July 18, 2006

• ElectricPoetry Post

  
  
  
  
  

  "Song About A Man I Know"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  © 1971 (18 years old)

  
  

  
  Lovers little stranger
  Sitting by the roadside
  Hoping all his dreams come true.
  Making up his fantasies
  Wallowing in worries
  Not much more can turn him blue.

  
  

  
  Lover's little stranger waits
  He knows he's just a little late
  He tries so hard to understand his fate.

  
  

  
  Lover's little stranger
  Sitting by the roadside
  Flashing back his life of old.
  Making ups his fantasies
  Wallowing in worries
  Not much more can make him bold.

  
  

  
  Tried but true's too good for him
  His heart is strong but not his whim
  He spends his time alone all feeling grim.

  
  

  
  Lover's little stranger
  Standing up so rightly
  Trying hard to make a start.
  Throwing away fantasies
  Still he stands with worries
  Not much more stands in his heart.

  
  

  
  Lover's little stranger cries
  He waits a while then dabs his eyes
  He lives with all his hows and whys.

  
  

  
  Lover's little stranger
  Sitting by the roadside
  Waiting for good luck to break.
  Making up his fantasies
  Wallowing in worries
  Not much more can stranger take.

  
  

   

  
  

  "Hand Made Down Ma's Waking Pains"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  © 6-11-83 7:45 p.m.

  
  

  I'm feigning my conversations wherein my
  mirror image listens attentively
  to my rambling passages
  and corrects papers
  while I fu*k convention in the other room

  
  

  boats in the night
  pass interminably silent
  shortsighted stumbling blocks out the sun
  of
  God damned irrationality

  
  

  Communication with an answering machine
  is difficult at best

  
  

   

  
  

  "Newspeak"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  © 7-21-83 3:58 p.m.

  
  

  To paraphrase
  All the world's a page
  And all the participants
  Merely tired words
  Words with dog-eared meanings
  illiterate alliteration
  useless musings

  
  

  No need to read unwritten meanings
  in these words
  No need to read solace or rage
  Merely turn the page

  
  

   

  
  

  "Whittle Away A While"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  © 7-21-83 4:35 p.m.

  
  

  Let me teach
  each of you
  all I have learned
  Exceed riches in ignorance
  all duly earned
  Cynical legions respond with a cheer
  What will be left, friends
  when I exit here?

  
  

   

  
  

  "TGIFexistence"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  © September 17, 2004 : 5:56 a.m. pdt

  
  

  Life is a week, reap what ye seek
  Monday is awareness and play
  Tuesday responsibility
  Wednesday assessment
  Thursday regrets and dismay
  Friday fulfillment
  Saturday sublime realization
  Sunday life passes again
  For
  Monday looms over the horizon

  
  

   

  
  

  "the dust of time"
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  © September 21, 2004 : 6:33 a.m. pdt

  
  

  
  the dust of time
  layered archeologically
  on the flat surfaces of secluded serenity
  unseen until a breeze blows
  unheeded until observed
  days and weeks and years
  unnoticed until we choke
  sneezing blowing yet never placated
  settling somewhere else

  
  

  we can dust the time away
  blowing bowing breezing
  time's duster
  whirls the motes within the light
  until they stop in the air
  and then settle
  in another place
  to rest in time awhile

  
  

  the dust of time
  never ceases this layering
  this incessant playing
  these whirling manifestoes
  of existence
  and time's duster
  cannot clean the surfaces
  so the motes swirl away
  until another day

  
  

  we can dust the time away
  but the dust of time
  like the sands in the glass
  like the clouds in the sky
  like the cells in our bodies
  like the stars in the heavens
  accumulates and advances
  choking with missed chances

  
  

  the dust of time

  
  

  ---

  
  BEHIND THE POETRY: "Song About A Man I Know" is a song I wrote in high school. "Hand Made Down Ma's Waking Pains", "Newspeak", and "Whittle Away A While" are all new transcriptions of poetry written in 1983, when I was 30 years old. I was sober during this time, and had lost a lot of my "party friends" and was somewhat alone during this period. I had so many relationships in the late 70s, and then almost none during the early part of the 80s. The phrase "All the world's a page" is a bastardization of "All the world's a stage" from Shakespeare's "As You Like It." The last two poems are from 2004 and have been featured here on the blog before. Although I do like to write more positve poetry nowadays, with age and wisdom in my corner, I have spent a lot of time in my life feeling alone and adrift in this life without a rudder, and a lot of the poetry of the 80s reflects this. The photo in the header is one of my own.

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