April 17, 2005
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“Peace a Chance”
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
© 1970 (17 years old)
March for a flower
Blossoming in a pasture
Shoot for a bluebird
Flying through the trees
Stop for an hour
Admiring the mink’s fur
Speak for a true word
Bending troubled kneesWhere do the bullets go
Streaming through the stale air
Why do the people die
Falling in the mud
Listen to the wind blow
Turn to them who care
America under sky
Where our fathers trodWhy are there enemies
Why is there war
Why is there garbage
Why strife above
Why not intimacies
Why not care
Why not a new age
Why not love
“APB for the Angel of Friendship”
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
© August 25, 1983 5:40 p.m. pdtTen years ago, as if in a dream,
the Angel of Friendship came to me
I contemplated her as a poetic presence
and then let her leave, you seeWhen the Angel of Friendship extends her hand
You had better believe and hold on
I wrote her a bad poem, then let her go
and the succeeding years
have been boring,
and longWith nostalgic recall, I will view her sweet face
Her ebullience, her somber sad views
But as I sit alone in cathedral silence
No friendly light
shines on the pews.Ten years ago, as I fondly recall
All my cynical seeds hadn’t sprouted
And I made light the encounter
with the Angel of Friendship
A glaring mistake loudly touted.Where are you my Angel of Friendship
Where are you my Candle of Love
I see a dark place in a pasture
And nothing but dark clouds above.The present cannot be defined much
the Angel of Friendship is gone
I exist as a shadow of circumstance
My skin shards will rot on the boneTen years ago, as if in a dream
the Angel of Friendship came to me
I’ve tried in years hence to call to her
I put out an APBThe “you” disappeared in my poems
the tears and sadness all but disappeared
But I can’t find the Angel of Friendship
Once lost
Always lost as I feared.
“Marooned at Home”
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
© September 20, 1993 6:41 p.m.
Does the poetry ever answer any questions
Do words only get in the way?
What kind of situation did I fall in
Did I receive fulfillment today?When I feel we should communicate
We lock ourselves within our rooms
I don’t know why I cannot talk with you
Why I feel these dooms & gloomsI yearned for companionship truly
Through years of wasted wanting and regret
And now I do not know just what I want
My mind just never seems to be set.Do we belong together, sweet one?
Are you the one I waited all these years for?
Or is there something wrong with us
And is this silence what we have in store?I’m always saying the wrong thing
And I don’t really know what I feel
If I get mad at you or perturbed somehow
I can’t maintain an even keelI do want to speak up and be myself
But I’ve never figured out what I want to be
I only know that when you’re not with me
I’m a lonely boat adrift on the sea. 
“Home for the Homeless”
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
© Sunday, March 6, 2005 7:56 am pst
Forgotten fallen unfettered populace
going about a daily routine which is anything but
half don’t want to be here
half wouldn’t trade this existence for monetary wealth
and opulent gloryUnder the chiaroscuro makeup of dust and grime
questioning and sullen faces can hardly be made out
sexless, ageless, raceless beings
hiding in the shadows of respectability
asking nothing and gaining naughtDirty gray head covered by a moldy wool cap,
the bard rails on with tourette’s complicity
his beard nested with insects and dust
his mind clouded by freedom from respectLines on the face of the once beautiful
creased with time’s inopportune misfortunes
Half remembered children which are lost in memory
she pilots the overburdened shopping cart
as if it is a stealth bomberPasty faced elves running through the park
playing with time that means nothing
and learning by themselves only those animal instincts
needed for survivalThe professor used to know the answers
until the questions became too burdensome
and gave way to
wine-soaked obliviousness
a simple answer for eternity’s enmityThey elevate existence to a simple yearning
Although elaborate once effervescent longings
breed deep in their souls
They seem to multiply
(like the flies which hover around them)
as the years
fall like old calendar pages into
the bonfires of oblivion
burning foreverAnd I pass their hungry eyes without a thought
But I sing the broken record of their lives
Thinking of which sad battles they have fought
Oh populace that the wheels of society deprives“Mommy Save a Place for me at the Table”
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
© April 15, 2005 5:10 a.m.
I love you but it just wasn’t time yet
I heard your searching pleas
And I’m so sorry that I had to goIt pains me but my soul still rests in Heaven
I’m gaining strength
But the hours are ticking slowYou smiled at me with utmost care
Your hurt and grief are mine
This is a fact that you must knowAllow for faith in everything
I’m in your thoughts and dreams
In the Universe our love will flowMommy save a place for me at the table
I am trying hard to come back to you again
I may not look the same
Or e’en remember
But I will try as hard as might to ease the painMommy, souls of babies past and present
Are gathered with me praying for your peace
And if at all possible
Sometime soon now
I’ll make it back in time for grief’s deceaseMommy I love you I will smile forever
And if we don’t meet on Earth in this or another life
Someday we will meet
again in Heaven
Ending all your woes and lonesome strifeMommy save a place for me at the table
I love you and I want to help you see
Your love for me
will never be forgotten
As hearts will beat in tuneful eternity
Comments (11)
::sings The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald nostalgically:: Some of your stuff is Moody Blues-y. Must read with more care. Thanks for sharing and enticing us all to go to your other sites.
Altogether now “You know what they all saying, give peace a chance!”
Boy, what poetry here, this is brilliant stuff, the very best, going to print these out to read later!
You have been writing poetry as long as I have I see, I have really gone overboard the last five years, I used to write about 30 poems a year, now it’s over 300!
Enough commenting, I’m itching to read again!
Quite a span here, indeed. You are a writer of many years, and to my eye, your work has only gotten richer, more complex, deeper into the profound paradoxes of life. The last poem scares me a little though – I hope that doesn’t happen for at least another 30 or 50 years! xo
Oh what a wonderful post Mike. I love the ship and lifesaving ring. And especially the poems and let’s not forget to mention the color. It reminds me of my nordic roots. (not hair, lineage)
lisa
Thanks Mike – so worth reading
dear mike,
i know i will always find good writing here. these all speak to me, but i’m particularly taken by the poem on homelessness. hope your weekend in socal has been more exciting than the one in chicago
peace,
lily
Thanks so much for sharing your gift of poetry with us. I love to write, but poetry is something I’ve never mastered. BTW, I’ve read most of your recent posts but don’t always take time to comment. I was especially interested in you entry about cat hunting in Wisconsin, because I was preparing my own post about it. You handled the topic with a great deal more humor than I did–I just fumed! Take care!
Hi Michael,
Thanks for sharing the essence of 1970. While I was reading “Peace a Chance”, I thought, hmmm…very Buffalo Springfield. I hadn’t read the notes below the title yet.
I wish I could find some of the stuff I had written back when I was in my late teens and early 20s. It got lost over years of moving around.
I do enjoy the way you chronicle your life’s journey through your work. It’s intriguing, really.
“Home for the Homeless” paints such a bleak, desolate picture. However, it does it so very well and bleak and desolate are the way I think piece on this topic should hit the reader. It paints a picture and makes a social comment without being whiney or preachy. Very nice work, here.
Have a good week!
Maureen
Mike, these are some excellent works and I find I’m having trouble choosing a favorite. The first one, (from 1970! the year I graduated from high school) is as powerful as the last which is brand new, I see. You have a very good feel for relevance and emotion that are timeless. The latest poem would have been just as moving even “way back when”. I believe I have just run the gamut of emotions in reading these, that is, all of them except boredom. I plan to spend some time at your ‘Electric Poetry’ site soon.
“Mommy Save a Place for me at the Table” is now my favorite of all your poems (that I’ve read). I lost my first baby at 24 weeks, and I like to think of her in heaven, waiting to meet me. *hugs*
Mike,
I have to admit that it is wonderful to travel through time when you compile posts like these. The fact that you put the time and date adds another dimension to your writing all together. To see how your writing style has changed through years – and most importantly what revealed itself as important to you.
For instance that first poem. It reminded me of how you experienced such a different upbringing socially with all the events going on in the world at the time. Then as it goes on, the way society changes … the more things still stay the same.
As always thanks for sharing.
Love & Friendship,
Liz