The Question

So let us ask the question;

Of transformed galaxies and

Mass produced vanities

Of simple walks and simple talks

Of kings and queens and limousines or

Riding on the bus

And let us ask the question;

Of random death and high school fun,

Of Chinese checkers replacing guns,

Of starving children in the sun and

Monsters on parade,

And let us ask the question;

Of an American government’s slow decay,

Of gods of war and these violent days,

Of a well meaning people led astray

And those who blindly march,

And let us ask the question;

Of the cost, the price

And the wait

 

____________________

 

R.M. Engelhardt

THE POEM REMAINS

The Poem Remains ...
“THE BONES OF OUR EXISTENCE ©” POEMS BY
R.M. ENGELHARDT. COMING IN 2015

 

THE UNCERTAIN MUSE

THEUNCERTAINMUSEBEER.jpg

 

Once

Long ago

She would bring me her

Gifts

 

Decadence

Fine wine

Fame

And Friends.

 

Never ending parties

And beautiful words

Magnificent and dressed in

Black, poetry written and

Cloaked in mystery and

In the eternal darkness

Of the night.

 

And now?

These days

She just brings me

A six pack of beer

On weekends

Sits with me

By my side waiting

Screams at me, nags at me

And tells me to

“Write!”

__________________

 

R.M. ENGELHARDT 2014

BURN

homeless

Burn

by R.M. Engelhardt

in the night
december
the cold wind, the frozen
world

stands still
like an abstract
like a painting

without motion.

without sound.

smoke & the harsh light
of streetlamps, reality
dirt white city sidewalks
and the panhandlers
at the bus stop
telling their tale
their stories

to buy another bottle
or another pint.

all fallen, all once born
children
from someplace

somewhere.

who had once believed
who had once had faith

like “you”

the story of mankind
the story of every past
history, and poverty,
promises…and life.

brother sister child mother
ghosts of selves dying beneath
the light. a last dance, a curtin bow
the only time that we see them
in our eyes…

merry christmas
happy new year

nothing has changed
no more is given other
than what is given
like a greeting or like a gift

you are a saint
you have given him a whole dollar

to eat

you have changed
his life completely,
love and sin, drink no more
the gods are all smiling
upon your soul

but the george bailey in
this story has no clarence
and no one gives a damn,
the shelters are all full
and the angels have all ran

far far away
with their wings
to look after
themselves

peace on earth,
good will towards men

their breath,
still hanging upon
the cold wind and
the smoke of their cigarette
and its burn…

do you have a dollar?
a smoke?

can I be you? warm?
heart beating inside
not realizing
that the man under the
jacket’s hood

is “you”

merry christmas.

peace on earth

good will towards men,

good will
towards men.

Be Visionary

Saint Poem ... Be Visionary

The Visionary …All men should possess a ‘visionary faculty’. Men do not, because they live wrongly. They live too tensely, under too much strain, ‘getting and spending’. But this loss of the visionary faculty is not entirely man’s fault, it is partly the fault of the world he lives in, that demands that men should spend a certain amount of their time ‘getting and spending’ to stay alive. …The visionary faculty comes naturally to all men. When they are relaxed enough, every leaf of every tree in the world, every speck of dust, is a separate world capable of producing infinite pleasure. If these fail to do so, it is man’s own fault for wasting his time and energy on trivialities. The ideal is the contemplative poet, the ‘sage’, who cares about having only enough money and food to keep him alive, and never takes thought for the morrow.”

From The Outsider by Colin Wilson

(Source: rmengelhardt.com)

Why Do We Write?

old leather journal.jpg

We write because the blank piece of paper and the pen are there. We write because this is our addiction and we are proud of it. Our habit, our drug, our crutch. Whatever you wish to call it. We write because since an early age we felt it deep in our souls and in our bones. The poem must be written, the story must be told and the new myths and Gods are waiting for you to bring them forth from out of the darkness and to bring them into the light of being. You are a creator, so create. You are the writer. So write.

 

~ R.M. Engelhardt

Some Day

futurebookoftime.jpg

 

“Some day, after we have mastered the winds, the waves, the tides and gravity,…we shall harness the energies of love. Then, for the second time in the history of the world, man will have discovered fire.” Unless humankind discovers this fire, and uses it to burn away everything that blocks the changes that must come in order to transform the planet into the mirror of divine beauty it is meant to be, it will die out and take most of nature with it.”
~ Teilhard de Chardin

Eclipse

 

 

lunar eclipse

Nothing is there beyond hope
Nothing that can be sworn impossible
Nothing wonderful, since Zeus,
Father of the Olympians
Made night from mid-day
Hiding the bright sunlight
And sore fear came upon men.
[Perhaps written having seen the eclipse of 6 Apr 648 BC.]