It’s with pleasure I present you the work of Federica Nightingale, an unknown treasure in the contemporary landscape of poetry. Some call her writing dark, others ephemere … I call it superb. I can only hope you will enjoy this as much as I did, maybe even more …

STAY AWAKE

Stay awake, my arms call you
And broken is now the breath,
outside there my poor soul cramped
into a gorse bush.
There are lights standing in the
air evaporating,
and a dog’s
barking where the ghosts fade
away along the path.
Stay awake please,
the sunrise is lost
forever,
in your sweet smelling pillow.

SOMETIMES

Sometimes
remain the eyes silently full
Into the deep orbit of an image
they ditch desires

Hollow is the mouth
down on a tempting heat
And still a vein throbs
Snuggling its violet nuance

There are cloudy mornings
out there
And a round sunny hour
which sounds
And corn flowers tickling
my nose
where Gods play and laugh

That fringe on a superb lip
falls for me
Dancing slowly on a lone body
I water
There where no lies grow
And life comes to a rebirth
Again

Wild is a breath
A bunch of ecstatic fire

SENSUAL MOOD

It’s a sensual mood
Hanging from my lips
Roaming
into busy disconnected lies
And I give a pause
to the distance
Smiling
to the wooden desk
Downstairs
You are in the bed
of an empty life
Rolling sheets of hope
around my neck
And still the thought
of my death without
your skin on my skin
Stir
the day
pushing a desire
of madness
in the morning light
This is a very long winter
Honey
A long disappointing chill
upon my shoulders
Please hold me tight
in this life
I’ve got a warm mouth
to swing
there where no sounds cling
but smash the dark
of a lonely tongue
To eat.

SMALL HUNGER

It’s a small hunger
I keep into my angry
pocket,
a deadly pale weed,
the accurate pain
shouting and vexing.
Red roses on my
window-sill are like
blood flaring-up my
senses.
It’s a small hunger
to me, where absence
growls and tears can’t find
a way out.
Just wait for the night to
come,
just a shred,
a short-spoken shot
instead of love I grant

AND REMAIN THE SAME

And remain the same
close to my little soul
searching for rusty thoughts,
lost one day the deep voice,
flowered against the old tree
our pansy.
Keep me away from what
I have been

Keep me

Let me know the secret wish
I care

 Let me.

No more lenses to clean the past,
just a look at the stars,
under our unbelievable sky.

HAVE YOU EVER

Have you ever heard of my granitic soul?
A crooning crown on top, a steel- plated
lace around the neck.

Have you ever seen my watered eyes?
Two pure gems in the middle, a flooding
joy hold in a flock of seagulls flying
to the heart of this earth.

Running against a desperate quintessence,
there I find a floe, a limpid lineage
I descend from as a queen without a king.

And still drops run away, the sky dissolved
in a gloomy cloud where I sit and wait for the
day again, beautiful screen of devotion
in a mist.

THE LAST TEAR

You still pause and suffer while deciding
In the creased holes you add
First one cent
Then one silence
Certain lessons pass through the time            
Here then a sense                                 
Of being afraid to grope among twigs
Like going when staying doesn’t work out
And the air tightens
The throat won’t shout if the night doesn’t knock 
Sprinkled ashes tell about hearts
Flaked, lost and looking away
Again
Again
After shedding the first tear you defeat the last one
In the days to come. 

PICK ME UP

You are sliding and trembling  in me 

Pick me up again from these old shoes
I have owned for  ages
while lullabies fly on top of the tree
looking at sorrow 

I know you are weak today
I know you consider my legs like two liars
running fast away to avoid the truth 
 

THE EMPTY SPACE I HAVE BUILT

The empty space I have built
in the colours of sourish breaths
Overflowing submersed creatures
independant
And they stop
at the only unusual motion that
incises the air
Among the thousands of inclinations
you reach the tones
Exasperated lights with no outline
urge
And the streets don’t believe
the overwhelming weight
They don’t  help the left tracks
It would soothe a tremble to me
if I only could rule my breast’s incipient edema
and the still one of my legs breaking my breath
I unglue a remote ray in my living
I break it down in the sun I know
For I never get lost

 
YOU DON’T HEAR ME

You don’t hear me
Last time I saw you it was
endlessly late
My lips melted
I got  drowned
And the light arose
Glittering and shouting

You don’t hear me
I haven’t seen you for ages
My bed kept your body tight
No longer  clouds above
Just  our skin carved  up on the ceiling

Let’s sing a juicy rhyme
Arms in arms
Kiss to kiss
From silence to breath
 

BIO: I was born in Turin (Italy) in 1964. I actually live in the countryside, in a small village on the top of a hill. In 1993  I  first had my shortstory “La stanza di Giulia”  collected in an anthology and published by Mondadori, one of the most important editors in Italy. I actually write mostly poetry and  some of my poems are visible on the web where I write on several literary sites. My poems have been published in many anthologies and reviews in Italy and abroad. I have a literary blog  http://lastanzadinightingale.blogspot.com/ where I publish Italian and foreign authors. I personally translate from English to Italian. I work as an after- school assistant in a primary school and teach English to children.

(C) Parris Fotias

Parris Fotias: the hunter and the hunted

Allow me a short introduction to this exceptional writer. Unknown but not untalented, far from … Parris used to write under a pseudonym of which so few know the real man behind it. Life, struggle and personal reasons prevented him of bringing his writing to the next level. All said and done he entered a new phase in his life … where being published became an important issue. Therefore he has chosen today, as he will do in the future, to present you his writing under his real name. Where the hunted becomes the hunter, I present you … Parris Fotias

Short Bio

Born and raised in Sydney, Australia – I have lived in the Harbour City for all of my 36 years.

A late bloomer, I first began writing poetry and prose at university but my muse left me soon after.  It was not until some thirteen years later that I began writing again in 2006.

By day I work in the hospitality industry which allows me to indulge in my other great passion – travel.  I am fortunate to regularly journey around the world, immersing myself in foreign cultures from which I draw much of my inspiration.

Many have labelled my ink as ‘dark’ in nature yet I have always viewed it simply as ‘life’.  Apart from being observational, my writing often explores the intricacies and complexities of relationships; with family, friends, lovers and with ones’ self.

Currently I am collecting all my work and preparing it for publication and submission.

Poems

That Concept

Time;
I hate the word.
I hate the concept.
But maybe that is the only answer.

For on a crowded table
With conversation all around,
We sit on opposite ends
Sharing nothing but stolen glances.

So many feelings
Still present, still alive.
Yet all I seem to know
Is that this entire situation
Both frustrates and frightens me
Not because of what was
Or what could have been
But of what it has become.

 Written by Parris Fotias 1994/2006

The Imp’s Prayer

My instincts,
That emanate from my mind,
Hallowed are your thoughts.
You are always right
You always fight,
My heart, as you do my soul.
Enlighten me intuitively.
And forgive me my temptations,
As we forgive those who tempt us.
And lead me not into frustration,
But to a clear conscience.
For you endure my beliefs,
And my faults,
And the truth,
Forever and ever.
Amen.

Written by Parris Fotias 2006

One Day At A Time

I know a girl
Who suffers in her calm
Through the pain of her survival
Her body studied in revolt.

Who wakes each day in darkness
Ten fingers numb to the beat
Her eyes no longer will converse.

Who yearns to run away and hide
From a world in constant tales
Her mind broken by the torment.

I once heard that acceptance
Is the hardest denial.
Yet the paradox and despair
Is that she neither
Beckoned nor sanctioned
This assault upon her being.

And empathy and sympathy
Are just words
Without true meaning
If one is left alone
To endure.
So all I want to say,
All I want her to know
Is that I will be by her side
To aid her in this fight
Against these demons
And that I will be there
For her always
And forever.

Written by Parris Fotias 2007

Destiny

Cool tip
Steel blade
Tepid mark

Pressing
Piercing

Pliant casing divides
Eagerly folding inwards

Jagged edge vanishes
On its voyage
Up and along
My steady arm 

Eyes blinking
In slow motion
Heart beating
Hard but steady
Breathing ceases
Into complete silence

Razor slices
Setting free
Crimson nectar

Bubbling
To the surface
Coating
My pale skin

Spilling
Densely
Slowly

Strokes of fire
Staining my canvas
Bringing me closer
To my destiny.

Written by Parris Fotias 2007

Pride and the Common Man

I see him walking down the street
His stride vibrant yet focused.
His chest swollen in bliss
He walks tall and earnest.

I see the delight in his eyes
His little princess by his side.
Her eager hand wrapped tightly in his
Her wonder inducing honour and pride.

Still
My mind begins to wander
And questions flood my being;
As the years roll by
What shall become of this honour?
Will this pride remain intact?

When black becomes her new pink…
When the words from her sweet lips begin to sting and scald and drip with acid…
When she adorns her flesh with colours that do not wash away…
When her lies become her truth and the words I am sorry daddy no longer satisfy…
When she wears scars upon her body from the battles within her mind instead of ribbons and clips…
When she spreads her legs out wide for strangers instead of her arms to embrace her daddy…
When needles and pipes become her new teddy and dolly…
When she pierces her skin in places which were once inviolable…
When a bottle of bourbon replaces her bottle of milk…
When she proclaims she prefers a void between her partners’ legs than playing doctors and nurses…

I see him walking down the street
His stride vibrant yet focused.
His chest swollen in bliss
He walks tall and earnest.

I see the delight in his eyes
His little princess by his side.
Her eager hand wrapped tightly in his
Her wonder inducing honour and pride.

Written by Parris Fotias 2007

Fade to Black

In this life
My days are filled
With copious sums
Of wasted opportunities.
I am a plethora of disdain,
A surplus of shattered promises.

I remain a pathetic husk
Drowning in my own disgust
Choking on remorse.
Innards twisting,
Head pounding
Against concrete reflections.

It is always dark,
I am always cold.
I feel sick
Waiting for this verve
To fade to black…

Written by Parris Fotias 2008

Misery

The music courses through my being
As I walk through the door
With a heavy sigh.
I feel a mixture of disdain and relief;
The slow songs
Making the air around me
Thick with memories.

I look around the room
And see that the usual suspects
Are already present.
It is Saturday night after all
And I could not have spent
Another night alone.
This is just what the Doctor ordered.

I see Nostalgia first
Nodding and talking to himself,
Reminiscing
About the days gone by.
His chest exhaling steadily,
His animated hands
Seemingly trying to grasp
Invisible moments
From his past
As he reaches for a beer.

Loneliness is there
All by himself in the corner;
Burnt and forsaken.
His hands buried deep within his pockets
Kicking the floor beneath him
His sadness pacing
And dancing wildly
Around his body.

I pass Melancholy and Pathos
Buried deep in conversation
Arguing over past disagreements;
Melancholy takes her time
To answer thoughtfully,
Always considering
Her despondent feelings.
While Pathos becomes
Increasingly emotional
Arousing the sorrow and pity
From within.

Regret waltzes over and greets me with a kiss.
I smile for she is dressed
So out of fashion,
Her clothes from an era long gone.
We share a small exchange
And I sigh slowly,
For her sentences are filled
With the words
Should have and if only

Suddenly a haunting silence
Vibrates throughout the room
As Anger enters the room.
He is never invited
Yet graces the party
With a troubled interlude
Wreaking havoc on all
Before departing swiftly
Leaving everyone else
To sweep up his mess.

It is only then that I see Confusion
Walking back and forth
By the Exit sign,
Shaking his head
Not knowing which direction to head in.
Should he stay?
Should he leave?

At least we are together.
So maybe there is truth in the rumour;
I love company.

Written by Parris Fotias 2008

The Wake

In a sea of black,
The pale faces
Reminisce
About days
Not so far gone.
Friends
Who were once
Called handsome,
Reckless and wild
Are now
Deemed
Over the hill,
Wary and humdrum.

I keep glancing up
At the clock
Upon the bare wall,
As each five minutes
Pass by
An hour
At a time.
I nod
To myself
For the irony
Is not lost
On a life
Taken too soon.

Adversity
Grows tall
Amongst confusion,
Yet tonight
The knowledge
Is clear;
Just as memories
Fade,
This soul
They have come
To remember
Has departed
For eternity.

Nothing
Is left
To rejoice
And nothing
Shall remain
The same…

Written by Parris Fotias 2008

Father Time

Once upon a time
I used to hear the stories
But I never
Took heed
Of their counsel.

I was young,
Brash and invincible
And never wasted
A thought
Upon the inevitable reality
That has now befallen me.
My familiar retort was always:
That could never happen to me.

Yet perhaps
If I had invested
Some time and energy
I would have
Somehow stopped
Or at least delayed
The appearance of
Father Time.
Perhaps
I would have
Made it a little harder
For him to descend upon
My world;
His darkness
Blanketing my being
Like a mortician
Closing the coffin lid
Upon a willing,
Yet unable customer.

So as I sat
Contemplating
My fate
In this alleged
Cubicle of life,
I heard a twenty-something
Full of zest
Step up to the plate
Unzip,
Take a swing,
And begin…

The sound was deafening.
The initial rush
Made me leap
From my porcelain throne,
Startling
Then frightening me.

The force was intense.
Akin to a fireman’s hose
Dousing a raging inferno
Or a bulldozer
Clearing a path
Through a dense forest.

His velocity was such
That he could make graffiti
Disappear
Within seconds
From a subway wall
Without the help of chemical aids.

And from me?
No gush,
No storm.
Just a gentle, steady flow.
One that the masses
Could meditate by
To help them find
Their centred chakras.
Just a little more
Than a trickle
Yet far less
Than a stream
Of consciousness.

So my life is now
Morbidly clear.
With each passing year
This is what
I am resigned to;
My drops defying gravity.

Written by Parris Fotias 2009

Facades

One heart
Two masks.

By day
A married woman;
Blue power suit
Well mannered and mild.

By night
A tortured soul;
White straight jacket
Tormented and wild.

I depart
Each morning
With a kiss…
To work,
To live,
To fulfil promises
Made for love.
The vows still dripping
From my tongue
A lady of my word,
A mother,
A wife.

I return
At twilight
Torn apart…
In mind,
In body,
In spirit.
You enter me
Yet I think of him
For he alone exists
Within my dreams,
My thoughts,
My aspirations.

To justify the lies
I seek comfort
In the awkward solace
That I am guilty
Of no physical betrayal,
Just mental adultery.

So I linger,
Caught in between
Real and unrequited
Love.
Hidden behind
An eternal veil
Woven in silence.
I wear this camouflage
Like my favourite
Pair of jeans;
Black denim
With patches sewn on
The ones that remember
My every curve
My every tendency.

I beg each day
To be released
From this masquerade
And sigh
As I hear the walls
Finally begin to crumble.
Yet as the sun rises
I open my eyes
And realise
That this is just the echo
Of my weakened will
Tearing me in half.

Written by Parris Fotias 2009

© Parris Fotias

Lena Vanelslander

Negativity

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”

Alicia Chains

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