MEMENTO~POEM TO PAST SELF IN FUTURE TENSE : Poems 2oo2

NOD Moon Stars Sun Time Poems By R.M. Engelhardt 2002



MEMENTO


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.




_________________


POEM TO PAST SELF IN FUTURE TENSE

Yours is a beauty of monsterous

proportions with the world 

Spinning randomly into 

Oblivion where all the leaves are all

Dying all the time off 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 beautyhas

Finally found you and that beauty is not dead,

But was merely sleeping

On the sofa of your

Dreams.




______________

Poems By R.M. Engelhardt

From The Book “Nod. (moon, stars, sun … time)

2oo2



Arm yourself …

Arm yourself with pens and imagination, the paper is the empty space between the silence and the void. Fill it with words and ideas of grand thoughts and designs, unseen moments glimpsed out of secret corners. ~ R.M.

The Archeology of Her Smile

The Archeology Of Her Smile Poem

” I love you “

These words that he said

A thousand lifetimes ago.

A thousand women weeping

A thousand flowers burned.

The poem,

Just written for someone, somewhere

Once.

Beloved

A wife

A daughter

A love.

About the archeology of her smile,

About her hidden voice,

The joyful noise of her child

Or just the way she laughed,

Poised, in the mirror

Or running thru the grass

Or thru the fields

Of forever.

For these words

Were said, were written

 A thousand lifetimes ago,

A thousand women weeping

A thousand flowers burned.

The poem,

Just written for someone, somewhere

Once.

About the archeology of her smile,

About the way she loved

About the life she lived with you

About the world she touched

For this is her true story

Written in the voices of each life.

Civilization, man or woman

And of their rise or fall.

For without her or her

Beauty, her eyes, or her smile?

Why there would be

No “his-story” ever written

At all.

________________________

R.M. Engelhardt 2012

The Visionary …

All men should possess a ‘visionary faculty’. Men do not, because they live wrongly. They live too tensely, under too much strain, ‘getting and spending’. But this loss of the visionary faculty is not entirely man’s fault, it is partly the fault of the world he lives in, that demands that men should spend a certain amount of their time ‘getting and spending’ to stay alive. …The visionary faculty comes naturally to all men. When they are relaxed enough, every leaf of every tree in the world, every speck of dust, is a separate world capable of producing infinite pleasure. If these fail to do so, it is man’s own fault for wasting his time and energy on trivialities. The ideal is the contemplative poet, the ‘sage’, who cares about having only enough money and food to keep him alive, and never takes thought for the morrow.”

~  From The Outsider by Colin Wilson

THE SOUL PARADE

 

THE SOUL PARADE

Y’know.

This poem, ain’t about you.

And this poem ain’t about a raging heart
Or a saving grace.

This poem has nothing to do with the blues,
Robert Johnson, the devil or even
All the saints.

And this poem has nothing to do with the paranormal,
Demons or the neon electric lights of
Near death, deadly dead cosmic experiences,
Jesus Christ or his brother
Fred, candy, the shadow government,
The FBI, CIA

Or “You”

No.

This poem is a song
This poem is not a song

This poem
Is a riddle
This Poem is a revelation
For the false.

That has nothing to do with you,
Or your limited level of reality, non reality,
War, baseball or boxing, peace summits
Criticism Or the never ending war of

Good … Versus Evil.

That you are truly, afraid to fight.

No. Nope.

This poem ain’t about you,
not about you at all.

Because this here poem
Is all about “Soul”

An extinct & isolated species that’s
Connected, Interconnected & Intertwined
And Living Complete & Inside and Amongst the Cosmology
Of a Hundred Thousand Billion Stars.

And something that “You” Will Never Get,
Or ever understand.

Because this poem
Is not all about “You”

This poem
Is about “Soul”

That thing that you can never have
Or get which just like imagination
Escapes you just like honesty
Fame or the verses

That fall onto the page, like love.

Because you see it’s
That song inside your deepest depths
The heart that keeps you going, fighting

And truly “Alive”

Each & everyday

And that something
Which you must earn.

So this poem
Sure as hell
Ain’t about “You”

This poem
Is all about the parade of souls

That just keeps on passing you by
Without notice.

All the souls

Smart enough,

Not to follow

“You”

____________________


R.M. Engelhardt

OCCUPY THE WORD… Poetry At The UAG On 01.16.2012

OCCUPY THE WORD
Poetry At The UAG!

On Monday, JANUARY 16th the Saint Poem Reading Series will be holding a special event for all those who have poems they would like to share concerning politics, wall street and the current state of the world and America! Poets & Musicians Welcome!

What do you have to say? 

SAINT POEM @ THE UPSTATE ARTISTS GUILD , 247 LARK ST. ALBANY. 

7.30PM Sign Up, 8PM Start. Hosted By R.M. Engelhardt.

$4.00 Donation Requested To Support The Guild.

Accept No IMITATIONS!

Outside The Box : Article~Poems 2009

R.M. Engelhardt Albany, NY

The World According To Poetry

September 3, 2009

By 


If poetry can represent something meaningful, it is in the way it presents us shared and divergent perceptions of life and the world around us. In “The World according to Poetry” I will present you every fortnight a specific poet who can sway your body and soul, bring you to the depths of knowledge and perception and raise you to the heights of pure beauty and recognition. Where minds can meet as one, where souls can be touched, where bodies can utter emotion and where the spirit can long at last. I present you …

R.M. Engelhardt: the angel from below.

One poet, a world of visions. Dark from above, brilliant from below, haunting yet hopeful … Ten poems from the bottom of the heart and mind … let his poetry speak to you, it will tell you more than I can say.

 

Poems

 
WARM MACHINES

In the bar
The doors are closing
It’s time to leave.

It’s cold outside,
The bright red eyes & wasted lines,
Wasted lyrics.

And the sight of daylight,
The empty streets
That remind us & annihilate
We, the subjects of loneliness
Lost in zero-land.

The night before
Seeking warm machines
With engines & hearts unseen,
That something to believe in
Or dream about

Beyond all these places.

Like a movie in the 1980′s
Where boy meets girl
Girl chooses boy
Over the vast amount of
Jocks and pretend beings.

You, now far away
From zero-land
The only kid left
With a soul.

Thinking about fate & destination,
Thinking about that one

That only one, that kissed you

And got away.

Like a movie in the 1980′s.

WarmMachines
Lost in zero-land
The scent of her perfume still
Lingering

20 Years later.

CONSTANT

Constant.

In constant touch. Constant motion constant sleep. In constant contact constantly,
our worlds all separate and yet all connected at once, for … and against. Love that’s not love, friends who are not friends, souls that are not souls. All of these, our lives unauthentic and those which devour the human heart incessant. NOTE: This communication is now dead, mechanical … DO NOT RESURRECT OR RESUSCITATE. Days long past long ago when humans could once speak, words mattered FEEL . What words would you say? Sorry? Goodbye? This is a simulation and not a dress rehearsal for pain meaning “FUCK YOU ! FUCK OFF! . You don’t hear ANYTHING very well now do you ?”,Received by mail delivery system network information I love you I hate you I need you I want you FUCK OFF! You don’t hear ANYTHING very well DID YOU THINK I WAS FUCKING KIDDING???? You obviously don’t fucking know ME very well now DO YOU. YOU now only a simulation and not a dress rehearsal for pain. “I am in struggle with responding to you as I have been from the first contact you made recently”. “Feelings I’d not allowed myself or had with anyone other than two others in my lifetime”. we can not talk, we should talk. I can not handle it. I wish it were different, I want to see you. The Tower card suggests that your relationship may be in crisis, and this is your wake-up call. You can’t go on fooling yourself any longer, and if you don’t break up, you will. “You don’t hear ANYTHING very well now do you”?

Frozen in time, unwanted & untrue. Sender unknown.

Unknown.

I’ll be happy being my responsible self doing the things I love, taking care of myself, and my responsibilities and not having to worry about anyone else in my life and I can be whole again. it is freeing to me to know that I can just be without expectation of myself or anyone else.

It is freeing to me to know that I can just be without expectation of myself or anyone else.

I’ll be happy being my responsible self doing the things I love
it is freeing to me to know that I can just be without expectation of myself or anyone else.

I’ll be happy being my responsible self doing the things I love
it is freeing to me to know that I can just be without expectation of myself or anyone else.

It is freeing …

Freeing…


ETC ETC ETC

In thy breaking heart, obscured,
Silent whereas no one
Gives a “shit.”

Whereas a single voice or one still moment in
its measure linger,
This message, “unreceived.”

Where no amount of time, wine-roses or memories can heal.
As human falls, fails broken, out of reason.
Long letters written, months recorded days, photographs and longings,

And unrelenting dreams.

The cold earth, this cold world
Which still compels,
The embodiment or abandonment, of spirit.

Where all of your magnificent angels have flown, and have now fallen below,

To the pavement.

Love, no longer a poem but only a word,
Too slow to process.

Poet, out of time place and season.
Century… Here.

In thy soul, thy breaking heart obscured, silent.
Whereas no one gives a “shit.”

Etc Etc.Etc.

This message “unreceived.”


REMOTE

“Breathe”

Within you
The celestial bodies

Float.

And the eye opens
What the heart conceals.

Travel by thought,
Destination unknown.

Beyond all gravity
Beyond

The Surface.

Is this just
All a dream?

A vision?

“Awake”



Catharsis: In 4 Parts :

Tonight.

She is waiting.

You dream in syllabus, questions. And see the lines that others cannot.
And you waltz across the dance floor of the world with verses…and wit. For this moment
Is honest, simple. But does not truly exist, or last

“For-ever”

2.

Muse.

Words, meanings leave & return. Like a dream that you cannot fully comprehend, or
Remember…”touch” . For she is loyal to no one. No man or woman. And always comes and goes as she pleases. Take’s what’s there, and takes what she wants. Or even, what’s just left inside. Alone in an empty room at 2am, you light up another cigarette and merely wait… for her to return.

Like a lover, like a ghost who you’ve never really known. She loves you; she loves you not, but just might care. And when the light of the next morning comes up, and shines thru your windows, you open up your eyes to find her standing there, over you. Waking you gently and with a smile she says “Hey baby… I missed you” And then she tells you more of her beautiful lies. Lines … as always from the start. And even if you leave her she will always find you again. Look for you in a crowded bar or passing you on the street as you walk to work, or even… in your sleep.

3.

Dear Reader;

So let me tell you a story, write you another poem. Because this is what I do, do well and do best. Give me another day, another reason. Give you another reason to smile, or laugh, or just make it through again. Just one more moment. So that you don’t lose hope. Inter-connected as we are no longer mere strangers. Lives, experience & hearts. Because this is what I do, and do best. And there is nothing else worth doing, save this.

4.

So am I the only one who sees her?

There she is.

She’s beautiful and sitting in the back at the show or at the poetry open mic.
Smiling at you from one of the seats. And after you read she has something more to tell you. She wants to take you aside and “Whisper” those words in your ear.

And even after you try as you may to ignore her. She just stands there, one hand upon her hip, looks at you and says;

“This isn’t over darling” “Not by a long-shot”

“You’ll come back to me, you’ll see”

Because you need me.

I know … You need me.

A POEM FROM MY DESTRUCTIONS

And now alas yet another poem from my destructions,

You, witness to and here in new flesh and new skin.

The skin of hero, the skin of snake, the skin of monster, the skin of saint all

Gradually and eventually shedding piece by piece living and dying and

Reinventing the world. Poems, photographs, enemies and the catastrophes

Which perish into the void. Paper, undigested words, mute horses and mad

Nostalgic whores, all reality deficient and nocturnally deaf to the unpure beating heart of man and muse. Reason-religion-idealism-theory …and shit.

The perfect and critical butt-flight of monkeys and the cacophony of idle

Crows who sit upon the fences of eternity passing judgment upon our souls

Until we give in…to emptiness.

But let them all know this;
That Jesus came unabridged with two fish and a loaf of bread, more a poet

Than a precise carpenter and he fed multitudes…

“With hope”

Bio:

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”. His work has also been published by many journals both in print including Retort, Verve, Industrial Nation, Sure! The Charles Bukowski Newsletter, Copious Amounts, Thunder Sandwich, The Angry Poet, Zygote In My Coffee, Full of Crow & many others. R.M. currently lives in Albany, NY

http://www.rmengelhardt.com

(C) R.M. Engelhardt

Outside The Box : Article~Poems 2009

In The Church Of Coffee & Smokes …

coffee smokes R.M. Engelhardt

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


In The Church Of Coffee & Smokes …

New Work Published In Rusty Truck

Under The Hunger Moon …

http://rustytruck.wordpress.com/2011/12/27/under-the-hunger-moon-by-r-m-engelhardt/

Rusty Truck

New Work Published In Rusty Truck

Mona Lisa In Overdrive

Mona Lisa In Overdrive

Communications From Elsewhere

In mind, place & sound
Mona Lisa in overdrive

Nearer to the ground
The wave

She becomes.

Dream state

Sacrifice

Legend

Model.

A smile

Hiding behind a gaze

Lovely

In any time

Or place or even

Upon my wall.

______________

R.M. Engelhardt 2011