I Hear America Screaming

I Hear America Screaming
(Inspired by Walt Whitman)

I hear America screaming, the varied lies I daily hear,

Those of politicians, each one singing their own tune   for each and themselves alone,

And in the background;

The soldier crying  as the doctor measures his amputee  leg,

The businessman singing  as he makes his fortune off others misfortunes and then sails off & away to the Bahamas,

The single mother asking what she shall feed her starving children, praying every night

The  old dying man mumbling, sleeping on the park bench, with no place left to go

The last animals dying as they breathe in the toxic fumes as they fall from the trees and wires

The union man’s song, the blue collar worker on his way in the morning,
Just to find the factory closed down

The beautiful singing of the daughter, or of the young wife taking care of her mother in her final days because she couldn’t afford a hospital at home

Each American singing what belongs to him or her and to none else, and never believing in sharing

For this day is what belongs to the day—the night always another beginning

Truth screaming with open mouths against an America in it’s very last glories and days

~ R.M.





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,

Or “You”


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



R.M. Engelhardt