The Poetry of 2009
In 2009 I wrote twenty-two poems. The theme of the year could very well be summed up in the first two pieces I wrote, "This Moment" and "Poem for the New Year 2009." The theme of change.
In mid 2008, when my friend and longtime roommate died of cancer, I had to make a change. I couldn't afford to live in our rented house, and I bought a mobile home and moved. I was in a state of great exuberance and optimism, and these feelings permeated a lot of the poetry.
"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 revisions, 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