For this, these words are both
A warning and a blessing,
A little bit of wisdom from a man
Whose words will stay true.
That your mind & heart
Must find a chart to
Plot your course upon.
So
Find a love thats
True, find a soul thats real
And that will never let you down.
And that heart my friend
Is your ace.
So no matter what?
Treat her right.
Rich or poor
Old or young
Thru good times or bad.
Because all life really
Is based upon on how you play the cards
And the winner always
Takes all…
___________
R.M. Engelhardt 2011
Lou Reed been quite busy these days. When he’s not collaborating with Metallica on a record, he’s spending time putting together a graphic novel based around his “spiritual forefather” Edgar Allen Poe, called, appropriately, The Raven.
It’s not Reed’s first tangle with the author—in 2003, he released an album, also called The Raven, a Poe-themed project in which “Reed’s poetically streetwise sensibility merged with Poe’s dark chronicles of terror and despair.” Now Reed’s Poe-esque lyrics have been collected into a book and illustrated with paintings by New Yorker cartoonist Lorenzo Mattotti. And yes, the book looks just as creepy as you’d expect.
GHOST OF MY TOOTH
From bone to blood to grave.
The tongues of women in countless waves,
Ripped from socket, torn from safe
Inside.
Survivor of fights & broken pieces, words
Pronounced and apologies given,
Pliers
Ripped from socket, torn from safe
Inside.
Pain is passing, mortality as well.
I intern you to a place
Upon my shelf.
TOOTH
R.I.P
________
R.M. Engelhardt
THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY
IS YOUR GOD MY FRIEND
Oh Dear God
Oh see how they bleed
Oh Dear God, my Lord.
Oh Dear God
Oh see how they plead
Oh Dear God, my Lord.
My Lord;
Who we wait for
Scream for
On the battlefields
Of every war
Antagonist.
Protagonist.
Oh thy Lord,
You upon
Our side
Their side.
No questions
No explanations
Asked
Or ever given.
For my brothers
We will see you
Once more & again
In “Heaven”
“Elysium”
Or on the fields of
The Fallen,
And The Honored
“Dead”
Where no uniforms
Are ever worn
As in Valhalla
We all toast
And sing
Another song.
Oh Dear God
Oh see how they bleed
Oh Dear God, my Lord.
Oh Dear God
Oh see how they plead
Oh Dear God, my Lord.
See how they are born
Oh Dear God My Lord
And See how they grow
Oh Dear God My Lord
And Dear God?
See how
They Die
“Alone …Screaming”
Amen.
___________
R.M. ENGELHARDT
WALT WHITMAN IS DEAD
Where are you now?
Uncle?
Poet?
Walt?
Old man, child of the Long Island
Free verse son of America,
Teacher & government work-man?
“Human – Being”
Citizen
Man… Mind of the spirit
Spirit, in the flesh
Where have you gone?
Disappeared
Now a ghost
Among the leaves,
The rest.
Uncle,
I see your name written in
School books and upon the wind
And within the rain,
And I still hear your songs fill the air
In the forests & the city streets
Body … Electric.
But father?
Uncle?
Where are you now?
Where have you been?
Gone, gone away from
What you loved most, the land
Yet buried beneath the green
Green meadows, valleys & time
Of ages.
Meditating within the oldest of trees
Silent thru out new ages.
For a book is merely paper
But a voice must ask or say
Invoke yea and awaken others from
The vast darkness & the gray
For uncle, poetic father,
Your America has sadly changed.
No longer the free land
Of promise, no longer do we
Dream like you once dreamt
We still fight wars and without hope
Falter & lose ourselves,
Souls within the damned dark & dense.
So uncle, father.
Return and sit here for a while
And bring some comfort the dying of poets, poetry &
The young boys, and now women…soldiers,
Decimated in faraway lands
You never mentioned in your poems
Or ever heard of.
For it rumored
That you are dead.
And yet?
The 21st century & centuries to come
May yet remember thee still,
And write your verse upon some wall in yet
Another revolution coming.
For it is the same world that
Faces us today Walt Whitman,
One of a new slavery & lack of, death of spirit
That you would not begin to comprehend
Where the poor are now
The slaves of corporation & debt
And prejudice
Still runs rampant…yet hidden
Behind best intentions.
So would you,
Father, Uncle Walt
Still stand insolent? Defiant?
Would you, Walt Whitman
Still stand up & among the
Working class?
But alas,
It is no longer your time here
But your heart & soul remain,
For we, the poets who still struggle
Must create our own new voices & names,
Speak, of what is now & not of the past
To audiences not of one land, but many.
So, Uncle? I owe you an apology.
For you, Walt Whitman are dead.
A timeless friend
And a memory
That we must let rest
To create a new vision.
That one day brings your spirit,
Your uncorrupted vision
“Back”
For if we miss you in one place?
We shall search for you
In another.
__________________
R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011
End times
Endgame
The Mayan calendar,
Prophets, sages & warnings
“Fuck it”
Cause all this was all once just “bible prophecy” & science fiction,
& all of that crap that people talked or laughed about
When they got bored, drunk or stoned.
But they,
Were all wrong.
“Wrong”
And our world our times our people
Did all this stupid shit,
To ourselves.
What a joke.
NYC, Babylon
The new city of paradise, commerce & whores
And every other major city in the world
Now devastated, now leveled, and now
Laid to waste
“Forever”
So now,
If you are hearing or reading this
Then it’s already too late,
But at least you are still alive.
But then again, like me
Maybe your ass got left behind
After 3 billion people
Bit the dust.
So, let me tell you a story,
Let me tell you
A fairy tale
About how all of this happened
Or will happen
Very soon.
End Time
End Game
“Fucked”
It was those idiots,
Those stupid “new world order” bastards
And all of their scientists
Who studied the sacred
Shroud of Turin
That once covered the dead
Crucified body of
Jesus Christ
The very son of God
Himself.
Who, without asking
Stole his still living genetic
DNA from the blood on the cloth.
These scientists
Who foolishly attempted to clone him,
But failed.
But were able,
Realized that they could take his
Genetic makeup & impregnate over
20 beautiful young women
As an experiment who unknowingly
Gave birth to “mini-gods”
And then went unexpectedly insane, crazy,
Committed suicide or died
Mysteriously.
And were never seen nor heard from again.
And from the abyss the beast shall come,
And a black colored cloud
Shall cover the world.
Cover, the world.
So now, advance forward
30 some years later.
Where twenty “magic-time kids”
Are alive.
19 boys and one girl.
Raised by the privileged, the rich
And the royal,
As their own.
Who were born
Created, to save humanity
For mommy & daddy
As well as every other
Poor asshole.
Now all adults
Who had spent the better part
Of their lives hiding all their gifts.
Water to wine
Premonitions
And all of the free fish
That you can eat.
More pallor tricks
To save the earth
With plenty.
But what they never thought about
Or realized was this;
That by creating all of these “little messiahs”
That they were not like their daddy “J.C.”
And never would be
But only selfish little bastards of humanity
Pretending to be, all pretty, good looking
Half people, the elite more concerned with
Status, money, partying and fame
Than with the concept of love
Or real love, at all.
With all of their different varying degrees of
Various “”super-Christ” powers but named appropriately
After all of the pantheon of the Greek gods, the most powerful
Of the kids a little boy who became a man named “Apollo”
Yes, Apollo who could take out an entire army casually with only the single
Wave of his hand, and turn all their bodies slowly into dust
As the soldiers would watch in horror, and scream.
So what did you expect?! What were all you stupid bastards thinking when
They didn’t turnout to be saints? When you fucked with the sacred
And caused the world its own death.
As future boy & his click of cronies
All now 35 are all already secretly entrenched,
In governments, politics & commerce
Around the planet.
When suddenly
It all happened
A sunspot, solar flare
A rapture
That knocked out all of
The power
Around the world.
Three days of darkness
Lootings and killings, rape
And the neighbors shooting each other
Down the block.
As millions suddenly vanished
Without a trace.
All the satellites and all the technology “Gone”
When suddenly after 3 days of night
All the power & light’s came back up & the sun returned in
The sky. As all the people of the world rejoiced
And were just thankful
To be alive.
As the word that in all of the turmoil
All of our beloved leaders
Were all dead,
Killed by mobs
In the confusion.
And that’s when they moved in
The mini-gods
Who created false miracles
And who fixed and saved the earth.
Stopped starvation & healed all of the sick & dying,
Ending famine and disease
With a magic wand.
As they finally all revealed themselves
With the wonderful catch phrase
“ We have been sent by God, our father, and we are here to help”
And as all of us just mere humans
So fucked up & desperate just said “Thank you”
And never looked for the truth.
So meet Apollo, our new world leader
And his staff of 10 bretheren,
Running 10 countries under 1 mass government
From what used to be the UN.
No one poor
No one starving
No one hungry
Everyone thankful,
Money glamour
Wealth except for the fact
That we all had little microchips
Implanted into our fucking heads,
The mark … of the beast.
The chips when studied under a microscope revealed the
Circuitry resembling three 6’s
In a row
Put there,
In concern for our own welfare
And safety.
The world now happy
Our lives all beautiful and fine
Until the mini-brat gods
One day decided that the power
To just rule & conquer
Wasn’t … enough,
Wanting to be “Gods” and worshipped.
And anyone, any group, any person
Who challenged them
Got put
To death.
Controlling our lives
Controlling the media
We, never believing that all these loving saints
Or saviors were all really just a bunch of
Drama queens & butchers
Who argued and fought over power.
But all the while
Heaven was watching
And god with all his armies of angels
Had finally
Had “Enough”
And got pissed.
And the four horsemen of the apocalypse
Got their asses kicked “Again”
So there’s your story children,
Your fairy tale foretold,
About the future where mankind fucked up themselves
Looking for miracles around every corner
Instead of believing in themselves.
As we, the remaining “spirit men”
Are left here to guide what’s left of humanity
In the right direction
The sword, now the plow
The cost of life, too much to comprehend.
So here was your lesson, your bedtime story,
But like I said in the beginning
“Fuck it”
And by the way ?
My name
Is Michael…
IN THE CHURCH OF
COFFEE AND SMOKES
“And now,
Let us all pray”
Ex-hale.
Does anybody
Have a cigarette?
Let’s all talk about your day,
Light up simultaneously.
Oh Lord,
I need more sugar
In my coffee
And not that artificial
Crap
Confession;
One on one,
Let’s all talk about
All of your sins,
Smiling.
No hail Mary’s, no regrets
For our God only demands
More cigarettes.
And that you light up
And get happily caffeinated
So that all, will be “forgiven”
Does anybody have another cigarette?
He hears your prayers
So pray, to Saint Marlboro
And they shall all be answered
More coffee?
More taxes?
More bullshit from the masses?
This religion, is getting damn expensive
“Amen”
___________
R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011