March 2, 2005

• ElectricPoetry Post: Poetry From 2000

  

  “Belonging”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  © February the 21st, 2000 in the first year of the second Millennium
   

  
  As I retire alone, I feel that I belong
  As I sleep in nature’s peace, I have a feeling strong
  And with a joy like this I know I can’t be wrong
  I shout with renewed joy, and raise my voice in song
  The pains are past, I know at last,
  A peace I’ve known for years
  But never felt
  And never saw
  Through veils of doubt and tears
  My beauty lies
  In crimson sheets
  Her bower a wonder to behold
  And the joy I share
  Is tendered there
  And returned a thousandfold
  You give me love
  You give me hope
  You give me peace and serenity
  If it all works out
  I will have no doubt
  That all will be in harmony.

  
  I know there’s a place
  And a state of mind supreme
  A garden with a fountain
  Shedding tears and founts of steam
  Bubbling with heated passion
  Showering ecstasy, love and memories
  A place with trees and flowers
  And grassy knolls with elves
  A playing with the faeries
  And the love among ourselves
  This is the garden of Allah
  Eden and love and friendship
  Forever
  We will romp there until I awaken
  And the strains of the music cease never.

   

  “Untitled XIV”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  © Thursday March 9, 2000 4:40 p.m. pst

  
  Here I sway about upon my lofty pedestal imploring humanity to listen for a moment.
  Life sends us inefficient obstacles, and we tend to dismiss the wonderful answers which pour from life’s bounty by the second.
  I observe the half hearted attempts at erudition by some of the smartest people I know.
  I embrace the unfettered realities thrown upon me by humanity himself, and he only gets in his own way.
  I tumble into the poetry of the moment, I wholeheartedly
  Remarkably
  Unsubstantially entertain
  The idea of a perfect wholesomeness
  And cater to the whims of the outcasts as they ramble about in infinity.
  Here I fall to the depths of soulsearching amendments.
  Here I slide into serendipity, playing by the wayside.
  I know no other truths save the truth within my psyche.
  I savor no other saviours save my faith in myself and my humanity’s foibles.
  No one listens till their ears hurt, then they try to tell you they knew it all anyway.
  No one came to the funeral of irrationality until they stepped across his supine form in their sleep.
  I am swaying miserably into the wind, harking back to reality’s minions.
  I fell, I got up, I dusted myself off, and I cried.
  It seemed sad, but it wasn’t , and I left my tears in the dust drying.
  I’m full of fortitude, and I’m not forever crying.

  
  “Words Are Failing to Answer Those Questions Again”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  © Sunday, June 4, 2000 8:45 a.m. pdt

   

  I wake up every morning and everything seems the same
  The birds engage in their song, chirping the sleep from my eyes
  I proclaim I feel great love, and I bask in the feelings of perfection
  But real life always sticks it’s great ugly head into the window
  And scares away my peaceful reverie.

  
  The world is not perfect, nor are the denizens
  The idea may be perfect, but ideas reside in ethereal space
  And seldom knock on the door of the reality house where I live this morning
  I want and need, as do the others, but we don’t get our way, and we never did

  
  Harsh, cruel reality writes a different book.
  He keeps different records.
  He laughs at the outcomes.
  Reality holds his candle to my perfection, and it burns.
  Reality snuffs out my dreams and curdles my peace.
  I know life is not at all unclear and insufficient
  I know life is full and rich
  I dream today of a future where I am happy
  I guess I really never thought of happiness before as a destination

  
  Happy and Reality seldom make good bedfellows
  Happy resides in the heart, and reality resides just outside my frame of reference
  The same old worries never leave me,
  They just intensify and retract in better times.
  I am not a vessel into which the problems shall be poured
  I am supposed to be a rock of circumstance, helping people in my stead
  Nothing like harsh reality was going to knock me up the side of the head again.

  
  But it is happening,
  And through it all, I have to make amends with my demons, and
  Focus all the dreams so they counteract the reality.
  Perfection will out of my dreams, and seep ever so unnoticed
  into the waking hours, permeating that dreadful beast Reality,
  Until he calls it a day and departs.

  
  My heart is full
  But my head hurts.

  
  The birds sing,
  And as time advances, I will pause to hear their song again soon.

   

  “Uncertain Legs”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  © July 15, 2000 10:31 a.m. pdt

   

  The colt awakens, barely realizing the situation
  The bright cold light, the licks of his mother,
  A feeling of comfort amidst the hesitation.
  He knows what he has known, and that is nothing.
  He learns minute by minute, achieving fruition,
  Achieving understanding, and perseverence,
  He wobbles a bit, and steadies himself.
  It takes forever, given his memory, to stand up.
  He hasn’t had to do anything this difficult yet.
  His branchlike legs quiver, then buckle.
  He hears the neighs of his mother urging him on.
  Again, it seems like an eternity, he begins.
  This is the culmination of existence.
  The minutes, which drag like hours or days,
  Tick on in unimaginable pain.
  Mother’s eyes are steadfast.
  She nudges his slick side, giving him help,
  But it is not quite the help he feels he needs.
  In but a few moments of life, he knows this is the answer
  To every mystery inherent in this existence.
  He knows he will succeed, even though it takes
  All the will he can summon.
  The legs aright again, and the knees knock to the center.
  Mother’s eyes are wide, and she neighs with glee.
  The colt pushes up on his spindly foundation,
  And stands.
  In a few minutes he gallops across the field.
  He is alive, and free of his restraint.
  He understands everything now.

  (NOTE: These are a few examples of the poetry of 2000, the first “numbered” year of the new millennium.  I wrote 21 poems in 2000, and some were featured on a special website I created for Regina, a gal I met on my second “lovesearch”. I felt a renewed sense of purpose in the year 2000, thanks in part to a lot of the cyberfriendships I was developing through my website, AllThingsMike, and my participation in various internet endeavors. In 2000, the internet was still sort of “new” to me, having only established my website the year before. I spun off the original ElectricPoetry website from AllThingsMike as a separate entity in 2000. It’s hard to believe this was five years ago! MFN)

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