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The Poetry of 2010

In 2010 I wrote eleven poems. 


"Poem for the New Year (Decade) 2010"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

01/13/10 6:15 a.m. pst



Always pondering beginnings

Forever reworking the past

to correlate with the present

Watching the clock even as I deny the existence of time


Always pondering beginnings

As I meet another caravan of ambulance and emergency trucks

on my way out of the senior community on the way to work

Was this a passing of one with whom I greet hello on my daily walks?


Another new year arrives, bringing with it a decade of possibilities

Those possibilities are endless, I proclaim forever

Possible scenarios do not include the inevitable

Impossible thoughts will never grace the patterns of my life


Or so I am always saying, even as I think those impossible thoughts



Always rejecting negativity

Forever reliving bright moments

Shuffling the sadness to the back of the deck

Even as aces and eights are dealt all around me


Always rejecting negativity

Purging the penalties of my lifetime

While celebrating the wonder of it all

Yanking the yins and the yangs with a vengeance


Another new year arrives, bringing with it a new decade of deliverance

Freedom from strife and procrastination

Letting loose the pain of periodic unhealthiness

Impossible thoughts will never impose on the possibilities abounding


Or so I try to convince myself, even as my body reminds me of impossible thoughts



Always looking for ideas

Always recreating creativity

Always turning on lights in the distance

Always looking forward

Always pondering beginnings



"Quaking Quivering Calamity"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

01/13/10 6:30 a.m. pst



societies which have the funds to build for prevention

never seem to be hit with too much calamity

when mother nature rears her head in defiance


the nations who squander her resources

never seem to pay her price 

when mother nature's back breaks to the surface


the great plates rub up against each other

and it's the small island nations 

adrift in the sea of consequence

who seem to suffer the most


the poor and downtrodden are smitten

these people who are not at fault

the people who live and work and play 

in substandard buildings rotting for decades


until the buildings fall


are the innocent to blame for political instability

and substandard practices

are the bleeding millions supposed to pay with their lives

in retailiation for nature's revengeful spirit


man against nature, and nature will always win

man against himself, and he will never agree

so politics and bad voodoo color the ground with blood

as the rich societies offer prayers and aid packages

and appear on tv with condolences

then turn around and make the same mistakes

which irk Gaia even more as she quakes in her boots




"After The Last Love Song Ends"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

Wednesday, 27 January 2010

6:08 a.m. pst



After the last love song was over

And the player ejected my heart

My eyes cried a river, I still had no lover

Of my life she was never a part


I waited, I searched, and I worried

Music faded so fast from the room

My life felt so sullied, and yet still I hurried

Would love appear 'ere I lay in my tomb?


I thought I had written this love song

A duet fashioned for two hearts to rhyme

I sang with the flow, choked up, as a solo

Her voice still hasn't joined me this time


Verse and refrain kept repeating

Like the needle was stuck in the groove

Before it was done, and before love was gone

I still felt I had something to prove


I opened the doors and the windows

And screamed to the gathered unknown

I knew then no hope, at the end of my rope

As true love out the window had flown


After the last love song ended

The player shut down one last time

My dreams died along with the last song

Forever dashing my yearnings sublime


A day or two hence I will tarry

And play the song again till it's o'er

Will I never marry? Of whom should I query?

Heart forever broken, or is love still in store?





Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

Wednesday, 27 January 2010

6:46 a.m. pst


When I open the book, I begin reading the same chapters

I am turning the same pages, I am feeling the same emotions.

When I watch the movie, I am viewing the same scenes

I am rooting for the same heroes, I am feeling the same emotions.

When I walk down the path, I am admiring the same flowers

I am making different choices, but the destination seems the same

The emotions ever changing, yet tomorrow they appear again

Sometimes their position on the timeline is different,

But in time I feel as if I have felt them all,

And I felt them before then, as I recall.


I keep building new bookshelves but they all look the same

I keep writing new chapters but the words are strangely similar

I keep repeating the same themes, even as I celebrate the accomplishment

First came the questions, and then the advice

The soothing words which escaped from my lips with ease

The intricate rhyme patterns which barely disguised the predictable emotions

The refrain of my life, and of the lives lived around me, repeats

The gurgling babies and the lonely old women

Estimable gentlemen and strong burly workmen

Bright, open students with question marks for faces

Seemingly naive children who know more than I do

Yet we all feel the same emotions

And we all repeat the refrain


When I wake up, I turn back the same blankets

I turn off the same clock as it displays the same numbers

I am donning the same outfits, and I am feeling the same emotions.

When I retire, I cover myself with the same blankets

I glance at the same clock and I close my eyes

I am living the same life, I am feeling the same emotions


And I am glad for the opportunity to do it all again tomorrow



"Solitary Man"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

03/22/10 6:11 a.m. pdt


In the long ago I proved to be quite popular

involved in separate cliques

with revolving groups of friends

I had my "buddies" with whom I could talk for hours

(about nothing in particular)

and counted good friends among my peers

who would drop anything if I needed them

Some friends were male, and some were female

Some were young (and gay), and some were older

Life was good in the long ago


Years passed almost unawares

Then people passed 

but of them I was aware

Good "buddies" died

and other buddies moved away

I lost touch

My friendships became acquaintences

Yet life seemed good

Not too long ago I had lovers

Although sometimes love 

didn't enter into the equation

At least there was the illusion

of companionship

Lovers passed on,

and roommates took their places

in conversation

but at least there was conversation


A few years ago

some supposed friends turned out to have been 

plotters and thieves

stealing my money as well as my trust 

and I let them go

(or they went to jail)

Two years ago the last roommate died

and I still think as fondly about him

as I do lost lovers, or those cliques 

from the long ago.


Growing older, I got involved in online life

and I proved to be quite popular

involved in separate cliques

with revolving groups of friends

I had connections around the globe

People in other countries would call me

and I could talk for hours 

(about nothing in particular)

I even met in "real life" some online friends

and even found at least a 

couple of lovers in cyberspace


But when I turn off the computer

most of these

online friendships disappear

as if they never existed

except in memory and thought

I have become the solitary man,

accepting of life, and my fate,

interacting with workmates and customers,

and chatting up service personnel at times

I'm quite friendly with the mailwoman

in the few minutes in which we say hello


Has friendship disappeared for me?

Are lovers only found in memory?

Is friendship only to be found amongst Facebookers

And Xangans?

I find myself wanting to talk for hours

(about nothing in particular)

but I don't know who to call

and the only time the phone rings is

from telemarketers

(and I don't want to talk to them)

I'm happy with life, I tell myself. 

I attempt to forge new friendships,

but most of them are merely acquaintences

in the long run.


Does true friendship die along with old friends?

Or is this lonliness merely another 

block of time, to be followed by 

more social gatherings,

more cliques,

and more conversations which last for hours

(about nothing in particular)

I have enough to fill my time (I claim)

Entertainment and creative choices abound


I sometimes wonder,

And as the years pass,

I seem to wonder more often in the

solitary hours between 



(about nothing in particular)

if I were fated to be the

ever present social butterfly

or merely the solitary man.




"30 By Time I'm 60"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

4/29/10 6:15 a.m. pdt



When did I begin to get older?

I still don't feel as if I've almost gained six decades

Fifty Seven years old in a couple of days

I'll be three years older than my father when he died. 

Age is sometimes felt in the bones.

My hip bone began to break down early,

Was replaced at 41, and repaired at 56.

Pain was a constant companion in the joint

and now the pain is gone.

Age is sometimes felt in failing eyesight.

My eyes have always been bad to worse

and surgery to correct one thing has 

miraculously corrected another.


Age is sometimes felt in loss of memory.

Sometimes I remember more than in the past

and my memory has always been elephantine

Will my brain ever burst with these thoughts?


Seems  like I'll be 30 by the time I'm 60.

If 60 is the new 30, isn't that real nifty.

Perhaps we'll soon have cloning

And memory transplants on the horizon

I can hardly wait for these improvements

Maybe I'll start again before my body's done.


When did I begin to feel my age?

I really don't know, and can't answer with veracity.

Fifty Seven does seem a bit "old" to me

I look like I did 10 years ago

I certainly feel younger and stronger

I exercise, and I try to eat right

(Of course when younger I didn't do either

and maybe would even be more healthy if I had.)

Who knows?


Age is sometimes felt, and sometimes only imagined,

So I'll imagine I'm just living in the now and then,

and I won't feel my age, but only feel my present existence

Looking for a better tomorrow, brighter, more hopeful

and pleasant.


With age comes experience, and wisdom

With age comes soulful expression, and empathy

With age comes responsibility, and sense of duty

I can do more 

I can relax

I can live for this moment and 

relish the next one.

When did I begin to worry about getting older?

I really don't think I have begun to do that yet.


"Conflict and Power"

(The Outline for Existence)


4:30a.m. pdt


Creative cogitation

Territorial thought

Reach that exceeds grasp

Conflict of interest

Wider field of vision

Fuel for vehicles





Mankind creates a need for power

Fuel for his ever expanding knowledge and ambition.

He needs electricity to keep the light in his head on forever

as he initiates inventive ways to control the globe

on which he lives.


The concept of home grows with ambition

Home is where the pocketbook takes one

Out the opening of the cave and into the night

guided by the ever shining light in his head.


His gods granting favor, mankind expands his universe

Sadly ignoring anyone or anything in his way

Manifest destiny awaits him

His intellect allows him to create vehicles from which he may travel

to unguarded and unknown areas of existence

His search for power allows him to attempt to find fuels 

with which to power those vehicles

and as the light grows incredibly brighter for him

the hopes of mass tolerance and hope for humanity dim.


Where one group of humankind tills the soil of his homeworld,

Raising his animals and enjoying his bounty, 

the soil is soon bloodied and sullied with the energy 

exacted by the intelligent travelers 

who dominate and subjugate their way into the ranks of peace

inventing war and conflict

guns with interchangable parts

and bullets with a purposeful ending for peaceful coexistence.


The vehicles, powered by the fuels of ignorance and carelessness,

trample the lands, carrying the denizens of the new world order.

Once conflict allows the dominant lifeform to not only survive,

but completely disintegrate the subdominant culture into itself,

It sets about to find more fuel 

to fuel more conflict,

and expand it's empire.


Trade and money, 

Goods and services,

These are just some of the lies

Which power the dominant force of mankind

As he wields his influence.

Once settled into new lands,

His grasp exceeds his reach again,

Reaching and grasping at length

Pulling anyone down and out in his way

As his vehicles, powered by pride, trample and traverse

even more territory.


The light doesn't go out for him,

As he fights stranger, neighbor, and brother.

As he foils his fathers,

And turns his back on his own faith.

He looks around his newfound lands and says "it is good".

The weak perish and the strong survive,

fueled on power.

Power, conflict, power, conflict


Once ensconced in his new digs, mankind searches through the 

rubble of his conquests for new fuels to power new vehicles.

He strips the land of it's trees, and digs down through the 

geologic infrastructrue

venturing farther and farther from reason, 

in his quest for these fuels.

At some point his quest obliterates his intelligence, 

and he cannot rectify his mistakes,

so he blames someone else. 


Still his light burns bright, if only for a 

geologic moment.

Geology and weather laugh at his inconsistence

at his ever increasing hunger for power

and his ever obliterating need for conflict


In the end the light will go out anyway

whether or not man is there to flip the switch 

to the "off" position.

There might be a cosmic punchline to the joke

yet mankind won't be around to laugh.



Perchance to Dream

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

8/04/10 6:12 a.m. pdt



Back when the insomnial walls closed in tight

And pure restful sleep kept out of open sight

Preventing dreamlike slumber and healthy rest

My sanity forever put to the ultimate test


Now I fall into a dark and warm abyss

And nighttime brings such feelings of still bliss

Hours underneath the cloak of repose streams

A steady vivid collection of dreams


'Twasn't always such a wonder in the night

Eyes kept snapping open bright with sight

Relaxation seemed on the horizon far away

The horizon only brought the morning into play


Sleep comes so easy now, perhaps too easy

Sometimes before dark I fall into torpid trance

I promise myself It's just a short nap I'm taking

And then the evening dreams begin their romance


Relaxing reveries constructed such worlds

long ago

worlds in which I find myself returning,

populated by old friends,

some who have passed into constant dreamland

and I always seem to be much younger 

in my dreams


I might see you in my dreams

I might converse with and love 

the girl in dreams, who 


never ages and never forgets me

even though I never 


her in life's harsh atmosphere


Insomnia and sleeplessness are forgotten forever

as my mind wanders and wonders and 

wonderfully intersects with my dreamworlds

contructed of memories and wishes

populated by people I don't know

and don't want to forget

never seeming to begin or end

never seeming strange or frightening

never seeming different

as long as I remain relaxed

and sleeping


I do not welcome the eternal sleep yet

but I embrace the sleep which seems

to last longer each evening

the sleep which triggers my dreams

those dreams which stayed away for years

as insomnia tricked the mind to wake 

before the dreams could begin


I will see you in my dreams

and my dreams shall never end


"Existential Pallbearer"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

8/22/10 9:12 p.m. pdt


Somebody else always dies

Sometimes I think they're just dropping like flies

No need to try to answer the whys

This is only truth, don't stagnate with lies


I shall lift the casket with ease

Send it to heaven, aloft through the trees

Out on the ocean, adrift on the seas

Or where ever imagined if you please


The end's the beginning I've said that for years

But that doesn't stifle the hurt or the tears

Knowing's no comfort, the pain really sears

And nothing can really erase all the fears


I bid you goodbye like a really good friend

Even though I wasn't there at the end

I remember the good times around the bend

And shan't ever wear the clothes that I rend


Next time I see you I'll be at your side

If wishes were horses we surely will ride

around memory's his'try and time we will bide

Cause I will be gone soon in time and with tide


So long and forever your heart still and gone

We shared some love and good times my friend

I wish I'd made more of an attempt all along

Before your ship sailed to connect once anon.

"Mother Nature Wept"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

9/02/10 12:00 noon pdt


We've poked her and we've prodded her

We've drilled her and abused her.

Is it no surprise that Mother Earth is fighting back?


We ignore the signs and clues she gives

As a better way we make or want to live

And this ball of dirt's most angry, that's a fact.


How much more time, we do not know

Not nice to fool her, don't ya know

The geotrain is quickly riding off the track


She's been around a long long time

What young mankind's done's simply a crime

I just can't blame her, friends, for blowing her stack



"Poem For the New Year 2011"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

December 27, 2010 7:30a.m. pdt



Immersing myself in a poem from 1967

Instantly placing my psyche in lost moments

Decades gone are suddenly remembered


Each verse, every line, every word

First a trickle, then a torrent

By the end of high school I'd written almost 200 pieces

And each still stands, on the page, and in my heart

as a reflection of the time, and the mind, and the years


Events happen, memories are forgotten

Hobbies, travels, sights, sounds, friendships, lovers

Life happens, and the mirror fades

The eyes still sparkle 

And even though the words may repeat sometimes

They still offer meaning in circumstance

And comfort to an aging mindset


The poet may be older

But the words, the same words, stay vibrant

As young as history, as timeless as time

In those rare occurrences when they find 

themselves appearing on the page again


The poetry was timestamped, collected, 

bindered, presented, and passed around

The words spurred memories, loving instance,

favored places, intriguing conversations,

half forgotten quarrels,

and vividly remembered attractions.


The years pass, and each is memorialized with it's own poem

Poems for the New Year, numbering in the dozens,

Filed away, more pages in the life, more hope to chase the strife


Cyberpoems replace the pages,

The written word is typed at a rapid clip

Once the poetry was special because it was written

A tangible effect of a life's imprint

For over a decade now, twelve more Poems for the New Year,

the words appear on a screen, are erased, rearranged,

posted, edited, 

stanzas flipped and words copy/pasted from rhyming dictionaries

and online reference sites


Are the poems any more or less special?

Are the thoughts any more or less insightful?

Is the art any more or less true to itself?


Another year passes, and the Poem for the New Year 


as if like magic

The magic of a lifetime of hopes, fears, neglect, and memory

The mirror becomes clearer

The eyes still sparkle

And the words can still trigger emotion 

The right words

The same words

My words

As it was so long ago, and still remains

as long as the mind thinks

and the memory survives

and the heart beats


This is my reasoned response, as it has been in the past

to the ever multiplying calendar pages which drop at my feet

and are almost up to my neck


More years

More words

Maybe less as the years pass,

but maybe even more important in their scarcity

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