A Good Poem Or Poet …

A good poem or poet
is like a good cigar or a
good whiskey. Everyone
Has their own preferences.

~ R.M. Engelhardt ©2023

R.M. Engelhardt & The Notorious Coffee Quote Scandal

My Quote Has Been Shared All Over Creation Since 1994 Because, Well, I’m A Coffee Addict

Damn. ( I’m laughing at the obvious)

And I mean this humorously but:

Generally I’m an open minded writer and I support new and upcoming writers but If I had single dollar for every time someone ripped off my famous 1994 coffee quote I’d be a billionaire by now. I’ve seen it switched around, I’ve seen it turned into (gag) tea etc.boring, gross, lines stolen and thrown in without the smokes blah blah blah

Will someone please tell these idiots to create their own damn words and learn to write? I’m tired of seeing my words unravelled by dim-wits who think they’re being clever( See said inferior plagiarized quote below. No author on Google found or mentioned) Found this ” gem” on Facebook … Twice!

Twits!

Go buy your own damn coffee.
This one’s mine.

And always shall be.

~R.M. Engelhardt. Writer (And Coffee Addict)

Said Inferior ” Rip Off” Coffee Quote Above

Rainy Days” my Ass (Yawn)

~ 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

An Interview With Albany’s Nippertown, July of 2021

Let’s be honest.

2021 was not the best of year’s for many of us with covid still rampant as well as for many of us still stuck working from home. But for me there were a few bright spots. Jai & I were able to create many new books for Poets & Authors at DeadMansPressInk & create a brand new open mic at The Fuzebox. One of the best moments for me was an interview with Jim Gilbert & Nippertown about my latest book ” We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms & Incantations Published by DeadMansPressInk. Dedicated to our girl, our cat Cordelia we lost in April. Life isn’t the same without her.

Best to you & yours in the coming New Year.

*****************

An interview with Jim Gilbert of Nippertown with poet R.M. Engelhardt about the Upstate New York Poetry Scene and about his new book ” We Rise Like Smoke Poems Psalms & Incantations” Published by DeadMansPressInk Now Available on Amazon 2021.

Nippertown Interview With R.M. Engelhardt

DeadMansPressInk & The School of Night Newsletter

To many of those of you who follow or read my work there are only a few that are aware that I run, along with my friend and coeditor Hex M’ Jai a small independent poetry press known as DeadMansPressInk as well as a page called The School of Night Newsletter which promotes the teachings & mysteries, articles and rituals of magic. DeadMansPressInk has a very fun & all inclusive popular group for poets called POETS WHO HATE POETS ON FACEBOOK which has been growing day by day and allows writers & poets to share their work in a safe, secure atmosphere of respect and humor with an eternal ” no trolls allowed” policy.

I hope that if you are a writer who would like to publish your book of pagan based poems ( we also are interested in noir, the occult & the macabre) that you will send us your manuscript or join our group to just enjoy people’s work and share your own. Find us on Facebook as well as Instagram.

Many Thanks. Join Us.

~ R.M. Engelhardt Editor DeadMansPressInk

https://m.facebook.com/theschoolofnightmysticism
The School of Night Newsletter