HeartBeats on the Oscilloscope of Life

Come inside and Read Me Like a Book.

   12.05.2004  
Here we go again. Last post didn't have any comments section. I'm about to give up and go back to Xanga.
   posted by Michael Nyiri at 3:50 AM  
"Yellow Ribbons"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

November 5, 2004 : 6:04 a.m. pst


Seems like yellow ribbons never fade
Time will fear the misbegotten passions of the evil few
Repetitions of disgrace and wanton tears upon my face
As serenity gazes over the ragged landscape of lost purpose

Seems like ancient wars are never won
Delegates of destiny eschew the raging tides of malificence
Repetitions of horror and a dirty mirror of what's in store or
Only bad memories which never seem to go away

Seems like sadness sifts through sands of time
Irregular bursts of bad news, beheadings, humanity blown to bits
Sorrowful distant dirges call with painful plaintive urges
As peace drizzles on the pavement mixed with blood

Seems like yellow ribbons never fade
A score and five years ago, and new ribbons can't replace
The scars on burnt out oak trees, gazing upwards toward the sun
Repetitions of disgrace brings salty tears upon my face
As serenity passes out the back door of humanity's disgrace

Here is one of the old "experiments" on my first Blogger post in over six months, just to see if the new (well, new to me at least) "comments" feature shows up here, then perhaps I could post more of the pure poetry posts on this blog instead of "WhenWordsCollide" although I don't know yet if I want to maintain these older blogs. I guess first I'll see if the "comments" appear, and then perhaps see if I get a "comment" on this blog. Well, here goes with the old "publish post" button. Gimme those comments sections like on Xanga.
   posted by Michael Nyiri at 3:41 AM


   6.27.2004  
The activity on ElectricPoetry group is magnificent. For only about 15 members actively posting (of 25) getting over 150 posts in a week is tremendous. I get personal emails from members telling me they appreciate my comments, and there are some wonderful poems being posted on the site. I can't believe I didn't get into this earlier after initially setting up the group in 2000. Haven't transcribed any poems yet. I've been busy creating and using my new "Xanga Blog." I will probably use this one blog for all of the AllThingsMike musings instead of trying to separate them. I'm not sure, and am keeping the Blogger blogs in place for now. I'm the only one that reads them on a regular basis. The Xanga blog has a "comments" section on each post, so there is more "interaction" than on this service. Also creating the site itself is easier, and you don't have to know all that much about HTML coding. There is a place for Reviews, so that probably means the ElectricMovies blog will disappear.
   posted by Michael Nyiri at 8:18 AM


   5.25.2004  
I've now posted a total of 388 poems on the ElectricPoetry website. I have 250 more poems to transcribe and post on the website. That's a total of 638 poems. So far for this year, 2004, I have 26 poems posted. I think I have two more from this week which haven't been posted yet.
Here is one of them:



"When 'Dog' Left This Existence"
For Robert Wissler
poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
May 24th, 2004 3:57 p.m. pdt

Ol' 'Dog' was simply 'Puppy' many years ago,
He'd run real fast to catch the bones that I'd throw.
He sometimes ate the morning paper 'fore twas read
And he'd squirrel himself under the covers of my bed.

'Puppy' was a treasure, and a pain at the same time,
But he was always friendly, as he'd find a couch to climb.
I could never be real angry when he angled up his eyes,
He was practicing dog psychology, this I realize.

As I grew from boy to man, and 'Puppy' became 'Dog'
Man's best friend accompanied me through holler, over log,
In and around the country, and running down the street
Never did he seem to tire, or did ache his hairy feet.

'Dog' was there when Dad passed on, when Mom went away as well.
Standing by with a pant and a sigh, helping me through bitter hell.
And I could only stop and smile when he his paw he offered me
To shake away the troubles with a crooked dog smile, free.

The dog-years passed, and I admit he slowed a bit
He ran twice as slow, and his one time barking fits
Didn't have the bite that they once did before
And at times I had to wait a while for him to go through the door.

Ol' 'Dog' was my pal, and my buddy, and my friend,
And as I grew up, his aches grew harder to mend
And the dog-years were plentiful, long and unseen
And Ol' 'Dog' had to go, blind and brutal, but clean

Now Ol' 'Dog' is in heaven, and he's 'Puppy' once more
He runs like greased lightnin' and has gumption to spare
He races the other Ol 'Dogs' round the clouds,
And though I sure miss him, I'm sure he does me proud.

Cause now he can see again, angling those eyes
He brings me a bird in spirit, he succeeds when he tries
To wake me and the heavens with his now hearty bark,
I will walk with Ol' 'Dog' beside Jesus in the park.

Here is the other. I wrote both of these yesterday.

"Insomniac Hours"
poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Monday, May 24th, 2004 7:30 p.m. pdt


red square numerals shining in the dark
10:00
closing eyes attempting rest
but the lids flicker
like the red square numerals.
on my back,
cats cry in the night
soothing sounds
like
cacophanous clatter
eyes open
red square numerals
11:00
shining
mocking, silently laughing,
piercing through my eyelids
up again,
to the bathroom,
dribbling
upset, awake, woozy
left side
right side
upside down
eyes open again
red square numerals shining in the dark
12:00
four more hours
the buzzer will ring
do I want those hours
to pass like this
?
the bathroom again
dribbling
dousing myself with water
from the tap
dare I drink a glass
?
back to the bed's maw
open jaws nibbling at my sanity
red square numerals
silent but deadly
1:00
get to sleep goddammit
rock a bye baby
sighs escape like thundercracks
left, no right, no back, no front
can't breathe right
can't think straight
Is this a nightmare
Am I finally asleep
?
red square numerals shining in the dark
2:00
up again, open the door
the cats are running
around the living room
awake and having fun
I'm not
I'm dribbling again
back to bed
back to agony
red square numerals seemingly silent
yet bleeding like daggers
through my eyelids
shining
finally
falling
falling
away,
don't know if I'm on my
side back or what
goodnight
something cries out in the
night
the cat scratches at the door
eyes awaken groggily
red square numerals shining
3:00
up, in the bathroom,
a regimented torture
a final ironic abusive moment
back to bed
sleep finally arrives
as the buzzer sounds
4:00
red square numerals become the clarion
time to go to work.


I forgot, there are three. Here is another which hasn't been posted on the website but on the group.

"Another Vietnam"
poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
May 22, 2004 9:38 a.m. pdt


Another Vietnam for America
In the bowels of the birth of existence now
Another excuse for democracy
To roil with the political uncertainties of
All else
Another relative purpose
Proving above all else
That there can never be another way of life
As the way of life is lived in my country
My America
And the America of countless "tired, poor" immigrants
Who have chosen to make this their home as well

Another event shakes up the complacency
Another trial pointing fingers to inconstencies
False reports, and true reports mixed
As a salad of surrender or salaciousness
No one is right
No one is wrong
All are guilty
And all are innocent

What right does man have to quarrel?
He has been quarreling since the
Cutting of his umbilical with God.

What right does man have to fight?
He has been fighting since he
Was thrown out of the same Garden
Upon the banks of the Tigris
Where his troubles flay at him again.

I cannot blame the idea of democracy
For the cataclysms which occur as our
County rightly tries to establish right.

I cannot blame the plights of the enemy
At our hands for our seeming insensitivity
In the eyes of the enemy when we still
Seek answers for cataclysms which
Occurred on our own soil not too long ago.

I am saddened that the world is at grief
I am saddened by the rabblerousing and the
Death and the tears.

I read the news at lunch and almost lose the lunch.

Another Vietnam for America
In the sandy pit of a once proud city
Another faultless perogative in the dirt
Another Watergate of unheeded expectations.

All matter of conflict in the world
Stems from ironclad fists proclaiming the right
To cut down their enemies with whom they do not agree.
America, born of a purpose to
Realize humankind's foibles, and to
Recognize the fallible duality of this purpose,
Crafted a Constitution which still stands proud,
And which still offers us, Americans, my brethren,
A chance to quarrel without prejuduce.

The right to swing one's arms ends with the face of our brother,
And though we quarrel, and some hit that brother's face
Eventually they will be caught, and punished.
For the great thing about democracy
American democracy,
Is that no matter what happens, no matter what calamity ensues,
The Idea Stands Strong, and the duality of mankind is served.

We shall disagree, and the punishable minority shall still kill
But by and large we shall prosper and hold true to the
Established doctrines inherent in our Country's birth.

Another Vietnam might cause us pain,
But it was begun, as was the first,
with the Good Intentions of American Democracy,
To smite the enemy, and to gain information,
So that we might stand tall,
And never again see our towers fall
While looking out from our own front porch.


I'll have a total of 700 poems written by the rate I'm going. So far 2004 bests my production going back as far as 1983, when I wrote 35 poems, and 22 of those have not been transcribed. I think that 1983 shall be the next year for which I complete transcribing.
   posted by Michael Nyiri at 10:31 PM


   5.23.2004  
I haven't been "blogging" for a while, due to the reconstruction of my computer following a bad virus attack in April. Just as I was getting "involved" with the internet, meeting new friends, joining new groups, re-establishing my own group on ElectricPoetry, to which I probably haven't even put a link on this blog page (horror of horrors) I was hit while surfing the internet with one of those "trojan worms" which started deleting things on my computer, like my access to the antivirus and firewall programs, my taskbar, clock, and icons. I set up a "secondary" older computer for the internet, and then has to sweep my hard drive clean, and begin re-installing all my programs.
I'm still not finished, and there are some glitches still, but of course one of the first things I did after getting hooked up again, was to begin transcribing my poetry for this website.
So far, in about three weeks now, I have finished transcribing 1972 poetry. and I put up a section with my real early poetry from the sixties.
The sixties section includes my very first poem, "A Chlorophyll Filled Death" which I have only posted on certain Yahoo groups up to now.
Well, I had just "mastered" the art of the blog when they changed it again, and I'm still getting used to how to manuever through the new interface. Things change too quickly for us old geezers these days. One of my recent pieces, "Wisdom Deterioration", written as part of my "birthday trilogy" of poems this past May 1st, as I turned 51, is an observation on getting older. The subject of the poem is past 80.
Well, I have now brought the ElectricPoetry website up to date. I am inviting more members to my ElectricPoetry group, and the blog is now up to date as well. Poetry is merely one of my interests but it is "the lifeblood of my humanity" and I always tend to "come here" to my poetry site first after a disaster like the computer virus attacks of last month.
Spring will turn to summer, and the long hot days will afford me some more time to work on this site, be creative, and attempt to connect with humanity, through my emails, group postings, and internet activity. The state of the world is frightening, but personally, I feel better than I have in years.
   posted by Michael Nyiri at 8:32 AM


about

The Book is (forever being)written. The Pages are the pages of time. With the passing of time, Is the turning of a page. Read Me Like a Book again. These are the poetic outpourings of one feeble soul who has had a gift for words and verse since 1967. This is the concerted effort to "publish" the collected works of Michael F. Nyiri poet,philosopher,fool