Recently, I visited the site of a fellow poet, Eric (e Halcyon) who had written an excellent entry on his blog titled "What is Poetry."  When I left a comment on his entry, I provided the link to my Chronological Poetry website, ElectricPoetry.  Eric asked if I would post my "10 Best Poems" and I thought that was a great idea. I haven't "quality assessed" my poetry in a long time. I've written over 800 poems by now, and while attempting to compile a list from the "beginning", in 1967, I noticed quite early that I would never be able to narrow it down to "just 10" favorites or "best of" poems. So beginning with this entry, I am going to display my 10 Best poems of each decade. The first decade in which I wrote seriously was the Seventies. I believe all of these poems have possibly appeared on this blog before, and I deliberately did not include any of the "epics" which take a long time to read. For those of you who are longtime readers, "Visions" and "Confrontation With Reality" are a couple of  poems here that I don't remember including in any blogposts lately, at least. "On Poetry" was just recently shown here. The second poem, "Like Ships That Pass, etc." remains my own favorite poem of everything I've ever written. I'm always amused by the comments I receive telling me that I've "grown" as a writer when comparing some of the early stuff to present poetry. I sometimes wonder if I didn't "date stamp" them showing you, in most instances the exact minute of my history when I composed the poem, if anyone would be able to tell me how old I was when writing a specific poem. Without further ado,  Eric, and readers, here is the list of my "10 Best Poems of the Seventies".

"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 knees

Where 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 trod

Why 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

"Like Ships That Pass Etc."
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
1971 (17 years old)

We come here every day
And sit and stare
And work
And occasionally I steal a glance at you
And you look back.

Then we turn away
To what we were doing
And concentrate
And feelings pass through our heads
And we don't know what it means.

You are so beautiful
I say quietly
I curse
And watch you patiently never knowing
That you watch me too.

We come here every day
And we wonder
Why we falter
In grasping each other's emotions
Then we turn our backs again.

And silently cry.

"God Proved Himself to Me"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Dec. 17, 1973 12:00 noon

Your house is a sanctuary, as is the very mind:
Being is a sanctuary for others, as well as self.
I am a mindless innocent, as are all others
Redeeming values are valueless to some
I cannot live without the touch
of God, be it through a
Spiritual Revelation,
Or simply by a touch
of someone who cares.
Bibles, notebooks,
Sunday Choirs are
meaningless without
a true awareness
of Spirit, a thorough
knowledge of your own
Personal God, no matter who
He may be. My Prayers and
Yours may have different words,
But they are essentially the same
Prayer. My God and yours may have
Different names, but they are certainly
The same God. Others will try to
convince, but they might only be
trying to convince themselves.
As long as we know God
As long as we care, we
are saved, and we
need no further
.Proof.

St. Matthew Chapter 7, Verses 1-5
Peace

"After the Last Love Songs"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
January 4, 1974 9:45 p.m.

Yes, some can turn to everybody else,
Pretending they're extremely extroverted,
masking all their hopes in return for a date,
But as I gaze upon
all the young girls
With their inward smiles and
locked-up diaries, I find I'm looking for an open
book-
Not a page on Saturday night,
But a novel to peruse with my existence.
I will find her someday
But until that time I'll keep trying,
Wistfully writing my last love songs to her
And hoping someday she'll pick one up
and read

"Visions"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
November 26, 1974

In obsessive moments I can vision
All the world and all it's thoughts
Every rustle leaves can murmur
Every corner of the mind
I can stand on memory's tower
Shouting silent wordless hymns
Reaping muddied harvest fruits
And picking leaves off barren limbs

While in states where minds can wander
Notwithstanding mortal pains
I will find I seek no other
Perfect state to hail my gains
Yet in perfect worlds while wand'ring
Realism breeds decay
When we ponder bout tomorrow
We forget the world today

As the realistic dons it's coat
Of rusted dreams
Shatters light delusions with it's
Realistic schemes
Finishing our candles when they
Burn but can't be seen
Tarnishing our futures, always
Damaging the sheen.

I can hail my revolutionary
Carriage of the mind
And in it travel everyplace
Where I dare find
The doorways where my thoughts
Will travel, heeded only by
The Wind.
Yet the realistic barriers
Will serve to let the carriages
Tarry on their way to perfect peace.

"On Poetry"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
December 27, 1975

The words escaping from my lips
Have seen the light of day before
The apple of my love's delight
Has never shown it's core.
And as I read those words I wrote
They seem to mean less now-
For as I have more things to say
I've just forgotten how.
I'm all mixed up inside, you see
Though I've said that too, I know
And as I sit with turbulent mind
My words find it hard to flow.
I cannot say why I want to scream
Or why I'm crying too.
Or why I think I'll never make sense
To anyone else or you.

"Reading Me Like a Book"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
January 16 1976

Could someone remove the tattered binding
Staining my yellowed pages
And read those words which once made sense
But now seem like collective gibberish

Oh, but for a moment ponder,
And recite those faded memories
And languish in the feelings of
Old emotions

Then read me- touch my skin
And rattle off of how I'm deeply
etched
Of how the poetry sends thoughts
to heaven
And the world is only a resting
place for my desires

Write a book report about me
Take it to school and get an A
Because it was an easy novel to read
Descriptions on every page
Excitement in every chapter

They skipped the parts that were
really harrowing
And relied on heavy tearjerkers
about love and doubt

It's all there on paper
So read me like a book
Because I've tried and failed.
It's all in a foreign language
The syntax is all wrong

I've asked you to do this
Because I've forgotten how.
Look in my mirror and tell
me what I see.
Listen to my voice and tell
me what I hear.
Feel my heartbeat and tell
me why my hands are outstretched

Read my final chapters
Because I am afraid

Did the author understand what
he had written?

"Confrontation With Reality"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
December 12, 1977 9:00 p.m.

I'm leaning on emotions
I don't understand commotions
Which rely on people
Comprehending nothing.

I grasp for greater notions
As I gulp confusion potions
And if I call to people
They don't understand my pleas.

I can tell that I am losing
And I'm clouded with confusion
I can see and then
I can't see where I'm at now.

The confrontations with reality
Are lacking in vitality
I am reaching
But I fall with bended knees.

My thoughts are floating higher
And they'll fade right in the sky or
They will fall to earth
And no one will want to listen.

I'm leaning on emotions
I don't understand commotions
And if I call to people
They don't understand my pleas.

 

"Where can we find the love poems?anymore"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
December 13, 1977 11 a.m.

I've scaled the tallest peaks of yore,
And crawled till Sol had lost her rays
I conquered armies by the score
All I'm left with are my cliches.
The moment's meditations
Expand past finite time
I lose recurring visions
No one to solve this crime

In speculative, romantic years gone by
I cherished dear my inclination
And now, I fear, I breathe a sigh
I'm left with no infatuation.
I once wrote long ago
"Hey love, don't pass me by."
Where does all this romance go?
I wonder as I cry.

I wandered through the forests vast
And suffered pains of unrequite
I've accomplished much in poems past
Now there's no gallantry left in sight
I wrote so long ago
"Love, talk with me a while."
I guess she's gone forever
I feebly attempt a smile.

"A Personal Note"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
September 29, 1978 7:15 p.m .

"poetry of sorts"

There is a moment
A precious moment
When the mind will choose to linger
And the heart will charm the mind to do what's best
And at this precious moment
This bright and precious moment
Love will shine and take care of the rest.

I've never felt this moment
I've never felt this moment
I've never been as much in love as this
But I felt it when
You touched me
with your kiss.

I know they say that love can move a mountain
I know they say that love can blind the sun
But even though I do believe
What they say that love can do
I never felt it till I found the only one.

There is a feeling
A precious feeling
Where you cease to care what's happ'ning
And your heart commands the timeto do what's best
And with this precious feeling
You don't care what you're feeling
As you let love take care of the rest.

I've never felt this feeling
I've never felt this feeling
I've never been as much in love as this
But I felt it when you touched me with your kiss.

I know I've written reams that say what love is.
I know I say that love is what I feel.
But even though I always thought
That what I thought was true.
I never knew it till I found out it was real.