The World according to Poetry

If poetry can represent something meaningful, it is in the way it presents us shared and divergent perceptions of life and the world around us. In “The World according to Poetry” I will present you every fortnight a specific poet who can sway your body and soul, bring you to the depths of knowledge and perception and raise you to the heights of pure beauty and recognition. Where minds can meet as one, where souls can be touched, where bodies can utter emotion and where the spirit can long at last. I present you …

R.M. Engelhardt: the angel from below.

One poet, a world of visions. Dark from above, brilliant from below, haunting yet hopeful … Ten poems from the bottom of the heart and mind … let his poetry speak to you, it will tell you more than I can say.

Poems
WARM MACHINES

In the bar
The doors are closing
It’s time to leave.

It’s cold outside,
The bright red eyes & wasted lines,
Wasted lyrics.

And the sight of daylight,
The empty streets
That remind us & annihilate
We, the subjects of loneliness
Lost in zero-land.

The night before
Seeking warm machines
With engines & hearts unseen,
That something to believe in
Or dream about

Beyond all these places.

Like a movie in the 1980′s
Where boy meets girl
Girl chooses boy
Over the vast amount of
Jocks and pretend beings.

You, now far away
From zero-land
The only kid left
With a soul.

Thinking about fate & destination,
Thinking about that one

That only one, that kissed you

And got away.

Like a movie in the 1980′s.

WarmMachines
Lost in zero-land
The scent of her perfume still
Lingering

20 Years later.

CONSTANT

Constant.

In constant touch. Constant motion constant sleep. In constant contact constantly,
our worlds all separate and yet all connected at once, for … and against. Love that’s not love, friends who are not friends, souls that are not souls. All of these, our lives unauthentic and those which devour the human heart incessant. NOTE: This communication is now dead, mechanical … DO NOT RESURRECT OR RESUSCITATE. Days long past long ago when humans could once speak, words mattered FEEL . What words would you say? Sorry? Goodbye? This is a simulation and not a dress rehearsal for pain meaning “FUCK YOU ! FUCK OFF! . You don’t hear ANYTHING very well now do you ?”,Received by mail delivery system network information I love you I hate you I need you I want you FUCK OFF! You don’t hear ANYTHING very well DID YOU THINK I WAS FUCKING KIDDING???? You obviously don’t fucking know ME very well now DO YOU. YOU now only a simulation and not a dress rehearsal for pain. “I am in struggle with responding to you as I have been from the first contact you made recently”. “Feelings I’d not allowed myself or had with anyone other than two others in my lifetime”. we can not talk, we should talk. I can not handle it. I wish it were different, I want to see you. The Tower card suggests that your relationship may be in crisis, and this is your wake-up call. You can’t go on fooling yourself any longer, and if you don’t break up, you will. “You don’t hear ANYTHING very well now do you”?

Frozen in time, unwanted & untrue. Sender unknown.

Unknown.

I’ll be happy being my responsible self doing the things I love, taking care of myself, and my responsibilities and not having to worry about anyone else in my life and I can be whole again. it is freeing to me to know that I can just be without expectation of myself or anyone else.

It is freeing to me to know that I can just be without expectation of myself or anyone else.

I’ll be happy being my responsible self doing the things I love
it is freeing to me to know that I can just be without expectation of myself or anyone else.

I’ll be happy being my responsible self doing the things I love
it is freeing to me to know that I can just be without expectation of myself or anyone else.

It is freeing …

Freeing…

AN INTERESTING PREMISE

You & I could “ruin”
Each other, she said.

Destroy each-other
In the dark.

Circling like birds
Circling throughout all time

“Accelerating”

As the dance floor spins,

& Sways.

A drink or two
And the taste of her tongue,
Conversation
The stop signs are all gone

And disapear,

From view.

You light her cigarette
And she smiles and says

“Nothing”

But just keeps giving you that
Stare … like you are prey.

Nothing more & nothing less
The ancients all had a word for this
And they called this word

“Hunger”

And they called this word

“Lust”

You & I could “ruin”
Each other, she said.

Destroy each-other
In the dark.

It’s an interesting premise,
That I’m up for…

And then

Salome

Began to

Dance.

ETC ETC ETC In thy breaking heart, obscured,
Silent whereas no one
Gives a “shit.”

Whereas a single voice or one still moment in
its measure linger,
This message, “unreceived.”

Where no amount of time, wine-roses or memories can heal.
As human falls, fails broken, out of reason.
Long letters written, months recorded days, photographs and longings,

And unrelenting dreams.

The cold earth, this cold world
Which still compels,
The embodiment or abandonment, of spirit.

Where all of your magnificent angels have flown, and have now fallen below,

To the pavement.

Love, no longer a poem but only a word,
Too slow to process.

Poet, out of time place and season.
Century… Here.

In thy soul, thy breaking heart obscured, silent.
Whereas no one gives a “shit.”

Etc Etc.Etc.

This message “unreceived.”

A Nocturne for Mrs. Mueller Are you?

Are you there?
Are you still alive?

The faint voice whispers
From behind the wall.

Are you awake?
A fear, a hope

“I’m here stranger”
The reply
To a child

In the concentration camp
At Auschwitz
Where the dead
Say “Nothing”

And hiding behind her eyes
No saviors
As the rain falls down.
Her memories never faded
But only, grew stronger.

For Rilke & his angels
Were not among the Germans
And God was nowhere to be found,
Where eternities
Of the mind
Become years.

But all time passes
And even damage can make
True beauty itself hard
And abuse will make you

“Un-feeling”

That child, that little girl
Now an adult woman
Someone who became
Something “Else”

Who refused;

Refused to live in poverty
And who refused to love just anyone,
Anybody for love’s sake alone.

Heart-less, married & rich

Her only and true passion?

Her garden
And not the tree
Of life.

Are you?
Are you there?
Are you awake?

A faint voice whispers
From her heart
To her mind
In her sleep.

3 husbands passed, all older men
No children, no pets
The rotary club
And a mark, numbers on her arm
That she still covers up.

An empty house
On a quiet street
Then Alzheimer’s.

Are you there?

Are you alive?

Are you awake?

As she now, much older
Sits in an armchair
Staring into space

Where plants fill her mind
Roses and the sound of the radio
Playing old songs she never sang.

Some people recover
And some people die
But some people kill
All the memories in their minds

“To Live”

Are you?

Are you still there?

Are you awake?

Says the little girl that
Could not be saved

As she, now only the body
The gardener can repeat only
One single phrase

“It seems that I killed every bleeding heart that I ever planted”

“It seems that I killed every bleeding heart that I ever planted”
“It seems that I killed every bleeding heart that I ever planted”
“It seems that I killed every bleeding heart that I ever planted”

And no more.

REMOTE “Breathe”

Within you
The celestial bodies

Float.

And the eye opens
What the heart conceals.

Travel by thought,
Destination unknown.

Beyond all gravity
Beyond

The Surface.

Is this just
All a dream?

A vision?

“Awake”

UN-PROGRAMMED

Love?

Life?

Truth?

U said u cried u ripped-down

Down heaven from sky

Because u lied

Because u lied

To yer-self”

Broke all the bonds

As shallow as a lake,

With your see thru made up

Story to break

The heart of one

Man you loved.

To wander in the endless sea

And the land of phonies

And “Fakes”

Fake in appearance

Fake in their beliefs

Fake in their wisdom

With fake human smiles

On parade.

As u think & wonder

Secretly what became of he

Who was real.

The man

Who knos who knos the

Enlightened truth

More than any guru…

Or God.

That some of us will die

Lonelier than others,

But at least

Our fucking words

Were true.

So go back to the land

Of “Happy Flakes”

Where honesty

Does not rule

And money is the only

Real motivation

For a beautiful

“Life”

For I will remain

“Un-Programmed”

THE MASTER OF HEARTS & SPIES

So this is where
you are left.

Broke, but never broken
And yet still struggling,
Quietly teetering

On the edge.

Of something, nothing
The void, the world
In the fortress
Of your own

Survival.

Where hearts & souls all
Come and go and pass thru
The sacred veil of
Their never never lands.

Where they walk the tightrope
Or due the dance, where they will all love
You as long as it lasts
That image that says

“Success”

As they all look behind
The curtain & search for
All your clever instruments
And lie detector tests

And that box that contains

“Your-self”

But they
All of them,
All the lovers &
All the friends
Conceal all their own
Dark secrets, disguises &
Parlor tricks

Which tell you
Everything

Without ever saying
A word.

For I am the master
Of hearts & spies
And I have a file on you,
Thick as thieves &
Dark as night & I
Will never sleep

“Alone”

Or alone

In hell.

Catharsis: In 4 Parts

Tonight.

She is waiting.

You dream in syllabus, questions. And see the lines that others cannot.
And you waltz across the dance floor of the world with verses…and wit. For this moment
Is honest, simple. But does not truly exist, or last

“For-ever”

2.

Muse.

Words, meanings leave & return. Like a dream that you cannot fully comprehend, or
Remember…”touch” . For she is loyal to no one. No man or woman. And always comes and goes as she pleases. Take’s what’s there, and takes what she wants. Or even, what’s just left inside. Alone in an empty room at 2am, you light up another cigarette and merely wait… for her to return.

Like a lover, like a ghost who you’ve never really known. She loves you; she loves you not, but just might care. And when the light of the next morning comes up, and shines thru your windows, you open up your eyes to find her standing there, over you. Waking you gently and with a smile she says “Hey baby… I missed you” And then she tells you more of her beautiful lies. Lines … as always from the start. And even if you leave her she will always find you again. Look for you in a crowded bar or passing you on the street as you walk to work, or even… in your sleep.

3.

Dear Reader;

So let me tell you a story, write you another poem. Because this is what I do, do well and do best. Give me another day, another reason. Give you another reason to smile, or laugh, or just make it through again. Just one more moment. So that you don’t lose hope. Inter-connected as we are no longer mere strangers. Lives, experience & hearts. Because this is what I do, and do best. And there is nothing else worth doing, save this.

4.

So am I the only one who sees her?

There she is.

She’s beautiful and sitting in the back at the show or at the poetry open mic.
Smiling at you from one of the seats. And after you read she has something more to tell you. She wants to take you aside and “Whisper” those words in your ear.

And even after you try as you may to ignore her. She just stands there, one hand upon her hip, looks at you and says;

“This isn’t over darling” “Not by a long-shot”

“You’ll come back to me, you’ll see”

Because you need me.

I know … You need me.

A POEM FROM MY DESTRUCTIONS

And now alas yet another poem from my destructions,

You, witness to and here in new flesh and new skin.

The skin of hero, the skin of snake, the skin of monster, the skin of saint all

Gradually and eventually shedding piece by piece living and dying and

Reinventing the world. Poems, photographs, enemies and the catastrophes

Which perish into the void. Paper, undigested words, mute horses and mad

Nostalgic whores, all reality deficient and nocturnally deaf to the unpure beating heart of man and muse. Reason-religion-idealism-theory …and shit.

The perfect and critical butt-flight of monkeys and the cacophony of idle

Crows who sit upon the fences of eternity passing judgment upon our souls

Until we give in…to emptiness.

But let them all know this;
That Jesus came unabridged with two fish and a loaf of bread, more a poet

Than a precise carpenter and he fed multitudes…

“With hope”

Bio:

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”. His work has also been published by many journals both in print including Retort, Verve, Industrial Nation, Sure! The Charles Bukowski Newsletter, Copious Amounts, Thunder Sandwich, The Angry Poet, Zygote In My Coffee, Full of Crow & many others. R.M. currently lives in Albany, NY

http://www.rmengelhardt.com

(C) R.M. Engelhardt

Lena Vanelslander

Tags: Lena Vanelslander, outsider, R.M. Engelhardt, The World according to Poetry