R.M. ENGELHARDT

POET WRITER AUTHOR

2 Poems

R.M. ENGELHARDT POET AUTHOR WRITER

MICHAEL

angel-wings

Wednesday.

Your keys were stolen by the devil; she used them to open all the doors of

distortion and sound, to turn out all of the lights living in the waking moment when

all of the young gods had grown old. Club Extinction, where life is blood & pain.

Reality, a new dialect of language & seasons, harmonies of invention. A new

industry of human consumption. Where did you leave those keys? You had

everything to gain and nothing to lose. You had the emptiness of an over

agonized poetry and a religion of your own that served the one. And in the dark

you wept cold bitter tears for a god that never cared or even remembered your

name. It was as if all of the life upon earth had just vanished in a moment or had

suddenly developed an expiration date. Hiroshima Mon Amour. Goodnight &

goodbye. Still hiding behind all of your intellectual armor, still fighting all the

infidels of time, the thought Gestapo and the killers of the sacred word. The

emperor of ignorance and all of his angels of destruction still pretending to be the

heroes, like the dead skin flaking off ourselves to become the new. But you

remained timid, docile. Stood back & behind and watched from up on high while

all the rest of the world attended to their dark responsibilities techno-fucked by

the man to become the last piece in a puzzle of intricate nothingness, the

universe. The dead phallic worship of a ghost who can’t find his own way home.

To be mortal, to be human to eat, to sleep, to shit….to fuck….to love. With your

heart, you’re head and your balls. To feel when within the night maybe you will

think of daylight, a longing for some long forgotten stranger or hope. To want

something that means something, or something that just matters. For somewhere

beyond the sea the singer sings about you and me but leaves out the part where

you became a pain in the ass. And I remember the day that the romantic died

and became the angry man. Was it suicide? Or was it murder? I guess we’ll

never know. Because when you fell the sound came down deafening like some

overpowering pop overture upon your knees and you finally came to the

realization that you are nothing but a moth to the flame in the afterlife, another

peacemaker sent gone bad. A transcendental agent of the temporal wake who

can’t remember even who in the hell he is. Wednesday… your keys were stolen

by the devil who sells real estate on the side and who can suck on a soul like

there’s no tomorrow. Make a note; never do shots with the devil, she’ll get

everyone else killed and will make you question your own existence, not to

mention, she’ll break your heart every time, in every time, if you just give her

half a chance.

eyess

IN CLEOPATRA’S EYES

“And all the light of the world surrounded her, and in her eyes there was

salvation. As the world and she slowly drifted off to what seemed like a million

miles away. Where all time stopped, streets seemed empty. And the world was

no longer there. And in her eyes there was still beauty, light…salvation”

‘How did you get here?’

I ask.

She smiles politely, and then says,

‘Time”

She had to cross the River Nile & a few other places,

Made a few deals with the Gods, and the Oracles and had to apologize just to

get the night … ‘Off’.

A few past lives & a bottle of wine,

But this time without all the poison.

‘I’m just sick of passing romances’

She cries, then smiles at me like a cat and asks; by the way,

‘You don’t know a guy named Mark Anthony … do you?’

To which I reply ‘No, not at all.’

As she touches my hand and stares into my eyes unwavering.

And then says ‘Thanks’.

Seduces me with all her wiles & and all her false innocence,

Her beauty still there, lasting & full of centuries of lingering pain

And hope.

And then she talks about her job, her life and all of her endless

Responsibilities. Asks me how my day went and wonders if she will ever stop

being so wild, and one day finally settle down

With a couple of kids … and a house.

Tells me about a number of all her failed past relationships.

Not based on love but only on power, appearances & success

That never ever quite work out.

And then we talk about the pyramids, empires and poetry,

Says she likes jewelry and wears a scarab necklace that she tells me that she

bought … at Macy’s.

But all the while I still keep staring in those eyes,

Where all memories and all histories last but all finalize, as they take me off

guard and once more willing to take another chance.

Knowing far better, than I should.

As we walk into the her bedroom, her skin like ivory

A beautiful tattoo above and yet below covering the

Length of her back, and her long black hair that sweeps across my body as all of

my angels watch.

For in Cleopatra’s eyes

I remember all time

Like emeralds

In the darkness

Shining in their light

Where I too tonight

Shall dream of all the mysteries

In this moment that is mine

Stronger than any romance

Or love

Now faded.

____________________________________________________

 ~ R.M. 

 

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2 thoughts on “2 Poems

  1. Your imagery, metaphors and diction make me dizzy. Wonderful and poignant poetry!

    Like

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