A POEM FOR EVERY MIME WHO HAS EVER ANNOYED US
WITH A WALL IMITATION
______________________________________
R.M. ~ 1989
Note …. I hate mimes.
Poet Writer Albany NY
A POEM FOR EVERY MIME WHO HAS EVER ANNOYED US
WITH A WALL IMITATION
______________________________________
R.M. ~ 1989
Note …. I hate mimes.
COLTRANE’S AGENT
God.
Is that genius that
Wails through time like a
Saxophone cutting thru
The darkness of the night.
Possibly for you
Just as the rain
“Begins”
____________
R.M. Engelhardt 1994
Houdini & The Afterlife
And now,
Your attention please
Ladies and gentlemen
Join hands…
In a “Séance”
Halloween.
The gone goodbye. The last touch for the last time
all dies and memories all linger & all fade
Leave.
Requiem.
Invite the ghosts for all the
night and all the long
days which they have waited
energies ionized
multiplied and magnified,
minimized by all of their shells
and souls, thoughts &
incantations. the beings who you no longer want or
even want to be. wanted to see glamorized
and desensitized. all once originals off the shelf.
For you must now sleep ~ dream manifest and bury all their
remains. For life is like a lion or a goddess,
a secret history of all these things of being awake….and walking
without the privilege of being seen the
never meant to be that was never meant into being again
which slips away. into the real and in the incomprehensible darkness,
Like the mysteries & the chains
this life and you the E C H O
We wait… for the sign;
E
S C A
P E
IN TO
THE VAST
LIGHT
OF
BE –
ING
Where.
At a table, we all sit
The electricity. In a room where the voice was lost,
darkness gone eyes closed as the magician enters
They awaited the message
“Turn out the light”
http://www.hulu.com/watch/184742/biography-houdini-the-great-escape
__________________
R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011
LEXIKON
Initiate.
Trans-mute, Transcend
All “Matter”
Bring Forth,
And Thus Summon
All Gods … And Words
Obsolete (They Return)
Creation. Soul. Dimension. Time.
AWAKEN “The Dead”
Sound~ECHO Of Crashing Waves Entities
Dying Against All Flesh Bleeding, Bled
Into VOICE.
As the Smoke Of Her Cigarettes, Her Smell
& The Image Of Her Body All Still Linger,
Like A Poem, Perfume Instilled
Unto That One Perfect Dream
Of Youth.
Spring.
Roar.
Snow.
Moon.
Soar In & Thru
Eternity, A Song
Of Beauty Beneath & Hidden
Between
“Days”
To Wish To Pray
To Become & Believe
In Some Vacant Thought
Un-Aware
Called “Inspiration”
_____________
R.M. ENGELHARDT 2011