Nostalgia Act


Aren’t you that
Poet who was famous

That poet
Who lived
That wore
That old leather
Jacket & who
Was kinda like
A punk rock vampire
Lord Byron meets
Edgar Allan Poe

I really liked
That poem you
Wrote the young millennial
Girl says
It was totally awesome
My mom has the book

Thank you

Which one?

I inquire

You know
That one about
Dying without her
Love & sadness
Loss & self

That one


“Come As You Are”

I smile
Take a sip of my
Coffee, excuse myself
From the room


~ R.M. Engelhardt/19



A Mature, Respectfully Artistic Poem Written for Kanye West

A Mature, Respectfully Artistic Poem Written for Kanye West Or

                  (Kanye Is A Douchebag)



So just the other day I

Was writing a poem

About Beck


Then Kanye tried to steal it,


What the heck?


And then I was writing a poem

For Beyoncé too, but

Kanye told me I wasn’t

Good enough to


So now let’s face it

Perhaps Kanye was right,

Perhaps it’s because

Beck & Taylor are white

But masterfully I being

Quite artistic too

Say “Kanye you’re a douchebag”

So here’s a poem for you


(I just hope that you respect my artistry)


~ R.M. 




No one around

Not a single sound






Just like in the

Movies where

The world has just

Ended, just like

The calm before

The storm


Or maybe just like

Before a

Zombie apocalypse

zombie writer


As I sit here alone

In my apartment wondering

Why I am alone perhaps

The last human being left,

Perhaps some zombie’s

Next big mac & large fries

Tomorrow or maybe even their

Happy meal with a shake.



But what if I too have

Become a zombie

But just don’t know

It yet?


And what if I too am the

First zombie poet ever

Writing the first un-dead

Zombie poem?


Would all the other zombies

Read it? Or relate to it? Would

They understand my zombie

Feelings or sit around at the

Next undead Zombie Poetry

Festival and make snapping sounds

As all their fingers fell off or would

They even attempt to clap with only

Their one good arm left?



And what if I’m not

Really a zombie? Would they all

Just eventually accept me for who I really am?

Or will they all just be exactly like

They were before all this?


Just like all humans with all of their

Anger, jealousy, war & hate, murder

And all their petty unfair advantages

Over their fellow zombie friends?




Because I don’t believe that there

Could possibly be a better,

More loving & caring, kinder

Zombie world or universe

Waiting in the wings, and

I don’t believe that they would

All just be friendly monsters

Who just like to eat vegans,

Republicans or tea party members


Because damn it

I just believe that sometimes

That the world could use a remake

Or perhaps just a reason. And I

Believe that if we just keep

Walking around dead or alive

That eventually one day we will all

Find our way to peace using or eating

Our own brains.

In the end.









Long ago

She would bring me her




Fine wine


And Friends.


Never ending parties

And beautiful words

Magnificent and dressed in

Black, poetry written and

Cloaked in mystery and

In the eternal darkness

Of the night.


And now?

These days

She just brings me

A six pack of beer

On weekends

Sits with me

By my side waiting

Screams at me, nags at me

And tells me to








All dames are alike: they reach down your throat and they can grab your heart, pull it out and they throw it on the floor, step on it with their high heels, spit on it, shove it in the oven and cook the shit out of it. Then they slice it into little pieces, slam it on a hunk of toast, and serve it to you and then expect you to say, “Thanks, honey, it was delicious.”

~ Steve Martin, Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid 

Something …

Hard pressed to

Write a poem I

Remember the illusion

Of a moment.



Something about

A haiku.


~ R.M. Engelhardt



So the other day

The witnesses came

And knocked upon my door


Both dressed in black suits

And they wanted



They tried to come in

And they tried to hand me pamphlets

And they tried to make me confess

And they kept asking me this

“Have you found Jesus yet?”

So I told them

That I didn’t know anybody named Jesus

And that I didn’t know who he is or where he lives

And that I don’t know anyone named God

Or anybody named “Peter”  “Paul” or even

A Baptist supposedly named “John”

Let alone some woman named

“Mary”, the Pope or anyone else of

Any importance or of any significance

At all.

All I told them was that

I know this guy who lives

Down the block named “Noah”

Who is always in his backyard working

On his boat.

Both of them then looked at

Each other a little bit puzzled,

But they did not seem to believe

My story. And after saying something

About this guy that they were looking

For being quote “My savior” in an annoyed

And confused manner


So I closed the door and locked it

And then told Jesus that the coast

Was clear and that it was ok for him

To come out from behind my curtains.

“Whew!” That was close he said.

They almost got me that time!


I told him “Listen bro” Your secret’s safe with me.

Cross my heart.

Jesus scratched his beard

And made a peculiar face

“Very Funny” he said “Very Funny”

And with a wave of his hand

Made us some more wine

And we got drunk.
~ R.M.

What She Said



She said;

“If 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,



~ R.M. Engelhardt



We were hanging out drinking a few shots with
that asshole Metastopholies.
He (as usual) was trying to boug a few drinks, and (as
usual) we..ignored him. At work as usual it was one
long fucking day. I was stuck putting up the sequoias
and disagreed; God liked red, I..liked black. And
somehow the boss (I won’t use her real name) told us
that our work was getting “sloppy’. Too many species,

she said, too many ferns, something like that. You are
always spending way too much time arguing and I’ll
have to let one of you go, the temporal mental bitch
said. “Fine!” I said, “I quit!” Buddha, Muhammad and a
few others were already gone and had decided to start
their own companies. And me, well I was just tired of
all of the insipid & corporate shit where the motto
was “Heaven… we care”. And this action left God whom I
always thought to be a pretty decent kid in general,
to run the factory. And for awhile we kept in touch.
“How’s it goin?” I’d ask and he’d say “Great, but I’m
really busy” “We’ll get together for a beer sometime,
ok?” Ok. But more & more the silence increased. Never
a reply back, never a how are you and never a word through the
psychic dimensional thought. Eventually I found out
that God had taken over and that he had been bumped
up. It figures…I thought. He always was more of the
corporate type than me.

Its been awhile now and I haven’t heard from him in a
few eons. I heard that he never really recovered from
that incident with his kid. Stay away from beautiful
women, we told him, stop trying to be a hero. But he,
never listened and almost…lost everything. Recently I
transformed myself into a man and I caught a glimpse
of him in a bar in NY City. Timothy McVey had just
blown up the federal building with children in it and
God was sitting drunk on a bar stool drinking red
wine. He was really fucked up and he had aged
something awful. “Bartender! Give me another fucking
glass!” he said. They kicked him out and he
disappeared stumbling into the night. I was saddened.
The firm is going under and he’s losing control, other
power hungry kids are creating technology & spirit
advances. God’s becoming an antique, but I know he
won’t retire. Me, well don’t worry about me. I’ll be
fine. These days I’m living as a cat owned by a girl
going thru a tough time. I know where I’m needed. And
even though no one remembers all of the work that I’ve
done its alright. The cycles of the universe go on
because love, redemption and faith never stop and
never die.

Oh and by the way, do you like coffee? Good…that was
MY idea!