This is the personal webhub of Michael F. Nyiri, poet, philosopher, fool

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The Poetry of 2016

These are the poems I am currently writing. 

"Poem For the New Year 2016"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Jan. 07, 2016 6:30am pst

Years past are faded pages in my lifebook
Crumpled edges, meaningless memories
Years future are reasons for contemplation
As the physical body ages
And the mind begins to forget more 
than it remembers

New projects taking time to plan
means all time needs to be treasured
and nothing taken for granted

Friends and family past are fading from memory
Special moments, treasured fulsome emotion
Friends future are reasons for celebration
As my auras rust and mind forgetful wanders
Even a fleeting conversation with a fellow traveler
for but a moment
or a Social Media comment stream 
on the internet
Can be a boon to creativity and inspiration

Will this fitful, pitiful life ever bear fruition?
Will the many poems for new years ever 
display answers instead of questions?
Or will the future reasons 
Become faded pages

I will steel my brow,
Command optimism 
Elicit good cheer

I will tell a joke
and hope it isn't on me
I will be, as I have been
Simply a poet, philosopher, and fool
For another day
For another year
For eternity

"Someday Soon"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
4:50 am pst

Someday I swear I'll experience excitement
Someday I'll treasure love and companionship
Someday this lonesome life will bear some fruit
And short static days will turn around and flip

The days will someday be long again
The time I spend will someday be in conversation
With witty partners and fulsome friends
Burrowed frowns will shed for great elation

Someday may be only written in nonexistant calendars
Someday may be only yet in dreams
But as long as I can ponder thus this someday
Life is full and wonderful as this someday seems




"Sixty Third Birthday Verse"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
05-01-2016 5:49 am p.d.t.


I woke up this morning 
at around the same time I woke up for the first time 
sixty three years ago

this time I didn't cry

This isn't the sixty third verse, 
although those verses number quite many now
It is the sixty third year
on Beltane, as usual reflecting on rebirth
and the fact that I'm still here 
able to write about feelings
disappointments, celebrations
prayers, poems and promises
as I have done for over half a century

I don't want to end up like the
community of others around my home
staying indoors
possibly sickly
bemoaning a life with no excitement
and certainly no options for change
I get around
I exercise my body and my mind
Stay away from bad habits
which have eroded my circle of friends
Until I stand alone in the center

this time I laughed, albeit not out loud
Began to talk to myself again, 
but I'm good company 
I still believe

I laughed at the good tidings which fall my way
I laughed at the comedy of world politics
I laughed at truth, ethereal cogitation
I laughed at lies, misbegotten misapprehensions
Mistakes, and missing partnership 
(for life? I hope I still don't think so.)

Unlike the community of others perhaps
my existence at 63 is quite pure and healthy
When Google and Facebook and my insurance agent
wish me
many happy returns
I at least know I'm here now and able
to relish their glad tidings.

At fifty I proclaimed I was bornagain
Beginning the second half of a century of life
That means I'm now a teenager
And "puberty" is attacking me like 
a whirlwind of whattheheckishappenings

I still like to get out and walk through nature 
marvelling at sunrises sunsets
clouds flora fauna and mankind
Even with his foibles, mankind builds
and I marvel at his accomplishment

I still like to feel the weight of a book 
as the right half feels lighter and 
the left half feels heavier,
as the story progresses
hoping perhaps 
that I am still writing the pages to my book
and those collected at the end are not ready
to be written off yet
evening up the weight of life's book
for a few decades longer


I woke up this morning 
writing this poem in my head
as I took my shower and dressed 
and made my bed

I woke up this morning
that's the main part and the reason
and I greet unknown circumstance
as I have through time and season

"Earth Mother"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
05-08-16 7:11 am pdt

Mankind never worried as he lay waste to world and nation
Naive and obstinate, sure footed even as he slipped
Mankind never wavered as he put woman in her place
Chauvinistic and irrational, uncaring in his haste

Womankind never shirked as she brought man into being
Caring and wholehearty, even handed although emotional
Womankind always questioned, but for eons stayed in place
Solid Earth Mother of all the human race

Equality will occur for our Mothers, women perpetually scorned
Nine months over and over again, till man understands
I can't claim life, as if I'd never been born
Without my Mother, I'd not exist to lend womankind a hand

Poetry by MIchael F. Nyiri
05-18-16 1:30pm pdt

The hustle of mankind's life can be stopped
If for a day, an hour, or a moment
The rush of needless information can be stifled
The gnawing sense of urgency and timetables

Mankind has purposed his world
Compartmentalized and conceptualized
Circumvented, listed, and listlessly lost
Everything that is important

Stay but for a day, an hour, a moment
With the trees, the rocks, the sky
To the universal language of nature
Speaking with the wisdom of cosmic ages

The trees and the rocks have souls
And they are old souls, ancient souls
Nature lives
And teaches

If only mankind would leave 
his compartmentalized 
for a day, an hour, or a moment,
And come sit with the rocks 
and the trees
amongst Nature
And the cosmos

I, the poet, the insignificant 
memoirist, charting useless feelings
when compared to this,
sit quietly in the cathedral of wonder
I shed a few tears,
Tears which may be 
sad for humanity
But which stream like
The mighty rivers of nature
When telling me I'm as much a part
As what I witness,
When I exist with nature
in that day
that hour
that moment
That ageless natural symbiosis
Totally serene
Totally chaotic
Totally natural

"Talking to M'self Again (The Girl in Dreams Stopped Listening)
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
6:45 am pdt


I'm not afraid of getting older, 
memory colder, brave stalwart soldier
Looking in the mirror and not recognizing me,
Whose eyes are these, recognize them please!

Optimistic voices get overcome by seas
of vacuous doubts; what was I talking about?
The girls in dreams they disappeared
I fake a smile, life's wasted I'd feared

Wish that I had a world to share
And a significant other, that seemed such a bother
The dreamgirls became older wiser women
And they all fled my thoughts, faded rose rots

No, I'm not afraid of the man in the mirror
Wake up the fear or, was that what I'm here for?
He frowns as do I at the sunset of time
Unanswered questions, selfpsychiatric sessions

I'll chuckle and speak (to m'self again)
These arms will still reach, this mind will still teach
And if nobody else is here to listen 'cept me
To that choir I'll preach, from mountains to beach

I love life with a passionate universal admiration
Yet my other half broke, no soulfires to stoke
The real women and dreamgirls all turned their backs
No luggage to pack, trains run off the tracks

If I have to meet my end talking to just m'self
Without rhyming reasoner, I'm a damn good listener
But sometimes it's sad to think I'm wasting my years
Alone, lonely, still standing, but with no understanding

I'm not afraid of getting older
No real connections, uneasy directions
Talk to m'self, always said I was crazy
Those women in dreams grow consistently hazy

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