Tag Archives: Talon Poet

Homeless Warriors

HOMELESS WARRIORS

We are
Multitudes
Young &
Old
Men &
Women
An army
Dethroned
Without the
Respect of
Generations

You cannot
See what
We’ve seen
The fine
Line between
Humanity
And disease
Destruction
Poverty

Death

So I beseech
Thee
America
To believe
To care
To help
To save

For we
Have lost
Our families
Brothers &
Sisters to
The grave
The enemies
Which you
In all your
Endless campaigns
Have created

The sons &
Daughters
Of your fate

You cannot
Will not
Ignore us
Those who
Have laid
Down our
Bodies &
Souls
Sacrificed our
Very existence
So you can
Watch television
And drink beer
Without a
Conscience

For there
Is no more glory
No Valhalla
In a country full
Of political
Vultures &
Fakes

You have
Betrayed &
Abandoned us
With our
Insanity &
Disabilities
Wounds &
Without anymore
Weapons to fight
Back without
Food or a
Place to rest
Our heads

You have
Disappeared
After Vietnam
Afghanistan
Iraq & Kuwait
Without a single

“Thank you”

For is
No place
Left for damaged
Warriors
In your self
Serving beliefs

And we
Are still fighting
For survival
Every day
Waiting
Praying for
One more
Victory

Unnoticed

The Story of Edgar & I: A Bromance~ Albany Poets

C__Data_Users_DefApps_AppData_INTERNETEXPLORER_Temp_Saved Images_12113391_10206803572865637_8255685413926575281_oSome memories that I am always reminded of around this time of the year and on Halloween in this new edition of The Half Dead Poet Review:

The Half-Dead Poet Review: The Story of Edgar and I, a Bromance

Too Many Cigarettes Can Cause A Revolution

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Too Many Cigarettes Can Cause A Revolution

If you swallow poison your heartbeat stands still, then stops to usher in our brother death. All welcome and warm.
It’s happened before for I am no stranger. I walk this weary world alone this mortal coil looking for whatever may be a truth, love oh God a love of God’s of flesh & blood & tribulation when there’s nothing else left. But I am no man of God but just a man of words and cigarettes, whiskey and poetry. Another madman who creates worlds with his pen. Sits in bars, places for hours waiting for the muse to guide me down my ancient path. My church is unknown to you and all you men of commerce you men of wealth and destruction and greed. I keep my one good eye upon you, watch you in all your darkness trying to hide your symphony of dalliances’ and crimes. Your sins against mankind. Your hands in the money pot your hands in wars and death and disease. You never see me but I’m there. Waiting. Waiting with words and my one true voice to take down you and yours your corrupt kingdoms your self made reputations and to judge you as you falsely judge me and mine. The poor and the working people. The starving masses and the rest of the world seeking sanctuary from far away lands. This is America. This is what humanity once meant and stood for. You’ve destroyed it. Used it. Used us and have filled up your pockets with lies and green. A green that the starving shall never see. You’re monsters and not people. Corporations and not our country tis of thee.
So I light up another cigarette and I make notes in my journal. And in my mind I send you on your way to hell with a smile and no regrets. You can ignore me but there are thousands like me. Me and mine. The people you despise, the people whose beliefs and lives don’t matter to you. But we’re waiting. We’re not leaving you are and we’re staying. No matter how many times you poison the well no matter how many stories that your cronies’ manufacture. We’re Americans. We’re the people who bust our asses everyday so garbage like you can live in castles. We are the slaves without a mention we are the tools with masters  unseen. Too many cigarettes can make you see the truth. Too many voices can cause a revolution. A revolution of words. A revolution of the light we shed upon you.

So if you swallow poison your heartbeat stands still, then stops to usher in our brother death. All welcome and warm.

But we aren’t ready we won’t go we won’t leave.

Not until we’ve burned you down

To nothing

See you in hell. Have a nice trip.

Our 1st Anniversary Albany Poets At The Mission

COME & CELEBRATE OUR 1st ANNIVERSARY WITH US !!! WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 27TH THE TROY POETRY MISSION PRESENTS ALBANY POETS Mary Panza Thom Francis Don Levy At O’Brien’s Public House With Our Monthly Open Mic For Poets & the spoken Word 7:30pm Sign Up 8pm Start STEP UP TO THE MIC: POET BIOS: THOM FRANCIS […]

via ALBANY POETS AT THE MISSION 9.27.17 — The Troy Poetry Mission Troy NY

Resurrection

Looks can sometimes be deceiving.

For every hero there’s a nemesis, and for every genius there’s a nothing. And for every new day there is always a night. The truth is not necessarily what you see or in the moment believe but exists in those things which you have made, created and that stand, that hold meaning. Those things that are treasured long after you’ve left the building or this weary world behind. These are the true works of art, poetry and literature. Our children in both physical & metaphysical, spiritual and living form. There is never an ending to our stories even after we are gone. Every moment is a beginning. Every moment a resurrection.

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~ Talon {R.M. Engelhardt}

#poetry #Talon #art #Troyny

a leaf a stone an un found door

WP_20170805_001 (2).jpg“. . . a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces.

Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother’s face; from the prison of her flesh have we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth.

Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father’s heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?

O waste of lost, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this weary, unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.

 

Thomas Wolfe,  Look Homeward, Angel