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The Poetry of 2009

In 2009 I wrote twenty-one poems. 

 

 

"This Moment"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

January 2, 2009 5:40 a.m. pst

 

 

In a moment everything can change

Good can turn to bad

Familiar becomes strange

 

For the moment all might seem as bliss

No one predicts their moments

Or what becomes of this

 

Living in this moment doesn't tell what's next

To live within the moment though

Will give us perfect rest

 

For the moment everything is fine

Breathe deep and relax

No need for sadness or to whine

 

The moment turns we know not when

It might play through

Or change around the bend

 

In a moment one can lose a life

A time of greatness

Can turn easily to strife

 

In a moment one can breathe a sigh

For as the moment passes

Good luck is surely nigh

 

No one can predict the future

Nobody should dwell in the past

In a moment it all might be different

Or this moment might long truly last

 

 

 

"Poem For the New Year 2009"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

January 2, 2009 5:57 a.m. pst

 

 

Change hovers over the horizon announcing her presence

Wispy dreams of a better life 

or perhaps doom spiraling up into my presence

 

Change is a constant

She might never look the same,

nor does she announce similar pursuits

 

Her cloak contains many colors

Sometimes we see only the dark colors

but they hide bright ones underneath

 

Yet for all the instability of Change,

she is sometimes a facilitator for goodness

mercy

and

love

 

Change can be frightening 

and soothing at the same time

One can become imbecilic in her presence

Yet one can use her fickleness

to his advantage

 

The bear went over the mountain,

but for over 15 years I have stopped to admire what the bear left behind.

At each possible turn of the page

I keep my eyes glued to the words with which I am familiar

The bear's presence is sublime,

but I don't know if he found what he was looking for

 

Have I found what I was looking for

as I sit motionless in my memory?

Have I become fulfilled, living

moments as they happen,

alleviating pain for pleasure,

even as the pain advances slowly and steadily?

 

Change doesn't care about me

Change simply hovers over the horizon,

laughing at my incomprehension.

The only thing that stays the same

is her presence

 

I hear her laugh, and pray that she laughs with me.

The house of cards will surely fall.

The winds of Change are a hailstorm of uncertainty

 

For the moment, this moment, I am serene,

Dense as a rock, ingrained in my solidity,

Feeling no pain, for the moment, as I breathe

 

Change remains hovering silently, except for the occasional chortle,

And for the moment, I chuckle back at her, 

I am embracing her inconstant visage

Enlarging my meager vocabulary

to encompass her volitale ideas 

I do not need this rock hard conscience

I do not need this irresolute moment

I might just need to reach out 

to Change and let her guide me down the path

 

While she laughs,

And while I meet the bear 

who regales me with tales of adventure and mirth

 

Change hovers over the horizon announcing her presence,

And I invite her in and give her a cup of steaming sweet tea

so we can discuss our options

in this changing world of ours

 

 

"Upending Expectation Irrational"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

3/10/09 6:26 a.m. pdt

 

Experience elation in error

Even darkness comes to rest at the foot of immediacy

Catalog life and settle back

Slide the meter closed and open up to others

 

What was that sound I can't recognize?

Where is that memory I misplaced?

Is recognition what I finally realize?

Did I run too fast and yet still lose the race?

 

Experience disaster without borders

Even light breaks over the final doorstep of doom

Turn the pages of proficiency

End the book on a light note and retire

 

Words don't flow as from the waterpipe of wellness

anymore

Thoughts stay racked in the brain, unsettled and unwary

Positive outcomes battle with weary dillemmas

And nobody seems to win or lose

 

I've lost youth and innocence

I've gained experience and shame

I've written much but to what end?

The typewriter of my soul has a broken carriage

and the computers of youth's yearnings

slowly drain their hard drives of memory

 

Experience elation with fervor

Darkness and light, positve battling weary

Close the door and turn out the light

Rise with the sun and smile

 

Everything is going to be all right

Eventually

Even now

As the dampened sounds of uncertainty chime forever

 

 

 

"Love Notes and Reason"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

3/10/09 6:40 a.m. pdt

 

mindphotos snapped seemingly aeons ago

a little tear at this corner and a fold there at the top

faded memories rush rattling reasonable 

that gal from highschool is a grandma can't believe it

electric effervescence 

bubbling up from deep inside the soul

capture clandestine convocations

from the past

envelopes with yellowed adhesive

which fails to stick to the story 

from inside fall pages signed 

"love," and filled with missed opportunity

 

still bright dancing greeting cards 

announcing inert holidays 

and damaged relationships unheeded 

forgotten dalliance

can't often remember the reason for the sentiment

saving the slightly misbegoten memories

and waiting for reason to 

toss them in the trashbin along with youth

 

old girlfriends smile from their wallet photos

the wrinkles don't show up with their yesterdays

careworn histories recited rote 

as each inert holiday passes by again

 

grandbabies giggle at the inconsistencies

all innocence beaming hopefully

 

 

"Emergence"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/8/09 7:00 a.m. pdt

 

Nervous anticipatory gestures

Foot wigglings

Short breaths

Mindgames in the head

 

Excising senses of dread

 

Fusilades of feelings

Antic meandering mania

Completely erratic

Becoming awake and aware

 

Gulps of warm passion to share

 

Inertia overcome

Surrendering stasis

Get up and go

Time for a change now

 

Got to get back somehow

 

Sense surrounds with

Plentiful pervasive plans

Arriving again

Sudden sprite resurgence

 

This year yet another emergence

 

 

 

"Pages In The Book of Life"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/8/09 7:13 a.m. pdt

 

The questions which bubbled to the surface years ago

Burst like exploded party balloons and fast disappeared

Or so I thought as I stumbled through life to and fro

Nothing was as bountiful or as distressing as I'd feared.

 

Each annum passes with innocuous abandon

Each page of life's book falls away and crumbles to dust

The results of yearning innocent interrogatives

Hardly keep company with our minds as they must

 

The secrets and lies spouted blithely without care

The sad precautions which turned their backs on us all

Heed not the dappled dalliance of time's custodians

A light breeze reverbrates and resonates throught the pall

 

I wish to be a gifted child, filled with hope and promise

Again, as in the past, propelled with wonder by my peers

But the past occurs only in those crumbling pages

And no amount of glue or tape will bring back those lost years 

 

Observation and insistence, gleeful afternoons without pain

The present holds promise and hope even as the hours fade away

False senses of answers pour down from the exploded bubbles

And another night pure in darkness will encroach on the day

 

 

 

 

"Xangadon"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

(with apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

4/8/09 7:44 a.m. pdt

 

In Xangadon did bloggers numerous

A stately pleasure site decree

Where waters from the river of time

Flowed endless in a rapid climb

Into the wordless sea

 

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which

Collected the words of these bloggers' thoughts

Filled at a wondrous fever pitch

Fulsome words, ebullient, rich

 

A mighty fountain of blogging beauty

Of boasting bombast

Of innocent questioning

And wisdom forsworn

Burbling wordling wonders

Art, literature, pictures which say a thousand things

All roiling round the river of words

 

Xanga looked mid this tumult to the depths of

wonder, amidst the perfect fount of words,

Subtle skirmishes, all out war,

Reverbrating richness

Rallying recourse

The collected yearnings and turnings of mankind's past

The substantial questions and benificence of 

mankind's future

The dome of blogdom, constructed of irony and happenstance,

towering above blind circumstance,

eliciting many comments within the caves of ice

weaving circles round them thrice

But no one blogger claims ire or dread

For we on words are fully fed

And drunk the milk of  Xangadise

 

 

 

"Smoking Gunsel"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/8/09 8:37 a.m. pdt

 

"He was a nice quiet guy"

Illusions of meaningfulness

"I can't understand why..."

Delusions of grandeur

"He kept to himself"

Boiling anger, unchecked

"He seldom smiled"

Confusion and conflict

 

Arriving at the botched conclusion

that nothing matters anymore

another unassuming individual

makes another derisive decision

to die

creating collateral carnage

until the end arrives

 

Perchance the many signposts weren't understood

Perhaps the silent deadliness of doom 

went unchecked

His clockspring wound tightly

HIs mind bereft of it's sense

And sensing nothing but pain

He pulls a gun so people will know him

And in the bargain other people will perish

 

The weapon's reports 

evolve into news reports

of agonizing dread and despair

He is remembered

For a short while until the 

next gunsel arms himself

 

"He was a nice quiet guy

I can't understand why..

He kept to himself

He seldom smiled

 

 

"Still Yet Another Lost Love Poem" 

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/8/09 2:34 a.m. pdt

 

Less than perfect, yet craving perfection

in the form of love

Ago, now, forever

Less than perfect, yet whole and unbroken

waiting as love's timespring winds tighter

Less than perfect, but perfectly willing

to embrace the all encompassing lovelines

of fate, and so, willing, have waited

as these lovelines are etched

as in concrete

unassailing, unbroken, 

solidly deterring emotion

Until it is emotionless,

naked, wanting, 

unaware of love's passions

unbridled loving 

faraway passion plays

in which I never have a part

 

Less than perfect

Wanting love

but settling for life

 

 

"Imagimnasium: 

(A Wonderment Workout)"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

04/17/09 5:57 a.m. pdt

 

Today we wonder, in a wonderful way

And we should let our imagination play

Wonder about life, lose our inhibition

Let our fertile earth minds grow with fruition

 

There is no wonder when we pass

 into the outer realm of heaven

All of our questions are answered

All of our worries are over

 

There is no reason for the mind to wander

When the reason for existence is known to all

As it will be

when we pass

 

But until that time, the time of death

The time when wonders cease

Our minds are active whirlwinds

 blowing shards of reality away

Exercise the imagination

Embrace the promise of each coming day

 

 

 

"Third Eye Blindness"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

04/17/09 6:08 a.m. pdt

 

If I close the bright blue eyes of entity

If I look through the third eye of enlightenment

If I can dream waking of the illusive moment

When we finally meet

If I look closely at what I cannot see

I might steal a glimpse of love

 

If I would only be able to merge with 

rapturous ardor

If I would only be able to prove

my intent

If I could yield to reality

and open my heart for a moment

I might stand at the shore of solitude

and feel the waves of coupleship 

lap at my feet

beackoning

beguiling

bewitching

 

I break the bubble of my perception

(as usual, sighing)

The waves recede in the distance

and the sun sets into the sea

of seclusion

Cold shivers of realization

strike my frailty

Many times has love arrived

Many times have I stood at the shore

waiting

Many times, many years, many decades

 

I will close the bright blue eyes of existence

I will look through the third eye of emergence

I will dream of meeting you again

And I will feel of love

I'm looking closely at what I cannot see

A glimpse of stolen love fading away

 

 

 

"Explanation"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/17/09 6:27 a.m. pdt

 

I speak but will you listen

And am I making sense?

A yearning will I christen

As I climb down from the fence

 

I wish to ask you if I care

And does this world revolve?

How much more can I share

Are there riddles I can solve?

 

I might be talking to myself

But was I making sense?

I opened up my soul 

without vanity or pretense

 

I've said what I want to say

But did the words explain?

Nakedly walking on broken glass

This clearly breeds the pain

 

I talk too much perhaps

I speak before I think

But were you really listening

As I climbed down from the brink?

 

Those who can't, teach, the dictum rails

I'm learning all the time

But speak or do, we tell the tales

Is this salvation or our crime?

 

I guess I'll keep on talking

And hope you listen well

I've got a few more years to stay

And still more tales to tell

 

 

 

"Train Ride to Nowhere"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/17/09 6:47 a.m. pdt

 

Going through the motions, making plans and drinking potions

Revolution notwithstanding, as we pass through understanding

Will we ever learn, with money tight our funds we burn

Spinning round and ready, never solid, stealthly steady

 

Sun comes up around again, same as yesterday, remember when

Eating hearty, then elimination, the train arrives at the next station

Summing up our feeling, no revsions, as we're reeling

Is the end at hand reclusive, going places, glances furtive

 

Words are flowing freely, all inclusive, touchy feely

Meaning is meandering, and truth is out philandering

Along on the ride together, through the many shades of weather

The train speeds past the station, with no regard to plans or reservation

 

 

 

"Abre Los Ojos"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/17/09 7:14 a.m. pdt

 

A somewhat futile exercise inhibits ecstasy for some

And kindles absolution for others

What is black might for all intents and purposes be white

Perception isn't necessarily reality

Nothing is everything

And everything doesn't always make sense

Nothing really matters

inasmuch as everything does eventually

A walk in the garden elicits natural highs

Or else initiates allergies

One can sometimes find answers which seem to have

question marks attached

Youth dismisses age

And age yearns for youth

Those clouds might hide hailstorms of harrowing portent

or maybe just blue skies behind them

Open your eyes to all.

Questions, 

Revelations, 

Revolutions of intensity

Sanity sometimes seems crazy, and 

what might seem preposterous is 

business as usual

 

 

"Epitome"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/22/09 8:47 p.m. pdt

 

The shiniest apple on the tree

The largest raspberry on the vine

Fastest gazelle

Most cunning fox

Elephant with the deepest memory

One stands out above and beyond

Distinct

Free of most flaws

A shining celebrity

Well remembered leader

Courageous hero

One stands up above all

Special

The epitome

 

 

 

"Driving Home the Point"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/22/09 8:53 p.m. pdt

 

Fast, faster, supersonic, almost to the redline

Needle wavering unsteadily, yet steadily inching forward

Tires are spinning chronic, rubber tracks intwine

Car is rushing readily, and steadily speeding toward

 

Wind in the face, who'll win the race? 

First to get home wins the prize

Dozens of cars, all of them driven by stars

Sleek silhouettes, shouting goodbyes

 

Driving through disdain, through sun, hail, or rain

Fishtales of fantastic fervor, spunout of glory

Speed, brash fast lane, no need to complain

First to pass the finish line will tell the story

 

Swerving through complacency

Grand Prix of the mind

The car's really stuck fast in traffic

A sea of red taillights is all we will find

 

 

"Eternally Displaced"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

May 18th, 2009 6:30 a.m. pdt

 

 

Over two generations ago we walked 

Tired, sick, dying

A train of human suffering, internally displaced

footstep after footstep

children crying for their milk

trudging along in drudgery

women falling over their scarves

The strong became weak

The hopeful became wretched

and we walked

until we arrived at the end of the road

to the new Pakistan

 

Now we walk again

tired, sick, dying

eternally internally displaced

an attempt to escape persecution

replacing decades of distillation

into a firestorm of irrational insurgency

We walk forever,

footstep after footstep,

breaking the family unit

breaking bread with strangers

also homeless

almost hopeless

refutable refugees raging through the night

settling in the settlements of sorrow

torn again 

from the homeland 

of the new Pakistan

 

 

 

"Continuing IV Drip"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

6/9/09 10:40 a.m. pdt

 

drip, drip, drip

tick, tick, tick

awake, breakfast, meds

a nap, sleepily revealing more dreads

 

drip, drip, drip

tick, tick, tick

awake, lunch, a little non Tivo TV

and another nap, dreams of ways I wish I could flee

 

long slender cylindrical tube

attached to the antibiotics in

the translucent plastic bladder

other end connected to

my very lifeblood

through the picc line protruding

from my arm

 

drip, drip, drip

tick, tick, tick

dinner arrives like a forgotten friend

chow donw through the long tunnel without end

 

drip, drip, drip

tick, tick, tick

like waiting for a bus that never comes

perpetually perplexed by ever circling conundrums

 

 

Aging Backward/Anxiety Attacks

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

9/14/09 7:00a.m. pdt

 

Post operation, hip replaced, leg sewn up

After the antibiotic regimen completed

Exercising not only the leg and hip,

But a new sense of common regular

Regimentation

Compounded with a healthy diet

More power walks at sunset

Enjoying the fading light and the life

While hopefully hoping the life will not fade

As it did for past friends in their twilight

Even as they were as surprised at life's end

As I 

The last conversations were never discussed

The last wishes were never divulged

But I scream daily into the ether

Either complacently relegating this anxious aging

To the backburner of healthy heroics

Or feeling the burn of pained muscles

Which give pause, and give cause

For medicative Ibuprofen and Acetiminaphen COD

Temporarily alleviating the perception of pain

Even as I push myself harder and harder

In this feeble attempt to stave off the inevitable

 

Pre operation, pre anxious aging,

When time flowed slower, and 

The sands never seemed to hit 

The bottom of the glass.

Those were the days, erratic ways

Withdrawn and withering

Elevating youthful ignorance

And hedonistic hungering

To, if not a science, 

At least a science fiction

Where age would never enter

Into the equation,

Or at least not for a long while.

 

That while, and the wiles of youthful expedience

Came by the calendar much quicker than I supposed

Or those who lost their lives as well as their youth 

Supposed,

And now I suppose, 

As the hands tremble

And the tan fades,

And the muscles give pained allegiance 

To mortality,

That I cannot simply age backwards

Like the characters in films,

Because I have not the special effects.

The effect is clearly evident,

And age affects this life.

I only have this life,

This hopeful, ancient life,

I only have this mind,

This anxious, fretting mind,

Keeping me up nights, 

Nights which would otherwise be occupied

by sleeping soundly through the hours.

 

Insomniac anxiety

Illusive youth

Ever increasing pain,

Yet each day, power walking into the sunset

And thankful for yet another day of this life...

 

 

 

VIII "Social Networking Menace"

(part of the Cycle of Abuse)

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

10/05/09 6:15 a.m. pdt

 

Only fourteen

and frightened constantly

Father left when he was seven

Mother drinks, and seldom comes home

Sis and bro are little, and get in the way

Sitter is no help, always texting

Only fourteen

and upset at the world

 

Video world awaits after school

(on those days when he attends)

He's king of the old PS2

Grand Theft Auto, Final Fantasy, Ultimate Ninja, Mortal Kombat

Lost in places where he kills his fright

Where upsetting images

replace upsetting times

 

Mother is yelling about something

Always yelling, or passed out

in front of the TV

The video screen in his room is blank

The PS2 is old stuff

He's bored, and mad, and pissed off

Sis and bro are making noise

Mother is yelling

Got to get out of here

 

Family PC is in the den,

sitting unused for a while

Internet access is active

and Sitter sometimes uses it

(when she's not texting)

Halo can be played on the PC

but it stalls a lot, and it's old

Only fourteen

but internet savvy, and primed for 

a dog to kick online

 

Internet world awaits after school

(on those days when he attends)

He trolls the social networks

As xKillerx or slicemup or whatareyoustaringat

He's not afraid anymore

hating, and hacking, and trolling, and berating

spamming, and commenting, spreading vitriol

Nobody's safe

Not the writers, nor the commentators

The musicians, the instigators,

They're all fodder for his 

stifled imagination

and spiteful online ways

 

Nobody knows his age

Nobody knows his pain

Everybody hates his rage

Everybody hates his disdain

 

He's the ultimateninja452

hacking into the peaceful lives of all

on the network

His profile pic is scary

And his comments are known 

throughout cyberspace

He's feared, and loathed

and he loves it

 

Only fourteen

and already a 

menace to online society

Years pass

in an abusive world

where he is king

Mother finally stops yelling

and maybe passes out for good

Sis and bro are taken away

somewhere, but he hardly cares

When the plug is pulled

he goes out the door

and into the dark night

of happenstance

 

 

 

 

"War Time All the Time"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

11/6/09 9:38a.m. pst

 

 

What are we always fighting for?

Why do we have to go to war?

 

If wishes were horses, then soldiers would ride

shedding their helmets, no arms by their side

 

The brave join to guard us, to stand tall and proud

They don't want to harm, but to shout freedom loud

 

Why can't discussion replace fighting words

Why can't our leaders keep watch o'er their herds

 

 

What are we always fighting for?

Why do we have to go to war?

 

If soldiers weren't needed, then peace would reign nigh

We'd all love our brethren, and no one would die

 

The senseless is useless always for all time

People are angry, this is such a crime

 

Why can't we tolerate those who don't agree

What does this say about us throughout history?

 

 

What are we always fighting for?

Why do we have to go to war?

 

If war were abolished by worldwide decree

Then innocent people like you and like me

 

would not need to ask questions, about death and life

and suddenly hope would replace deadly strife

 

Why can't we love instead of hate

But maybe this just isn't humankind's fate

 

 

What are we always fighting for?

Why do we have to go to war?

 

 

 

"Christmas Decades"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

12/20/09 3:00a.m. pst

 

One 1953-1963

Snowfall melts forever

Palm trees and long sandy beaches

replace sleighbells and snowmen in memory

The air's a lot warmer

But the tree is real, evergreen, with

needles that drop to the tops of the packages

piled high and artistically

 

Two 1963-1973

Shiny silver fakery 

replaces fir smells and stickyness

Yet green and red popcorn balls 

still strung with holiday affection

The days pass with awareness

as little doors are open revealing

reasons and righteousness

Raindrops signal the season,

as the lights are reflected in the foil packages

under the silver tree

Santa delivers wonders

And Jesus delivers love

 

Three 1973-1983

As the last Christmas fades from memory

Parents pass from the living

And Santa stops coming around

Little children grow up

And Scrooge seems to drop by more often

Replacing childlike wonder 

with agnostic fears and faults

 

Four 1983-1993

Christmases without trees

Replaced by boisterous

Christmas parties

Eggnog and revelry

Little bags of marijuana tied with ribbons

Christmas is the time of love,

Meeting Pat at one party, although the party of life 

soon became less than jolly

Love and trees did return for a few annums

 

Five 1993-2003

For One cold Christmas

The tree returns, decorated

with shiny balls and dreams of 

memory's season

But then a friend resides 

in cancer's thrall and 

Christmas becomes another 

time for which to give thanks

to fleeting life as lights flicker 

 

Six 2003-2009 and counting

The website and blog are decorated 

instead of the house

Greetings of the season

are sent via email and comment

which replace cardboard and glitter

But are nonetheless special

And even moreso, as the holiday

becomes more real and loving

as friends around the world

celebrate with me

I may be alone in reality

But I am with humanity in toto

As Christmas morning dawns

bright, warm, and filled with a spirit

which fails to die

 

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