Night Walking

NIGHT WALKING

Sometimes
We get lonely

Sometimes
We feel alone

It doesn’t really matter
In a world of a billion people
More than that inhabiting
The earth

It’s just a matter
Of the dark

And the light

We walk through
Cities & crowded
Streets but all these
People are strangers

You can get a drink
At the bar or just
Look into the eyes
Of passerbys

All with the same expression

Something missing
Within their souls
Their hearts

Broken
Or damaged

Homeless or
Rich

There’s something
Missing

There’s always
Something missing

Which no one
Even the people
Who walk these
Streets

Can
Even explain

Like a hole torn
In the fabric of
Life

So we wander
Walk at night

Looking for
Ourselves

Alone

~ R.M. Engelhardt
©2023

The Lost Poems From Nod. R.M. Engelhardt 2003

Twenty years ago I wrote a chapbook called Nod. 2003. These were some poems based on the experimental style of EE Cummings & George Oppen Many of the poems were published on now long gone poetry journal internet sites and as we know many online journals don’t last forever. Here are a few poems. Hope that you enjoy them.

~ R.M. Engelhardt

HEDROGLOSSIA

LOOK

If I can’t find the meaning well then at least I’ve found you
And that being that is much more than ever being and much
More than ever merely needing a touch, a voice, a word or a
Feeling, something to be or not to …

SEE!

There I’ve done it again!

Hyper and not hedroglossia!

Too many words asking me to listen
Too many voices only mine repeating
Being two when I’m with you when this elusive thing they call time stands still and these days of our lives are suddenly & distinctly becoming entangled
Moving much too fast for even Captain Zoom & his paisley rocket ship to fathom
And sleeping beneath these quiet dreams of unspokeness
And hearing all of these voices at once and yet, at times being so alone.

So I guess this is what they call hedroglossia,
The wanting of a voice now gone, the hearing of a song
The fear of not knowing possibly what belongs In these arms of poetry and dusk.

WRECK

(oh no Jock Cousteau, please help me salvage this heart.) because she who thinks she knows who thinks she knows knows nothing.
says so long because his song has been sung. (and being a wreck, invisible)
he sinks, drinks her false fear un-emotion and her ice cold seas into oblivion
and sends out one last beacon for her in the night
that she will never answer.

and lost at sea even she knows that he cannot comeback from the dead.
for it was she who sunk the ship before it could even reach its destination

Crea en el amor y en yo¶ll siempre cree en usted

MEMENTO

Better to feel
          (Than be)
Blood rushes thru veins
And the heart beats,
Only one-day to complete its duty
While eventually earth and gods shall all come
Crashing down
And kingdoms & civilizations fade.
And so please, I ask you only this;
That when I leave to let me take these
Few things with me;
The moon, the sun and the stars,
And the small traces of light which
Once reflected in your eyes
That I can no longer see

NOTES TO AN INSENSITIVE UNIVERSE

So what do you know about What is or is not to be?
(Hmmm … perhaps it is we)
Moving, living and struggling as if we think the very existence of the universe depends upon these things
But the universe (dam dark void)
Will be quite fine without us
&  our  ³Feelings´

Poor universe
And without love
Sadder still for not
Knowing what it wants
Or what its here for

POEM TO PAST SELF IN FUTURE TENSE

Yours is a beauty of monstrous pro-
Portions with the world
Spinning randomly into
Oblivion where the leaves are all
Dying all of the time off of the trees,
Where  misery makes its way into every small tissue stealing.

Yours is a world where
Beauty has fled and has left town
For greener pastures, has drowned its-
Self into the sea of angst & tears and
Has mixed its-self with alcohol &
Cigarettes, sad poems and
Indiscriminate men & women who
Already know that beauty has left
The scene,

(And they no longer care to find her)

And yet it is good that beauty has
Finally found you and that beauty is not
Dead

But was only merely sleeping

On the sofa of your dreams

WHAT SHE SAID
 
She said;

³If 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;

                     ³Lust … .Lust …Lust´ 

WAR FILM

Buddhist hope cow.com of love transcending the  dialect of     
gloss & loss & gloom to the mysterious mysticism of the time  machine

                                               of  ³when?´
                                              
             Oh how I love thee, mammals of flesh and blood and candy.             Let me count the innocent waves, the waves of psychotic           
              emotion, measure my ass for caps and my heart for meaning                                
                less
                                             ³gestures.´
                                            
(And please; screen my phone calls for truths, religions, promises & AIDS.)

  For selective in our service we the
  brave and the free will send out our hippie-bred children into the 
  Man swarm and the cities of their destinies, their lives as  
  Instantaneous as eighteen-year-old twinkies and our reasons   as contrived as an
 
oily eagle
                                                ³fart´
                                               
         Captain Zoom may send you to your doom as happy as a       
           rectal thermometer but the smiling mortician man grim will       
             dress you up in green who spills & spells out
                                        F R E E D O M     
                                       
                                     ³Horizontally´
                                    
                                    with a capital
                                   
    D.

ALONE

Alone in a room with-
                                               Out you is alone, alone                                                 Without you is alone.
                                                             Alone without you is like
                                                             The moon without the stars,
                                                             The world without the sun                                                           
                                                               Shining upon it.
                                                              
                                                 Good days or bad
                                                 With you I’m never sad
                                                 But without you in a          
                                                                                        Room I’m alone.

I   KNOW

There are certain things  I know don’t  know, feel don’t  feel & see don’t see.

I am a blind
Man with the near
And the far, I am a
Baby bat that grasps
And squeaks to all
Things sad & mean all
Past & future present past
In the worship of your heart.

Sacred life of words
Unspoken by man
Knowing truth
Is truth.

*All poems From The KotaPress Anthology  2003
R.M. Engelhardt ©

nOpE ~A poem by R.M. Engelhardt

In the beginning was the word, the word
That from the solid bases of the light
Abstracted all the letters of the void;
And from the cloudy bases of the breath
The word flowed up, translating to the heart
First characters of birth and death.

~ Dylan Thomas,
In The Beginning


NoPe

The 1st poem wasn’t
Written in English
In fact it wasn’t
Written in any words
At all

The 1st poem
Was a flower that
A hairy cave man gave to
His beloved

Who thoughtfully
Pondered it’s meaning
& then ate it
And without emotion
Left him

For a muscular
Neanderthal

Named Chad

So the first poem
Was actually a failure
A gesture

Of heartbreak & love
Loneliness & longing

But not enough to
Convey it or even
Reach it’s destination

The heart

Or the soul

And on the cave walls
Were painted crude
Drawings depicting mating
To let a woman know
That she was desired

To which their response
Was ” Ew” and a new
Word which they created called

” NO”

But the art approach
Didn’t work
Quite well either

NOTE:
(*See Bathroom Poetry
History of)

WIKIPEDIA

But once humans
Could speak? Talk?
Well the game
Was on

Hunter gatherers
& Future jock types
Started getting angry
Because skinny guys
In fur beret hats starting
Stealing their women

But they couldn’t figure out how
And to this day

Still cannot

And that’s how it
All began

Poets & artists
Being treated
Like outcasts
Unwanted & disliked
(Musicians soon to follow)

Because they had
Higher IQs
And first somehow knew
That words could be turned

Into “Magic”
& Into light

Spells that could
Invoke what feelings
They held urges they felt
And the things they could see
Or could not

Like the silent moments
Of trees swaying in the distance
Like the beauty of colors in the air
And sea, animals & nature

And within these words
They worshipped all
The mysteries which they
Couldn’t fathom or understand

And turned them
Into something
Called poems

Myths
And gods

So in the beginning
Poetry wasn’t really popular

And still isn’t

But without it
We’d all be lost

For it is the whole
That makes us all human
And what it means to be
Human

And that
Is all we know

That and that throughout
Human history that muscular guys
Named Chad and with similar names
Still hate us

And want to beat us up

Without knowing

Why?

~ R.M. Engelhardt

© Copyright 2022

What She Said

whatshesaid

 

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,

“Lust…..Lust…..Lust”

 

~ R.M. Engelhardt

MY THERAPISTS ARE MR. ZEVON & MR. SCOTCH

 

warren-zevonpoem

 

She’s gone.

Temporarily

Forever

Finding me

Here alone on the couch in

The middle of

Another Sunday afternoon

With my good friends

The Clan Macallan

& Warren Zevon

Reminiscing about all

Of the old days & all of

The best days past.

Yet, perhaps it’s all

Just an illusion

Or maybe it’s just the sounds

That bring us all back to

To the land of

Stark raving reality from

The momentary

And marked passing

Of punk poetry, slam dancing

And black leather jackets.

As Warren says to me

“Life Will Kill Ya”

And Macallan says to me

No worries my good son

“Drink up”

For she will soon

Return with

The love that you

Gave her

And your

Foolish, sentimental heart

In her pocket

“Too”

_______________

R.M. ENGELHARDT

From “The Resurrection Waltz”, 2013

EPITAPH

 EPITAPH
Epitaph for
The lost poem
Which contained
Everything
And nothing.
Touched everyone, anyone
Who desired
The mystery of mysteries
Words of words, which brought forth
Language
Both blessed & cursed us
Married us, buried us and parted
The heavens and the
Deep blue seas
Made Houdini disappear
And broke the sole of
Khrushchev’s soul
Shot Kennedy
And then shot a rocket
To the moon
Sold us, indiscriminate
Commanded us to war and glory
And holocaust – unimagined imagination
The scavengers & architects, history
Fighting for space apocalyptic
Down on Wall Street and in the Silicone Valley
Stages of poetry and stages
Of time living, breathing & dying
On the battlefields
Of life.
The Poem,
Too early
Too late
Too bad
The lost poem
Which contained
Nothing and everything
Everything and nothing
At all.
You left it home on the
Kitchen table where your children
Drew on it
In crayon
It is just as well.
___________________
R.M. ENGELHARDT, 
FROM “THE RESURRECTION WALTZ” 2013

It’s The Words …

R.M. Engelhardt
R.M. Engelhardt

Photo Compliments of Albany Poets, 2013

http://www.AlbanyPoets.com

Thanks …

“It is the quality of one’s convictions that determines success, not the number of followers.”

~ Remus

 

Thanks For Your Support And For Following “The Resurrection Waltz” !

http://www.rmengelhardt.com

 

REALITY IS BAD FOR BIZNESS

 

image
 

 

Before super models
Ruled the earth
There were people.
Before idiots
Controlled
The government
There were wise men.
The future

Is now

The past.
Desolate faces
Ride subway trains & buses without
Hope. Hoping.

And politics
Has become

A children’s

Game.
While going down

On Madison Avenue
The persuaders,

Manipulators & Predators Worship

In churches

Of nothingness.
In churches

Of shit.
The media

Ignoring What is To come

And be.
Because it’s Bad for publicity

And bad

For business.
That these truths

Are self-evident.
That people

Are dying

Over oil reserves

In the Middle East.
That people

Are being denied
Their rights.

That No one has

The balls to
Stop the maniacs

Who’ve taken over

Our lives.

So just accept it.

Relax.

Buy a coke
And a smile.
As the lights
In your child’s
Eyes

Dim.

Fade.

And go out.

 

_____________

~ R.M. 2005