The German Baroness Else Baroness von Freytag-Loringhoven’s Poetry

Astride

Poem
Saddling
Up
From
Fir
Nightbrimmed ⎯
Clinkstirrupchink!
Silverbugle
Copperrimmed ⎯
Keening ⎯
Heathbound
Roves
Moon
Pink ⎯
Straddling
Neighing
Stallion :
“HUEESSUEESSUEESSSOOO
HYEEEEEE PRUSH
HEE HEE HEEEEEEAAA
OCHKZPNJRPRRRR
            HÜ
           /    
HÜÜ            HÜÜÜÜÜÜ
        HÜ-HÜ!”
Aflush
Brink
Through
Foggy
Bog
They
Slink ⎯
Sink
Into
Throbb
Bated.
Hush
Falls ⎯
Stiffling ⎯
Shill
Crickets
Shrill ⎯
Bullfrog
Squalls
Inflated
Bark
Riding
Moon’s
Mica –
Groin ⎯
Strident!

Hark!

Stallion
Whinny’s
In
Thickets.

EvFL

Aphrodite to Mars
(read the original manuscript in the Baroness archives)

Flashing blade –
Poniard buried –
High
Flexible tenderness web
Abdominal
Of
Systems
Equal steel
Shaped
Female

Aflirt
Mars’
Buried blade’s
Keenness aggressive
Into
Keenness’ receptive
Aristocratic
Fit.

Octopus charm’s
Alluring
Rubberdisk tenacity –
Sucking
Soft – energetic
Into
Systems mobile
Knit
Ceasar’s
Digging
Point
Sharp kiss
Plenishing
Snapping thirst’s
Drill gash
Rimflush
Ruby blood’s desire
Equal
Of
Quality true –
Gushing –
Ejaculating silently
High
To
Stain glintedges chased
Pained tempered
Flirt
Ceasar’s crimson
Supreme
Cardinal
Sheath
In
Hedges
Of
Pride’s beam –
Brave blade’s
Flash point –
Poniard steel
Mars asleep
At
Hearth
Olympic.

Octopus love pillows
Recuperating
Capacity
Suckdisks clinglust
To
Sharp arm
Within
Ecstatic
Elasticity
Feminine

Increases!

Tournament dale –
Mattress
Of
Supremely laurelled
Victor

Maturesmiled –
Rosestrewn –
Gaping –
Openpetalled –
Abandonflushed –
Deep – satiated – red
By:
Virtue’s daring
Brilliancy –
Adorned

EvFL

Hell’s Wisdom
(read the original manuscript in the Baroness archives)

<All wisdom is profoundly trivial>
Love is gravitation

My “Derangement” dwells in absence – as – under circumstances existing – normally – it
should be present.
It maintains in circumstance –
There I leave it.
My being in senses right is normal height.
It being uncommon – presents strange – as genius does – uncompanioned.
Victim of circumstance I am not – as I am no dweller in
For me – to be touched – touchably – by circumstance – normal
To vacuous spectres of substance past – should so be abnormal – as to cause revulsion
degree –
Provoking instant insanity – whence I am protected by radius of spiritual emanation

To circumstance I am immaterial – as is circumstance to me.
Diametricaly opposed – alone we leave each other – charmed aloft
Lone I – enhanced shrouded earth – by own atmosphere mine self’s own self – out-of
circumstance cosmic star – volve revolve – evolve -I do – by starshaped pride stygmatized
outcast from circumstanced press – presssure – I am.

Social insanity – cosmic sanity – visible flesh – I am not present.
Cosmic resident .
That means :
Responsibility sublime
Capacity to measure.
Bliss – damnation – alternating until equilibrium attainment
Sway
Balance
Scalefix.

Solution perfect of two in one.
2: 1.
Two in one is nil.
2 : 1 = .
Urstate sublimatedly
Lifted sublime by blood sacrificial power flux :
Radiance suffusion.
Light equals light:
Motion – rise
Impulse. Motion –
Top sun – it
             
Scalefix.

Matter at ever higher level put
Until cristal state –
Graded circle:
                                
One and all is circle
      1 + =
All in one is nil.
: 1 =
Nil is allsum
=
Allsum is in nil
= :
Life conquered – emotion solved
Measureless limitless urfigure
Assembled.
Circle
Navel
Nil.

           Betwixt :
           Swing –
           Wheel
           Scale
           Until:
           Shot
           Middle
           Spot
           Hit - :
           Radiance
           Adash.

EvFL

The German Baroness Else Baroness von Freytag-Loringhoven’s Poetry

King Of The Literary Links

ATTENTION FELLOW POETS, WRITERS & Ne’er-do-well’s…

http://www.everywritersresource.com/Biglist.html

Here is a link to the Holy Grail of Magazine Listings that take poetry submissions & prose submissions in some cases as well. There are 2000 links here…. Use them wisely.

Best,

R.M.Literary Links

King Of The Literary Links

New Work Published In Horror Sleaze Trash Zine…

New work, poetry published in Horror Sleaze Trash …

Horror Sleaze Trash ...

New Work Published In Horror Sleaze Trash Zine…

A POEM FOR EVERY MIME WHO HAS EVER ANNOYED US WITH A WALL IMITATION

A POEM FOR EVERY MIME WHO HAS EVER ANNOYED US

WITH A WALL IMITATION

______________________________________

Mime Poem

Mime Poem 2

R.M. ~ 1989

Note …. I hate mimes.

weeklylizard:

Vintage Books launches Weekly Lizard, a new mobile-enabled website for fans of mystery, crime, suspense, and thriller fiction. 

                                                                                         

New York, NY (June 22, 2011) – Vintage Crime/Black Lizard, the leader in quality paperback crime fiction publishing, today launches Weekly Lizard, a content-driven, mobile-enabled site featuring the latest-breaking news and features from the world of crime, thrillers, suspense, and mystery novels.  With Weekly Lizard, readers will have a definitive new source of information on what’s new and what’s hot written by leading authors, booksellers, journalists, bloggers, and other experts in the mystery and thriller genre.  The new site can be found at www.weeklylizard.com.

 

Regularly updated features and news articles (daily, weekly, and monthly) on Weekly Lizard will include in-depth author profiles (In the Lineup); informative and insightful essays and profiles of great mystery characters (Tough Guys and Dangerous Dames), a selection of great quotations from classic and contemporary mystery and thriller novels (Wiseguy Quotes), and early excerpts from hotly anticipated forthcoming novels.  Beyond breaking news stories, the site will draw on Vintage Crime/Black Lizard’s rich backlist, and exciting lineup of contemporary authors for original essays, and historical documents that will serve as an authoritative archive to interest any mystery buff. 

 

Weekly Lizard will include information on Vintage Crime/Black Lizard’s classic crime writers Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Eric Ambler, Chester Himes, Ross Mcdonald, and Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö; as well as current bestsellers Stieg Larsson, Henning Mankell, James Ellroy, Jeff Lindsay, John Burdett, and Ruth Rendell.  Features articles will also be derived from books and news across the publishing industry.

 

Weekly Lizard will also be the go-to spot for the latest book-to-film news and features, as well as classic film noir.  Exclusive and original articles on upcoming releases will include major motion pictures such as Stieg Larsson’s The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo starring Daniel Craig and Rooney Mara, and directed by David Fincher; George V. Higgins’ Cogan’s Trade starring Brad Pitt; Jo Nesbo’s Headhunters; and the upcoming remakes of Dashiell Hammett’s The Thin Man starringJohnny Depp, and Gregory Mcdonald’s Fletch

 

The site will also cover current popular crime television series such as Showtime’s’ “Dexter” series starring Michael C. Hall based on Jeff Lindsay’s Dexter character; PBS’s “Wallander” series starring Kenneth Branagh, and based on Henning Mankell’s best-selling novels; HBO’s “Mildred Pierce” series starring Kate Winslet and based on the classic novel by James M. Cain; and PBS’s Masterpiece/Mystery!’s upcoming “Zen” series starring Rufus Sewell and based on Michael Dibdin’s Aurelio Zen detective novels.

 

Along with original content that crime fiction fans won’t find anywhere else, the site features a sleek design in keeping with the iconic noir look that distinguishes Vintage Crime/Black Lizard. Readers will have a chance to participate in the rich crime writing community by sharing content across multiple social media platforms (including Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr) and by joining discussions related to the posts. Pulling from a large classic backlist, and the exciting new work being published every year, the Weekly Lizard is the new essential destination site for any mystery fan.

 

The new site: www.weeklylizard.com

And social media sites…

FACEBOOK: http://www.facebook.com/WeeklyLizard

TUMBLR: http://weeklylizard.tumblr.com

TWITTER: http://twitter.com/weeklylizard

 

*

About Vintage Crime/Black Lizard: Vintage Crime/Black Lizard was formed in June 1990 with the acquisition of Black Lizard, a renowned publisher of classic crime fiction that was created by Donald S. Ellis and Barry Gifford. Before the acquisition, Vintage Books was already publishing the work of respected American authors such as Dashiell Hammett, James M. Cain, and Raymond Chandler under the Vintage Crime series. With Black Lizard came the literature of Jim Thompson, David Goodis, and other great noir writers of the post World War II era, allowing the formation of one of the preeminent crime publishers in the country. Vintage Crime/Black Lizard remains devoted to the best of classic crime, having added Eric Ambler, Chester Himes, and Ross Macdonald to the list. We are also proud to publish some of the most talented crime and mystery writers working today, including Henning Mankell, Lisa Unger, Stella Rimington, Carl Hiaasen, Michael Harvey, Ruth Rendell, April Smith and Andrew Vachss. 

 

About Vintage Books: Vintage Books was founded in 1954 by Alfred A. Knopf as a trade paperback home to its authors.  Its publishing list includes a wide range, from the most influential works of world literature to cutting edge contemporary fiction and distinguished non-fiction.  As the continuous publisher of important writers including William Faulkner, Abraham Verghese, Sandra Cisneros, Vladimir Nabokov, Albert Camus, Ralph Ellison, A.S. Byatt, Philip Roth, Toni Morrison, Cormac McCarthy, Alice Munro, Orhan Pamuk, Dave Eggers, Robert Caro, Joseph Ellis, Haruki Murakami, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, it is today’s foremost trade paperback  publisher. 

Poem “Burn” In Red Fez

burn

Poem By R.M. Engelhardt.  June 2011

Poem “Burn” In Red Fez

IN THE ABSENCE OF LIGHTS

IN THE ABSCENSE OF LIGHTS By R.M. Engelhardt

IN THE ABSENCE OF LIGHTS

Dark-mirrored hallways

A dim precision march

Here we have tread before

Without fear/Well measured Pagan desires and objective Study.

Pavlov’s dog is still Breathing, his cigarette falls To the floor

and he dances like a manic animal.

Lost in the headlights, accidents shall occur once more.

There are no excuses left for avatars,

no reasons left for men,

only lights in the doorways flicker and then they slowly

===F===A===D===E

(to grey)

(to grey)

(to grey)

out.

“exit”

__________________

R.M. Engelhardt

Ian Curtis: The Lost Lyrics…Poems By

Ian Curtis put an end to his life the night of May 18, 1980, two days before the roadshow to the United States. The lead singer of Joy Division played “The Idiot” of Iggy Pop in his pickup and hung himself in his kitchen in Macclesfield, leaving a short note: “This moment I would want to be dead, I simply cannot take it anymore”. In these few words, the enormity of a brilliant mind came to an end. It took him maybe few seconds, to tight the rope around his neck, deciding that this world is not enough for him. It took him only few seconds to decide that he would be better off someplace else, away from human cynicism.

an Curtis’ writings condemn cynicism, the lack of ethics, the autocratic greed of the Western world, and the secret nature of insight. For Curtis’ ability to integrate anything together and produce a masterpiece, his poetry seemed to fit, suggesting that art can be so simple if you really want to get to know it. For the people that couldn’t get along with the darkness of Joy Division and Ian’s obscurity, this kind of poetry was nothing more than glam-rock wasteland.

Ian Curtis knew how to write. Even more than that, he knew how to put verses together that could sound good both on paper and with music. In “New Dawn Fades” he writes “the strain’s too much, can’t take much more…. it was me, waiting for me, hoping for something more, me, seeing me this time, hoping for something else.” For anyone who deals with personal issues, this is exactly how he feels. And Ian knew that because he had his own issues too, but he also had an extraordinary ability to express his feelings artistically and reflect the pain and the strain and the emotional horror so eloquently so as to make an ordinary psychological human fear a #1 hit track on the punk charts. If this is not art, then what more can be art?

____________________

Another Uneventful Day

The ones that got away.
The pretty haired, girlie girls, ones that got away ones
Those second to none, blistfully dumb, ones that got away ones
A small bit chubby and freightfully  funny ones that got away ones
And too tragic to say, the uneventfully got away, ones that got away ones.


ANGELS

Concentrating on an angels nest
that had caught my eye only moments
before, barely loud enough to hear
and whispered only to me. In the
depths of reality we lose our dreams.
I lit a smoke yet couldn’t grasp
its meaning. Utter silence followed,
Disrupted only by the increasing thump
of my heartbeat. Out of the life
known to me I went along. ‘Till slowly
I regained consciousness and
the angels were gone.


Unseen Lyrics of Ian Curtis:



I walked out and thought for a time I could see no defense, and I thought for a while you were me, we were wrong, in our time, always down, out of line.

I relaxed from the days filled with bloodsport in vain, and returned with the knowledge that we’re two the same, two in Hell, two set free, too alike, you to me.

And we watched everything pass us by in due course, always tied by a mutual feeling that lost, we were two, two in hell, two set free, known too well.

 
In the back of my mind, all I feel is mistrust, in the back of my mind, all I see is the dirt, segregation of thoughts, ideals turning to dust.

Where some houses once stood, stands a man with a gun, in some neighbourhood, a father hangs up his son, in the back of my mind.

 
Don’t think I’d have stayed just for one more day, it seems so much like home, no room to go astray, don’t think I could watch – with mindless, empty tasks, intake moving in, forced to walk a lonely path.

Pictures all around, of how good a life should be, a model for the rest, that bred insecurity, I walked a jagged line and then came back for more, it’s always in my mind, an institution with no law.

 
I can see a thousand wills just bending in the night. And all the pretty faces painted grey to match the sky, from a distance seeing friends just washed up on the shore, a picture in my mind of what’s to come before the storm.

In time, we don’t belong in our own lifetime.

I can hear the voices lost in echoes as they build, new homes to hide the sadness that the search for more had killed, from a by road seeing friends just washed up on the shore. Picture in my mind of what’s to come before the storm.

In time, we don’t belong in our own lifetime.

I can feel an emptiness and see heads held in shame, trapped inside a legacy of everyone to blame. In the distance see myself just washed up on the shore, a picture in my mind of what will come before the storm.

In time, we don’t belong to our own lifetime.

We won’t crawl and never show our faces, we’ll stand firm and never show the traces, of the fear we knew but always could disguise, of this sinking feeling hid behind our eyes.

 
Nothing seems real anymore. Even the flames from the fire seem to beckon to me, drawing me into some great past life buried somewhere deep in my subconscious, if only I could find the key..if only..if only. Ever since my illness, my condition, I’ve been trying to find some logical way of passing my time, of justifying a means to an end.

 
He desires love, in some special way against all perversion, fed with fruits of decay. He remembers, how the guilty have seen, all the pure but selfish, buried deep in his dreams.

He sees a vision in the sky, looking down on him, calling him by name, yeah he sees faces from yesterday, of what might have been, but the past must still remain.

He desires love, not some perfect affair, in hotels of steel and glass, just to cross on the stairs, but he can still see, all the angels in time, as his dreams of ecstasy, turned to nightmares of crime.

He sees a vision in the sky, looking down at him, how the past will remain, yeah he sees a vision in the sky, staring down at him, he’ll always see the same.

Sure I’ll see you down, you do for me I did for you, cure just takes you down, we’re down for good that’s understood.

 
Door slides open, Johnny laughs. A view from above sticks his head out of the window and dries his eyes. I remember a winter sometime ago, angular patterns formed deep in the ground, where someone once stood. White on black, white on white. Echoed voices bouncing off the buildings around.

A ramp to the trees and trees all around, I remember a tear, frozen white on white, I remember nothing. A grey saloon, Johnny sighs, winds down the window and stares at the road.

Some things never make sense, crouches shivering in the corner, blanket ‘round your shoulder, hot then cold, cold then warm, pulse is racing, slowly racing – stopped. I remember nights listening to untill dawn, I remember nothing. Some things never make sense, a fear of stepping out,

Door slowly opens, Johnny sits on his bed, lays down and dies.

 
A wider alliance that leads to new roads beyond the limits, holding hands, jumping off walls into dark seclusion, cut off from the mainstream of most intimate yearnings, I left my heart somewhere on the other side, I left all desire for good.
Clinging to naked thought, impossible tactics worked out for impossible means. This is the final moment of respite. The final page in the book. A bitter challenge between old and new, with one last warning.
 
http://www.poemhunter.com/ian-kevin-curtis


All lyrics (untitled) by Ian Curtis circa 1978 taken from “Touching From A Distance” by Deborah Curtis Published by Faber & Faber London 1995

THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY IS YOUR GOD MY FRIEND…

WAR = DEATH

THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY
IS YOUR GOD MY FRIEND

Oh Dear God
Oh see how they bleed
Oh Dear God, my Lord.

Oh Dear God
Oh see how they plead
Oh Dear God, my Lord.

My Lord;
Who we wait for
Scream for
On the battlefields
Of every war

Antagonist.

Protagonist.

Oh thy Lord,

You upon
Our side

Their side.

No questions
No explanations

Asked
Or ever given.

For my brothers
We will see you
Once more & again

In “Heaven”

“Elysium”

Or on the fields of
The Fallen,
And The Honored

“Dead”

Where no uniforms
Are ever worn
As in Valhalla
We all toast

And sing
Another song.

Oh Dear God
Oh see how they bleed
Oh Dear God, my Lord.

Oh Dear God
Oh see how they plead
Oh Dear God, my Lord.

See how they are born
Oh Dear God My Lord

And See how they grow
Oh Dear God My Lord

And Dear God?

See how
They Die

“Alone …Screaming”

Amen.

___________

R.M. ENGELHARDT

People Kill People

WALT WHITMAN IS DEAD

WALT WHITMAN IS DEAD By R.M. Engelhardt

WALT WHITMAN IS DEAD

Where are you now?

Uncle?

Poet?

Walt?

Old man, child of the Long Island

Free verse son of America,

Teacher & government work-man?

“Human – Being”

Citizen

Man… Mind of the spirit

Spirit, in the flesh

Where have you gone?

Disappeared

Now a ghost

Among the leaves,

The rest.

Uncle,

I see your name written in

School books and upon the wind

And within the rain,

And I still hear your songs fill the air

In the forests & the city streets

Body … Electric.

But father?

Uncle?

Where are you now?

Where have you been?

Gone, gone away from

What you loved most, the land

Yet buried beneath the green

Green meadows, valleys & time

Of ages.

Meditating within the oldest of trees

Silent thru out new ages.

For a book is merely paper

But a voice must ask or say

Invoke yea and awaken others from

The vast darkness & the gray

For uncle, poetic father,

Your America has sadly changed.

No longer the free land

Of promise, no longer do we

Dream like you once dreamt

We still fight wars and without hope

Falter & lose ourselves,

Souls within the damned dark & dense.

So uncle, father.

Return and sit here for a while

And bring some comfort the dying of poets, poetry &

The young boys, and now women…soldiers,

Decimated in faraway lands

You never mentioned in your poems

Or ever heard of.

For it rumored

That you are dead.

And yet?

The 21st century & centuries to come

May yet remember thee still,

And write your verse upon some wall in yet

Another revolution coming.

For it is the same world that

Faces us today Walt Whitman,

One of a new slavery & lack of, death of spirit

That you would not begin to comprehend

Where the poor are now

The slaves of corporation & debt

And prejudice

Still runs rampant…yet hidden

Behind best intentions.

So would you,

Father, Uncle Walt

Still stand insolent? Defiant?

Would you, Walt Whitman

Still stand up & among the

Working class?

But alas,

It is no longer your time here

But your heart & soul remain,

For we, the poets who still struggle

Must create our own new voices & names,

Speak, of what is now & not of the past

To audiences not of one land, but many.

So, Uncle? I owe you an apology.

For you, Walt Whitman are dead.

A timeless friend

And a memory

That we must let rest

To create a new vision.

That one day brings your spirit,

Your uncorrupted vision

“Back”

For if we miss you in one place?

We shall search for you

In another.

__________________

R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011