Mission

The world has been lost. Gone into the unnamed void. We drink our coffee, put on our coats and go to work and sense that something is missing, aware something is no longer there. We have changed. We have forgotten who we are. Or maybe this is just the beginning of becoming, the transformation of the becoming of something new. Find the words unspoken. Find the voice that tells a new story for a new history as yet unwritten. This is your real job. To create that which has not yet been created.

~ R.M. ENGELHARDT

writing block

BURN

homeless

Burn

by R.M. Engelhardt

in the night
december
the cold wind, the frozen
world

stands still
like an abstract
like a painting

without motion.

without sound.

smoke & the harsh light
of streetlamps, reality
dirt white city sidewalks
and the panhandlers
at the bus stop
telling their tale
their stories

to buy another bottle
or another pint.

all fallen, all once born
children
from someplace

somewhere.

who had once believed
who had once had faith

like “you”

the story of mankind
the story of every past
history, and poverty,
promises…and life.

brother sister child mother
ghosts of selves dying beneath
the light. a last dance, a curtin bow
the only time that we see them
in our eyes…

merry christmas
happy new year

nothing has changed
no more is given other
than what is given
like a greeting or like a gift

you are a saint
you have given him a whole dollar

to eat

you have changed
his life completely,
love and sin, drink no more
the gods are all smiling
upon your soul

but the george bailey in
this story has no clarence
and no one gives a damn,
the shelters are all full
and the angels have all ran

far far away
with their wings
to look after
themselves

peace on earth,
good will towards men

their breath,
still hanging upon
the cold wind and
the smoke of their cigarette
and its burn…

do you have a dollar?
a smoke?

can I be you? warm?
heart beating inside
not realizing
that the man under the
jacket’s hood

is “you”

merry christmas.

peace on earth

good will towards men,

good will
towards men.

William Ernest Henley : Invictus

 

 

 

William Ernest  Henley
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-ernest-henley

Invictus

BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

 

THE SUMMER IS OVER

 

 

BWJamesFoley.jpg

 

 

The first song

Is innocence.

 

The last song

Is dirt.

 

And the summer

Is now gone along with

The heart and the flesh,

From diseases known & unknown

Which constantly

Remind us that

If we are anything

We are flawed.

 

 

Human in the eyes to be inhuman

Noble to all our fellow creatures

Except our fellow man,

Woman or child, reporter

 

 

“Or God”

 

And when I was a kid

Isis was a superhero on television,

A Goddess who fought for truth & justice

That now the pathetic

Have now turned

Into a bitch

 

 

And the open light

Is now once again

Vanishing from

Our very souls

 

Yes, the summer is over

The summer is gone

 

But in the end of all ends

It is the light that depends

Upon you no matter

How dark it gets

 

Keep fighting.

 

__________________

 

~ R.M. Engelhardt

    08.29.14

BUK

bukowskismiles

 

If it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it.

Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it.

If you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it.

If you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it.

If it’s hard work just thinking about doing it, don’t do it.

If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently.

If it never does roar out of you, do something else.

Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket,

unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it.

Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it.

When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, It will do it by itself

and it will keep on doing it until you die

or it dies in you.

There is no other way.

And there never was.

 

 

~ Bukowski

http://theghostofpoetryfuture.tumblr.com/post/94880175400/remembering-bukowski-happy-birthday

I AM

“I am the beast with a contorted grin, contracting down to illusion and dilating toward infinity, both growing and dying, delightfully suspended between hope for nothing and despair of everything, brought up among perfumes and poisons, consumed with love and hatred, killed by lights and shadows. My symbol is death of light and the flame of death. Sparks die in me only to be reborn as thunder and lightning. Darkness itself glows in me.”
~ Emil Cioran

 

Emil Cioran