October 14, 2004

• “Insomniac Hours”
  Poetry © by Michael F. Nyiri
  Monday, May 24th , 2004 : 7:30 p.m. pdt

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  red square numerals shining in the dark
  10:00
  closing eyes attempting rest
  but the lids flicker
  like the red square numerals
  on my back,
  cats cry in the night
  soothing sounds like
  cacophanous clatter
  eyes open
  red square numerals
  11:00
  shining
  mocking, silently laughing,
  piercing through my eyelids
  up again,
  to the bathroom,
  dribbling
  upset, awake, woozy
  left side
  right side
  upside down
  eyes open again
  red square numerals shining in the dark
  12:00
  four more hours
  the buzzer will ring
  do I want those hours
  to pass like this
  ?
  the bathroom again
  dribbling
  dousing myself with water
  from the tap
  dare I drink a glass
  ?
  back to the bed’s maw
  open jaws nibbling at my sanity
  red square numerals
  silent but deadly
  1:00
  get to sleep goddammit
  rock a bye baby
  sighs escape like thundercracks
  left, no right, no back, no front
  can’t breathe right
  can’t think straight
  Is this a nightmare
  Am I finally asleep
  ?
  red square numerals shining in the dark
  2:00
  up again, open the door
  the cats are running
  around the living room
  awake and having fun
  I’m not
  I’m dribbling again
  back to bed
  back to agony
  red square numerals seemingly silent
  yet bleeding like daggers
  through my eyelids
  shining
  finally
  falling
  falling
  away,
  don’t know if I’m on my
  side back or what
  goodnight
  something cries out in the
  night
  the cat scratches at the door
  eyes awaken groggily
  red square numerals shining
  3:00
  up, in the bathroom,
  a regimented torture
  a final ironic abusive moment
  sleep finally arrives
  as the buzzer sounds
  4:00
  red square numerals become the clarion
  time to go to work.

  
  

   

  
  

  “Not Superman “
  Poetry © by Michael F. Nyiri
  Wednesday, June 9th , 2004 : 4:38 a.m. pdt

  
  

   

  
  

  Lists of “things to do” hover, heavily, then fall
  With increasing rapidity o’er the hours of the day
  Beackoning Opportunities slowly coalesce
  Into Nagging Reminders that something hasn’t been done yet,
  No matter how many items are added,
  crossed out, attacked, defeated, and rationalized,
  The requests rapidly back up the pipe of purpose
  To clogging quagmire

  
  

  Then the phone rings (again) and it is you,
  “The Wrench” asking about something
  Which isn’t even on the list,
  As if it is the most important piece of the puzzle
  Because it is the only piece you possess

  
  

  As the metered syllables on the white board
  Tend to become nothing more than a can of
  alphabet soup, you wheedle, whine and worry,
  While I try to “fit you in”, you wrench
  Gumming up my works, and making it hard to work for you.

  
  

  I didn’t get that fax, I can’t respond,
  I’m on a timetable, and yet of you I’m fond,
  I’ll try to do it, give me time,
  Can I wait some minutes, is that a crime?
  Your daily wrenchlike requests serve to disrupt the plan
  Even though I like to top myself, I’m just not superman.

  
  

   

  
  

  “Perceived Crazy Actions In Sanity Lie”
  Poetry © by Michael F. Nyiri
  July 13th, 2003 9:38 a.m. pdt

  
  

   

  
  

  Inside, deep, dedicated, heartfelt, I know the feelings are let loose,
  And the pent up inefficiencies of others’ illusions do not touch my psyche at all.
  Oh, they think they know it all and only know what they don’t,
  and I have always sworn that I know nothing,

  
  

  But yet feel all…..
  And each week I read and hear of life’s little skirmishes which result in pain,
  And lingering,
  And death,
  And destruction.
  And each day I feel that I am not a part of this insanity, and that in sanity, I live
  untouched, but futilely feeling of the fervent fevers of frustration that
  Cause the masses to unleash this bubbling anger
  I was untouched perhaps, and then,
  Unknowing and unwanting, the full force of insanity’s blows hit me left right and center,
  I am a malleable dummy, pushed inside out with incredible ease,
  By the purported sabotage inflicted by those for whom I once held respect.

  
  

  The days can pass without knowledge.
  That existence can deny reality is a truth as old as our consciousness.
  I am rife with hurt and agonize now nightly
  Because inconsequential inconsistencies can be set up as emotional bullets
  Which rip my self satisfied facade to burnt shreds.

  
  

  Are those whom I respected yet do not now playing games with my psyche?
  Are they who are clueless to clarity charting the course of my life?
  Are the inmates running the asylum of insanity?
  And, In Sanity, do I live in my skin?
  Or, does insanity live in my skin, as they think?

  
  

  Because they never knew anything anyway. They choose to believe what they see.
  I know I am sanity solidified, shouting only because they can’t hear.
  That is the way it has always been. That is the way it is.
  The clueless and the cancerous cacophany of indifference, laughing
  All the way to smug delight,
  Cannot know truth,
  Cannot know pain,
  Cannot know what it does to me.

  
  

  So I am called by the insane as in sanity I trust.
  “Do you think you need help?” they ask trustingly,
  Unbeknownst to them that the sabotage did not begin yesterday,
  And the ineffectual stupidity of mankind, who documents each tirade
  as if it were insanity’s call to arms,
  And his ticket out of inconsequentialness,
  Because he is smarter than I had thought.

  
  

  “They know how to push your buttons”, they told me.
  “They are hurt by your truthfulness.”
  Truth hurts.
  And I have always thought I could see the truth coming.
  But I didn’t see this coming.
  That is because it is not life’s truth,
  But life’s lies,
  And the talent to proceed will never hamper the truth in my eyes.

  
  

   

  • 7:37 pm
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