top of page

The Poetry of 2014


The Poetry of 2014

In 2014 I wrote 2 poems. My Poem for the New Year 2015 was written in December but is presented on the page for 2015.

"Poem for the New Year 2014"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
01/03/14 12:50pm pst



Here again another year passed
So much to express, yet so tired to the last
The words I speak are to myself
My life obscure, sitting on the shelf
Knowledge gained, and wisdom gathered
Yet nobody to listen, or to understand and care, rather
In the past I'd explode with verbosity
Teeming with epiphanies and curiosity
The world probably thought I talked too much
Encyclopedic rambles, alphabet soup and such
Over past years all these words just get wasted
Intelligent, prophetic, cannily copy/pasted
On internet "pages" the world shares it's soul
And I remain unfinished and less than whole
Perhaps the words I wrote will someday be read
Perhaps someone will listen when I'm long dead
Another annum alludes, as always, aware
The shrinking circle simply gets constrictive, not really fair
So these couplets will collide with warped words worn out 
The world will not share them, as I mutter, then shout
Here again another year passed
So much still to express, still so tired to the last

"Sixty One or Lost?"

Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri

05/09/14 07:43 p.m. pdt

doing so well
until the wellspring of depression 
burbling silently
the satisfaction from existence
growing older isn't the problem
new year's and birthday poems
shallowly seem to 
be all that's left of creative endeavor
but that's no problem
tomorrow's another day and all that
losing friends and family 
nothing new
nothing surprising 
nothing seriously wrong
death is the last fact of life and all that
days pass paving the way
for relaxation and respite
but when confronted with 
the hours
in contemplation
while the mental voices
chide and chortle
chuckle and scream
(not a problem, really)
not doing so well
that damn pendulum keeps swinging
e'en as out by the pool,
working on the ever present tan
attempt to relax, calm down, relax
life gets better with age
(he lies to himself at this stage
of the game)
sixty was special
sixty one was a door slamming
have I won?
have I lost?
will the voices ever stop?
i think i now understand why some 
people talk to themselves
everyone needs someone
suicidal urges killed themselves long ago
or so I thought
until last week
and so shall seek
respite with the hours
no rocks in the pockets
eyes bulging from their sockets
simply stop the madness
but don't stop the carousel from turning
what to do 
what to do
cheer up, it'll be alright again
and wait for sunshine's 
sheen to shine
on sixty two

bottom of page