TEMPUS EDAX RERUM~ Time The Devourer


What was once in this world  just considered impossible or even science fiction has now become a reality. We have lost so many human lives in such a short amount of time and we have seen our leader’s insincere, disturbed &  selfish reactions to it. We have all watched the news and are all now quarantined/forced, let alone reminded every single day of fear, disease and death. Needless to say I’m angry and I will now and until the end of my own days (no matter how long those days may be) will continue to write and as witness create the words that must be said and say what should be said in these times and I encourage all my friends & fellow writers to do the same.

Because if we’re all going to go down?

Then go down swinging.

Stay Safe.

~ R.M. Engelhardt


It’s Official. Poets & Writers

It’s Official.

After many years of publishing, writing and creating groups and poetry spoken-word events such as Albany Poets, Vox, The School of Night, The Albany WordFest, The Troy Poetry Mission and many others I’ve finally been honored with my listing in Poets & Writers.

Thank you.

Poets & Writers R.M. Engelhardt

#rmengelhardt #albanypoets #poetsandwriters #gentlemanoutsider

The Bones of Our Existence, A Journal 2046 Coming March 15th …

In the dark times
Will there also be singing?
Yes, there will also be singing
About the dark times.”

—   Bertolt Brecht

The Bones of Our Existence 2016

R.M. Engelhardt‘s new book The Bones of Our Existence, A Journal 2046 will be revealed March 15, 2016 online and is “an entirely new concept in regards to the way the book is to be released as well as to be presented.”

This book will be absolutely free to the public and is one man’s journal of poems set in the aftermath of the post-apocalyptic future of 2046 written by an unknown survivor who in the forms of prose and poetry looks back and reflects upon his life, loves and battles (within and without) over the last some 40 years.

The book is part science fiction, part humanity and even part Thoreau, but mostly it is the memoir of a man, who like the future we all thought would get better, has lost his way but who still believes that the words, our souls and our voices, poetry still … and will always matter.

Look for this and other book related news here at http://www.rmengelhardt.com



If tragedy = permission
If love = desire
How much we could have learned.

If knights could have defeated dragons,
steadfast, strong and true, I would
have been all of these things for you.

But love thee, love thee not,
cancel my thoughts beside the vast
cataclysm of unwanted dreaming.

And here in the dark my existence still
lingers for the spark which you have
ignited once more “abandoned”


The Silence Falls …

R.M. Engelhardt … On Poetic Diversity




Concealed, my many angers lay in my heart before

this hour as brown seeds ripen within the apple-core,
and I was always certain that, sword in hand, a friendly
strong angel followed behind me, an angel to defend me.
But when, one wild dawn, waking, you see your whole world crumbling
to dust and must go forward confused, a phantom fumbling
and all but naked, your few belongings left behind,
then you will find arising in your lightened heart, a refined
and musing, humble yearning, laconic and mature —
if still you can rebel, it’s not over your own sorrow
but for a glowing, distant, sweet freedom for tomorrow.

Positions and possessions I’ve never held and won’t,
but spare a moment’s thought for this wealthy life: I don’t
concern myself with vengeance, my heart is free of rage,
the world will be rebuilt — and, although this ugly age
has banned my words, they will yet ring out beneath new walls;
alone I must live through all that in my time befalls
me knowing that neither memories nor magic can defend me;
I will not glance behind me — above, the sky’s unfriendly,
and should you see me yet, turn away, my friend, and go on.
Where in the past a mighty protector stood behind me,
the angel might be gone.

Miklós Radnóti















These days


Calls themselves

A writer


But unless

You have spent

Most of your life

Searching for

The perfect words

Unless you have lost

Hours, years & moments

Of sleep, unless you have

Stalked, loved every image

In your mind and have

Chased it down like

A mistress, or a woman just

Out of reach



You are not

A writer


Unless you

Have truly

Bled the ink


And if you

Are serious about it

And it is your only ambition?


You will.



R.M. Engelhardt 


Follow The Words …

rmengelhardt.com poet

How can we live without our lives? How will we know it’s us without our past? No. Leave it. Burn it.”

~ John Steinbeck . The Grapes Of Wrath

Follow The Words …

Follow The Words …

R.M. Engelhardt Poet~Writer, Albany, NY http://rmengehardt.tumblr.com Albany, NY based poet, writer R.M. Engelhardt has published several books over the last decade including Nod~Logos~Alchemy~The Last Cigarette: The Collected Poems of R.M. Engelhardt & others. His current experimental book of poetry & prose is called “Versus-Lexikon” A poet & writer, Engelhardt through his ideas & visions has helped to create a large amount of the Upstate, Albany, NY spoken word~poetry scene and is the host of “SAINT POEM READING SERIES” an Open Forum-Mic For All Poets held every 3rd Monday of each month at The Upstate Artists Guild (UAG).His work has also been published by many journals on the net & in print including Retort, Verve, Industrial Nation, Sure! The Charles Bukowski Newsletter, Thunder Sandwich, Fashion For Collapse, 2nd Avenue, The Angry Poet, Danse Macabre, Full of Crow & many others.

UnSung Poets: Maxwell Bodenheim

Maxwell Bodenheim

Maxwell Bodenheim

Birth: May 26, 1892 
Death: Feb. 6, 1954 




Blinder than oak-trees in the wind
Endlessly weaving sighs into a poem
To sight,
He sits, the light of one pale purple lantern
Seeping into his dream-hollowed face,
Like floating, transparent words
Pale with unuttered meanings.
He mends a flute and sighs as though
Its shadow leaned heavily upon his heart
And told him things his dead eyes could not grasp.

To One Dead


I walked upon a hill
And the wind, made solemnly drunk with your presence,
Reeled against me.
I stooped to question a flower,
And you floated between my fingers and the petals,
Tying them together.
I severed a leaf from its tree
And a water-drop in the green flagon
Cupped a hunted bit of your smile.
All things about me were steeped in your remembrance
And shivering as they tried to tell me of it

Novelist and Poet. Once considered a leading modernist author of the early 20th Century, he is credited with introducing the spirit of French Naturalism into American Literature. His novel “Replenishing Jessica” (1925), a brutally frank tale about a young woman’s sexual liberation among seedy bohemians, was the subject of a famous obscenity trial that helped loosen censorship restrictions in the United States. When the court ruled in Bodenheim’s favor, New York City Mayor Jimmy Walker concurred with the quip, “No girl has ever been seduced by a book.” Bodenheim was born in Hermanville, Mississippi, and moved to Chicago with his family in 1900. There he became the center of a literary clique that included his good friend (and later enemy) Ben Hecht. His first book of poetry, “Minna and Myself” (1918), was praised by Carl Sandburg, William Carlos Williams, and Conrad Aiken. In 1920 Bodenheim settled in Greenwich Village, New York, and lived there the rest of his life. During the Jazz Age he was called America’s “King of the Literary Bohemians” and was notorious for his drinking, feuding, and womanizing. He was said to have resembled a young Kirk Douglas or Pat Riley, and women apparently found him irresistible. In one frenetic year, 1928, two women killed themselves after he dumped them, and two more attempted suicide. (A fifth ex-girlfriend died in a subway crash, her pockets stuffed with Bodenheim’s love letters). Despite all this dissipation he was a fairly prolific writer, producing 13 novels, 10 volumes of poems, and the memoir “My Life and Loves in Greenwich Village” (1950). His other works include the poetry collections “Introducing Irony” (1922), “The Sardonic Arm” (1923), and “Against This Age” (1925), and the novels “Blackguard” (1923), “Naked on Roller Skates” (1930), and “New York Madness” (1933). Bodenheim’s reputation declined after the Great Depression and by the early 1950s he was a homeless derelict, selling poems for drinks and panhandling. During the freezing New York winters he made his much younger third wife, alcoholic former journalist Ruth Fagin, prostitute herself in exchange for shelter. This activity cost both their lives. On February 7, 1954, the couple were found murdered in a dingy, heatless room; Bodenheim had been shot twice, Fagin stabbed to death. The confessed killer, Harold Weinburg, was judged incompetent to stand trial and served six years in a mental institution. The crime made Bodenheim news one last time, after which he receded from history. Today his books are out of print and he is unjustly remembered only for his dissolute life and lurid demise. (bio by: Robert Edwards)

Cedar Park Cemetery
Bergen County
New Jersey, USA