https://www.facebook.com/Talonpoet

Poet Writer Albany NY
THE LAST REAL POET
The last real poet
Sits alone by himself
Somewhere in a cabin
In Upstate NY
Around the age of 95
Still alive
But they all forgot about him
Years Ago
The prizes
The many lives many
Loves he had once
His memory fades
From time to time
Unsure if it was all real
Meeting Kerouac
Was just like yesterday
Reading upon the stage
Drinking beers & whiskey
Meeting all the Beatniks &
Ferlinghetti
Ginsburg was just
A smart kid, Corso a punk
Who swore alot
And clammored
For everyone’s attention
Whining
He remembers
The applause and the hip
Hot beautiful girl with long brown
Hair who took him home
That night
Only to receive
A long distance call
From her nine months
Later
Hey
Daddy’O
What gives?
Where’s the
Dough?
So
He wrote
And wrote
And wrote
Was published
Everywhere
His books now rare
Recieves letters
Every now & then
From college kids
Who found one of
His books at a library dollar
Sale, praising him
As a genius, a poet
But the literary cannon
Doesn’t
Never cares
Or gives in
Or gives a shit
Recognize
Beauty or sadness
Street poets or
Vagabonds
Madness or unformalist
Poetry
Far too consumed
With the fear of
Honesty, cancel
Culture or a frightful
Reckoning
When most
Of his kind are
All dead
His legacy
Torn from the days
The pages of true
Freedom & non censorship
We were all labeled ” Communists”
For publishing
The Truth
Stood
Behind
Martin Luther King
And at Jack’s
Grave the same
Decade
Saw
The world
His words helped
To create only
To be betrayed
By all those hippies
Who traded in their love
For the mighty dollar
“Sorry”
But we can’t
Publish you
Your work
Just doesn’t
Seem to fit
We just want
To hear another
Version of the same old
Shit we just published
Last week
“Fuck Off”
His rough voice says
Fuck. Off.
With your
Boring trite mighty
White ass kissing
Journal of garbage
Packaged in flowers
That follows trends
Do you have a Facebook?
An Instagram?
Fuck no.
Poetry
Is meant to live
Upon the page
And not
On some ridiculous
Flavor of the month
TV screen
Takes a shot
Of whiskey
Goes to sleep
And dreams
Where he and
Mingus are
Shooting pool
In a NYC dive bar
And
He smacks
Some faux celebrity
Writer in the head
Smoking a diva stick
For talking too much
And being
Annoying
The last real poet
Sat alone by himself
Somewhere in a cabin
In Upstate NY
And last night he died
Around the age of 95
A small obituary
Appeared in the NY Times
And thousands
Of writers & poets
On their computers
Put up memorials with
His poems claiming
He was a genius
And I’ve read all
His books
Which
Two months later
Appeared in all the
Bookstores
Published by
The boring trite mighty
White ass kissing
Journal of garbage
Packaged in flowers
That follows trends
Who bought
All the rights
To his life
With the sales pitch:
He was friends with Kerouac
And Bukowski before Bukowski
He was The Last Real Poet
Buried now
In an unassuming pauper’s
Grave
~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2022
Let’s be honest.
2021 was not the best of year’s for many of us with covid still rampant as well as for many of us still stuck working from home. But for me there were a few bright spots. Jai & I were able to create many new books for Poets & Authors at DeadMansPressInk & create a brand new open mic at The Fuzebox. One of the best moments for me was an interview with Jim Gilbert & Nippertown about my latest book ” We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms & Incantations Published by DeadMansPressInk. Dedicated to our girl, our cat Cordelia we lost in April. Life isn’t the same without her.
Best to you & yours in the coming New Year.
*****************
An interview with Jim Gilbert of Nippertown with poet R.M. Engelhardt about the Upstate New York Poetry Scene and about his new book ” We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms & Incantations” Published by DeadMansPressInk Now Available on Amazon 2021.
To many of those of you who follow or read my work there are only a few that are aware that I run, along with my friend and coeditor Hex M’ Jai a small independent poetry press known as DeadMansPressInk as well as a page called The School of Night Newsletter which promotes the teachings & mysteries, articles and rituals of magic. DeadMansPressInk has a very fun & all inclusive popular group for poets called POETS WHO HATE POETS ON FACEBOOK which has been growing day by day and allows writers & poets to share their work in a safe, secure atmosphere of respect and humor with an eternal ” no trolls allowed” policy.
I hope that if you are a writer who would like to publish your book of pagan based poems ( we also are interested in noir, the occult & the macabre) that you will send us your manuscript or join our group to just enjoy people’s work and share your own. Find us on Facebook as well as Instagram.
Many Thanks. Join Us.
~ R.M. Engelhardt Editor DeadMansPressInk
ICONIC
God died
The other day
Or at least the
Media said so
He had a great
Career, a few number
1 hits and a fan club
Back in the day
I turned to
My wife after
Reading of his
Demise on
Facebook and
Asked;
“Wasn’t he dead already?”
~ © R.M. Engelhardt/2019
So
You want to be a poet?
Then stand in line
Because just like every other damn poet
That ever came before you
You’ll have to write
And Twitter, Tumblr, Fumblr
Whatever, will never save
Your sorry ass
And the Pushcart Prize?
They won’t reward you
For writing a Facebook
Status that’s poetic
And just like
Emily, no one no
Publisher will ever
Come knocking
At your door
Looking for your poems
So listen;
Because there is no new
Jack Kerouac, no new Bukowski
And no new Poe
And Shakespeare?
He threw down his pencil
A longtime ago after Marlowe
Bought the farm
So just like all of the most
Famous poets of old expect
No compliments, no fortune
And no dough and learn how
To live on noodles
And believe me
When I say that
When you tell Mom & Dad
That you want to be
A poet someday?
Don’t expect them to
Embrace you or let you
Ever move back home again
Because remember
That this is the life that you chose
And if you ever finally find
Finally write that one piece
That one amazing epiphany
That says it all and that says
Everything and that has the
Power to knock the world
On its ass?
Then maybe one day
You’ll be able to look
In the mirror and say
It was all worth it.
_____________
R.M. ENGELHARDT
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