Generally I’m an open minded writer and I support new and upcoming writers but If I had single dollar for every time someone rippedoff my famous 1994 coffee quote I’d be a billionaire by now. I’ve seen it switched around, I’ve seen it turned into (gag)tea etc.boring, gross, lines stolen and thrown in without the smokes blah blah blah
Will someone please tell these idiots to create their own damn words and learn to write? I’m tired of seeing my words unravelled by dim-wits who think they’re being clever( See said inferior plagiarized quote below. No author on Google found or mentioned) Found this ” gem” on Facebook … Twice!
Twenty years ago I wrote a chapbook called Nod. 2003. These were some poems based on the experimental style of EE Cummings & George Oppen Many of the poems were published on now long gone poetry journal internet sites and as we know many online journals don’t last forever. Here are a few poems. Hope that you enjoy them.
~ R.M. Engelhardt
If I can’t find the meaning well then at least I’ve found you And that being that is much more than ever being and much More than ever merely needing a touch, a voice, a word or a Feeling, something to be or not to …
There I’ve done it again!
Hyper and not hedroglossia!
Too many words asking me to listen Too many voices only mine repeating Being two when I’m with you when this elusive thing they call time stands still and these days of our lives are suddenly & distinctly becoming entangled Moving much too fast for even Captain Zoom & his paisley rocket ship to fathom And sleeping beneath these quiet dreams of unspokeness And hearing all of these voices at once and yet, at times being so alone.
So I guess this is what they call hedroglossia, The wanting of a voice now gone, the hearing of a song The fear of not knowing possibly what belongs In these arms of poetry and dusk.
(oh no Jock Cousteau, please help me salvage this heart.) because she who thinks she knows who thinks she knows knows nothing. says so long because his song has been sung. (and being a wreck, invisible) he sinks, drinks her false fear un-emotion and her ice cold seas into oblivion and sends out one last beacon for her in the night that she will never answer.
and lost at sea even she knows that he cannot comeback from the dead. for it was she who sunk the ship before it could even reach its destination
Crea en el amor y en yo¶ll siempre cree en usted
Better to feel (Than be) Blood rushes thru veins And the heart beats, Only one-day to complete its duty While eventually earth and gods shall all come Crashing down And kingdoms & civilizations fade. And so please, I ask you only this; That when I leave to let me take these Few things with me; The moon, the sun and the stars, And the small traces of light which Once reflected in your eyes That I can no longer see
NOTES TO AN INSENSITIVE UNIVERSE
So what do you know about What is or is not to be? (Hmmm … perhaps it is we) Moving, living and struggling as if we think the very existence of the universe depends upon these things But the universe (dam dark void) Will be quite fine without us & our ³Feelings´
Poor universe And without love Sadder still for not Knowing what it wants Or what its here for
POEM TO PAST SELF IN FUTURE TENSE
Yours is a beauty of monstrous pro- Portions with the world Spinning randomly into Oblivion where the leaves are all Dying all of the time off of the trees, Where misery makes its way into every small tissue stealing.
Yours is a world where Beauty has fled and has left town For greener pastures, has drowned its- Self into the sea of angst & tears and Has mixed its-self with alcohol & Cigarettes, sad poems and Indiscriminate men & women who Already know that beauty has left The scene,
(And they no longer care to find her)
And yet it is good that beauty has Finally found you and that beauty is not Dead
But was only merely sleeping
On the sofa of your dreams
WHAT SHE SAID
³If you ever tell me that you love me I’m afraid that I’ll have to leave.´
So not wanting to ever lose her he bent down, got close and softly whispered in her ear;
³Lust … .Lust …Lust´
Buddhist hope cow.com of love transcending the dialect of gloss & loss & gloom to the mysterious mysticism of the time machine
Oh how I love thee, mammals of flesh and blood and candy. Let me count the innocent waves, the waves of psychotic emotion, measure my ass for caps and my heart for meaning less ³gestures.´
(And please; screen my phone calls for truths, religions, promises & AIDS.)
For selective in our service we the brave and the free will send out our hippie-bred children into the Man swarm and the cities of their destinies, their lives as Instantaneous as eighteen-year-old twinkies and our reasons as contrived as an
oily eagle ³fart´
Captain Zoom may send you to your doom as happy as a rectal thermometer but the smiling mortician man grim will dress you up in green who spills & spells out F R E E D O M
with a capital
Alone in a room with- Out you is alone, alone Without you is alone. Alone without you is like The moon without the stars, The world without the sun Shining upon it.
Good days or bad With you I’m never sad But without you in a Room I’m alone.
There are certain things I know don’t know, feel don’t feel & see don’t see.
I am a blind Man with the near And the far, I am a Baby bat that grasps And squeaks to all Things sad & mean all Past & future present past In the worship of your heart.
Sacred life of words Unspoken by man Knowing truth Is truth.
In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing
About the dark times.”
— Bertolt Brecht
R.M. Engelhardt‘s new book The Bones of Our Existence, A Journal 2046 will be revealed March 15, 2016 online and is “an entirely new concept in regards to the way the book is to be released as well as to be presented.”
This book will be absolutely free to the public and is one man’s journal of poems set in the aftermath of the post-apocalyptic future of 2046 written by an unknown survivor who in the forms of prose and poetry looks back and reflects upon his life, loves and battles (within and without) over the last some 40 years.
The book is part science fiction, part humanity and even part Thoreau, but mostly it is the memoir of a man, who like the future we all thought would get better, has lost his way but who still believes that the words, our souls and our voices, poetry still … and will always matter.