October 9, 2012

• ElectricPoetry: 10 Best of the Eighties

  

  I posted my “10 Best Series” of poems in 2007 and 2008. This is a repost of the “10 Best Poems of the Eighties.” My poetic output was sporadic in the 80s.I characterize my output on the ElectricPoetry website: “01/12/04 The decade started with alcoholism, then I got religion, had another few short and intense relationships, and eventually grew to be involved in social circles, and the poetry sort of “dried up”. Some of the poetry dating from 1983 and 1984 rank with some of my best work, and for a short while, before forsaking poems in two two year periods this decade, I did write some pertinent and prescient verse.”  In 1985, 86, 88, and 89 I didn’t write any poetry at all. My poems, as with all my writing, are pretty long, and I don’t expect there will be a large amount of comments on this entry. I crave comments and interaction as you must know by now  but the average Xangan doesn’t have the time to read 10 long poems in one sitting. I know a few of you will, however, even if you’ve read them before, so thanks in advance for the support of my diehard poetry fans. If it weren’t for the interaction I get from my poems on these blog entries, I probably wouldn’t even keep writing current poems, however sporadically they appear. I’m always amazed when I write a new poem, and someone will comment that it’s my “best so far”. Actually, I believe the poems presented here are “the best” and it doesn’t matter to a writer when they were composed. They exist for all eternity now, and the sentiments and cynicisms are as important now as when I wrote them.

  “The Same Poem With Different Words”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  March 7, 1980 7:15 p.m. pst

  Volumes upon volumes chart rash important feelings
  Simple thoughts reside in tired minds
  Quick to chart each crooked course
   with crafty cunning dealings
  Leaving bright friend memory behind

  The nymph (she who betrayed me)
   cannot change my views
   And friends I manufacture at my whim
   Nights are spent with yearning
   I shall never feel true love
   And the candle grows ridiculously dim

   The nymph can be forgotten
   Unimportant careless eyes
   And those I know I wish I really could
   Cause love is in there somewhere
   Care is resting close
   And Jesus, will I find her if I should

  Music piles on music suffers dancing pleasure joy
  Everyone is me here in this place
  No matter where reality
   the world is not my toy
  Does anybody really see my face?

   

  “Missed Midnight Kiss”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  August 21, 1980 12:25 a.m.

  You won’t believe it, but tonight ended
   a year-long expectation
  An ironclad creation – of my heart
  The days would last forever
  I’d wait till morrow’s never
  But I never really thought that
   it would start.

  It can’t be true, I cried, but
   somehow true came truer
  I’ve seen you once and who can ever tell
  I’m floating down the freeway
  Never wanting to find the way,
  My feelings, that should ever,
   ever quell.

  Because tonight your smile
   outshone the moon -
  And even tho’ it wasn’t 
   yours was full

  Tonight your laugh, it
   filled the empty
  And everything marked
   later happened soon

  You won’t believe it, but tonight
   mended many dreams
  And even tho’ it seems just like it all -
  Ways do change for the better
  And special times are met for
  Life if we can really hear
   it’s call.

  You must remember this
  My time felt spent with bliss
  Through music, laughs, and talk,
  Through sharing, and your smile
  Makes all my time worthwhile - 
  Even in our
   shared missed midnight kiss.

  You have to understand it’s been
   so pleasant
  So wonderfully pleasant, I want you to know
  whatever happens next
  whatever you say or do - 
  Karen, I’ll be carin’
   for you….

   

  “The Apartment”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  Thursday, May 28, 1981 11:05 a.m. poetry for fools

  The building stands, pipes leaking brown stained blood.
  A dowdy mother in housecoat trudges to the washroom
  Three-year-olders cavort on the stairs, in the
  courtyard, out by the trashbins- satisfying needs
  for friendship with pasty faced elves.
  The same little games are played even as the
  three-year-olders grow up and move away.
  The building breathes. doors open and the fortunate
  sons tread off to work-the others
  toil in their predictability moving around
  the courtyard visiting manufactured
  neighbors-telling stories-how’s the weather.
  The afternoon advances-sun hangs bright
  over pretty divorced women sunning themselves
  while the elves get dirty behind the philodendrons.
  2:30 As the World Turns All My Restless
  Children into a monotonous hum on the 13″
  black and white television sets standing on
  top of 12 year old 25″ consoles that will
  never work again.
  4&5&6o’clock the drones return from work
  and the stereo wars begin. In the
  summer its as if life is back from the 
  dead…in the winter the lives resume
  from behind closed doors
  Over the years the gunshots and yelling
  and fights and policemen and questions
  about whos sleeping with who subside
  into a crazy quilt of boring samenesses.
  People move from apartment to apartment
  like litte backgammon markers trying to find
  the home quadrant.
  There’s a school behind the building and a
  market across the street. These people
  never have to leave if they don’t want to.
  Some of us find we lost the inclination long ago.
  Life goes on. New landlords come and go.
  Old parties become legends. When you least
  expect it an apartment becomes vacated
  and then someone “moves in” who might
  have bearings on your own existence.
  The elves play on.
  The televisions continue spouting their
  advertisements and I sit here watching
  the brown stained water seep from
  under the toilet’s broken gasket.
  Exactly like blood.

   

  “Leaves of Paper”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  March 5, 1982 2:00 p.m.

     
  Falling, ever falling toward the purity, the past
  Preserving present pain with such a flourish
  How can on resolve oneself
  With battered books on lonely shelves
  And drink the water of the times we nourish

  Touching, ever touching hearts of peace in times of war
  Giving us another life to cherish
  I am special so are you
  I’ve never tried to feel so blue
  And cause of leaves of paper I shant perish

   I can love you
   Oft I do
   I can remember sweeter days
  The pictures represent such art
   Recounting somber ways

   I will consider
   Listen now
   I’ve said I’d quite forgotten how
  But leaves of paper can’t quite
   fasten to the bough

  Hurling, I am hurling all my life with such a force
  Striving to touch you and I am hurting
  All I ever tried to touch
  I’ve felt such pain but it ain’t much
  With life through leaves of paper I am flirting

   

  “Don’t Need the Hassle”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  December 27, 1982 5:15 p.m.

  I know I cannot cope with you
  You lied to me and laughed
  I see a shattered demon in the dust.

  I steeled my gaze & knit my brow
  And swore you don’t exist 
  Because I lost the words for love & trust.

  If you would tell me
  What I want
  If I could sell you me
  The pains you’re feeling
  I feel too
  And we are singing
   in a mismatched harmony.

  I’ve said I don’t need anyone
  Because you lied to me and laughed
  Is this what we need to end the fight

  I looked away and shut my mind
  No care to blight my world
  And won’t it be a pity if I’m right.

   

  “Symphony for One”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  January 1, 1983 7:30 p.m.

  Hey girl, come on along, 
  Jump on the wagon feed the dragon 
  sing the song. 
  The melody might be different 
  But the words sure sound the same 
  I may look different 
  Don’t sound different 
  Call my name.

  If you can see through magic 
  If you can walk on air 
  My love for you’s not static 
  There’s a certain feeling there 
  A movement for piano 
  A string quartet for two 
  You can be my music 
  Let me play a song or two.

  Hey friends, come on along 
  Kick off your shoes you paid your dues 
  join in the song. 
  Arrangements may be haughty 
  But the words sure sound alike 
  We’ve shed all sorrow 
  Look towards tomorrow 
  and the like.

  Hey today, I’m ecstatic 
  Sing out the news express my views 
  may be erratic 
  You might just be the answer 
  Though I only see you through a veil 
  Do you in fact exist 
  A dancer in the mist 
  what a tale.

  If a future can frown at a lifetime 
  And a past close its back door to me 
  I will love you for now and the meantime 
  I will feel your genteel ecstasy 
  A poem for the moment 
  Well versed in love’s harmony 
  Prove to me no illusion 
  Open your arms to me.

  Hey sweetheart, come on along 
  Jump on the wagon feed the dragon 
  hear my song 
  Your face might be just so different 
  But my dreams remain the same 
  I may be different 
  But I don’t sound different 
  call my name.

   

  “State of Mind”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  February 7, 1983 3:35 p.m.

  I might feel happy, I might feel real sad
  Think life is ripe, think all the vibes are bad
  Might feel a surge, a rich romantic hold
  Might feel as if my turgid soul is sold.
  It’s all as if I have my own detector
  But the knob fell off of the channel selector
  Don’t send your love to the P.O. box this time
  Because I no longer live in my own
  State of Mind.

  I glimpse the children playing on the street
  No misdirection clawing at their tiny feet
  I claw my brain, a lump climbs up my throat
  They look so happy but I just missed the boat
  It’s all as if I am my own detractor
  I lost the device to measure this important factor
  Don’t look me up if you’re afraid of what you find
  Because I lost the address to my own
  State of Mind.

  I might stay quiet, I might say a lot
  I might think it’s right but the meaning’s not
  Might lose the grasp to my own solutions
  While wading through the mire of the others’ pollutions
  It’s all as if I don’t care what’s correct or
  Maybe lost the keys to my own private sector.
  Don’t call my number cause there’s no one on the line
  Because I’m tearing up the map to my own
  State of Mind.

  “Sober Sarcasm”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  March 30, 1983 7:00 a.m.

  Yes, I kicked out the teeth of convention
  And I scattered the leaves of oblivion
  I drank gallons of wine
  As I turned back the time
  And my future paled o’er with obsidian
  I stamped on the clockface of sanity
  Grew disgusted with cookiecut reality
  Put down schooners of beer
  As I smiled with a leer
  Wouldn’t join at the front with the soldiery

  I’m a mad hatter, my friends and my foes
  I’ll stumble round life on my hands and my toes
  Dailing love on the phone to a disconnect number
  The years fall so quickly I fear

  Watch me laugh hard at the unlucky players
  Paint myself to a corner with layers and layers
  The booze might be gone I’m electric with ease
  but these still are old clothes that I wear

   

  “Song from ‘The Happenstance Hymnal’”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 
  January 4, 1984

  I’ve been standing on the mountain of regret
  Don’t know how I got here
  But it’s much too late to fret
  And it must have been a long road up I bet

  I’ve been lying by the river of remorse
  Don’t know how I came
  But no one pushed me here by force
  And I’ve been crying that the devil got me hoarse

  I’ve been drinking from the waters of lost time
  Know I don’t feel thirsty
  And I’ve yet to feel sublime,
  But my presence in this hell can’t be a crime

  Oh Lord deliver me
  Guide me down the mountain
  Steer me o’er the river
  Find me purity
  Answer all my needless questions
  Without requiring a large fee
  Oh tender Lord please look out for me

  I’ve been talking with the whores of Babylon
  Don’t know how they got here
  But they’ve been down from dusk to dawn
  And the police can’t seem to throw
  them off the lawn.

  I’ve been eating from the tree of sin & sloth
  No one handed me a menu
  But the tree was on the path
  And I know better than to incur 
  God’s powerful wrath

  I’ve been waiting for the end, my friend, you see
  Banging heads to walls
  Bemoaning useless tranquility
  Since I haven’t got the fare to pay the fee

  Oh Truth show me thine hand
  Deliver me from whores
  Cut the hammock from the tree
  Isn’t life grand
  Answer all my heedless questions
  Without requiring a large fee
  Oh tarnished truth remember me

   

  “T.A.S. teen age suicide”
  Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
  May 21, 1984 5:48 p.m.

  Underneath this yellowed pall
   There lived a raging youth; a soul who dreamed it all
  He wore his heart naked
  Exposed to the hurt
   Now it no longer beats it just lay in the dirt

  Underneath this open gaze
   The eyes were once burn bright, a knowing steely gaze
  He saw too much
  Exposed to the hurt
   Now he belongs on his back in the dirt

   This world wasn’t made for our children
   This time is too brutal and scary
   They know they are smarter than we were
   And they haven’t the time to be wary

  Underneath this chunk of skin
   There lived a vital truth, but it did not fit in
  It called out to us
  But no one would listen
   Now it no longer speaks, it’s chords are bitten

  

  The poet in 1986

  ---

  BEHIND THE POETRY: ”Missed Midnight Kiss” encouraged the gal for whom it was written (who had just turned 18. I was 27 in 1980) to not only kiss me. She spent the night and became one of my many ex girlfriends. “Symphony for One” was put to music by a young gal in my Yahoo ElectricPoetry Group back in 2003, but she never figured out how to digitize the performance so I could hear her singing the poem as a song. “Happenstance Hymnal” is STILL one of my own favorite poems of all time. “T.A.S.” was written after I met a gal at a party whose son had committed suicide. (She never read it, however) I was just rereading my own entry here and noticed what I thought was a typo in the line “The eyes were once burn bright” I changed it to “his eyes which once burned bright” and that didn’t look right to me. I looked in the original volume with the handprinted poem and it indeed, was written ”eyes were once burn bright.” The tense is past,”were once”  as is everything else in the poem, and the object is “burn bright” almost as one word. “burnbright” where the adjective is the noun at the same time. When writing it, I probably just “reduced’ the words “burning brightly” for rhythm, although I wrote the thing over 20 years ago and really would be lying if I said “I remember clearly” MFN/ppf

  Posted: October 08, 2012 7:43 AM
  

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