Poetry of 2002 Complete text version of the Poems of 2002 is on this page. "Malificent Memories Mixed with Exhaustive Elations" poetry by Michael F. Nyiri September 11, 2002 5:26 am pdt On the one hand, waking to the sounds of birds outside my bedroom window, A dark cloud covers existence. It is the eleventh of September, and at first memory is clouded with sleep. And then memory returns. And then remembering the pain and sorrow compounded with time's hammer Remembering the gaping maw of humanity's naivete When played out in my brain's tape recorder Of those terrible events which happened just one year ago I am saddened And reduced to silence and introspection again For the millionth time since that horrible day. And on the other hand, Looking forward to my 30 year highschool reunion this weekend A reunion for which tentative plans had begun last year at this very same time A reunion forgotten quickly last year in the dusty rubble of the towers Will proceed a year hence, hopeful and humbling A bit of happy reverie inserted into the chaotic tumble of time One hand, a tragedy, and sadness And on the other, elation and an elevated sense of purpose for having survived this long looking forward for connections with the past. That's life, the poets sing. That's life, remembering And death, which follows life, is sad and sorrowful, but is of course the last fact of life And when one tries to sort the sad from the happy, and the meaning from the meaningless It sometimes seems so difficult But each day is another steppingstone to the ultimate truth And someday all questions will be answered. But in the meantime, On the one hand, I will grieve for humanity's losses On the other I will celebrate humanity's successes A moment of silence Listening to the song of the birds Outside my window this morning "Memory's Youth" poetry by Michael F. Nyiri May 20, 2002 10:47 pdt Reality takes the time to question, and the torrent breaks me down as it washes away Quality conversations recede in the distance of memory, questioning the words and the worthiness Hilarity ensued some summer night in a light rain As immediacy immediately memorialized the moment of magic. Here, as in the past, I stand alone listening to the reality ask hard questions of time's custodian. The sand falls ever faster through the hour glass The pebbles of time's everlasting trickle down the mountain path And the avalanche knocks us all unconscious Words can't convey the reality and the quality conversations of memory. Memory can't remember how easy life seemed so long ago during summer. The sun set like a melon fingerpaint into the palette of pulchritude Smearing the sincere fugues of God's happiness, As the warm dark faded from view and disappeared. Astute conveyors of quality Remembrances of something holy A summer breeze blowing the dark brown hairs of youth And I wondered as I sat under the tree, with the book open to experience's memory. I wondered why the writers seemed to ache when writing youth. Were they so old? Was time running breathlessly into the wall, getting up, dusting himself off and Running breathlessly into the wall again. Serendipity dictates that love is around the corner. Around the corner from reality. And spending quality conversation with a dim memory. The body keeps going, and feeling different and betraying the youth of memory, When I stop and wallow in the wasted murk of memory's youth. "Waiting for the Alone Time" poetry by Michael F. Nyiri Sunday, May 12, 2002 Coming home for three hours heaven before the door opens and the light goes on again I only want to watch my movies in the dark and not hear lengthy criticism from the roommate. when last I lived with, and supported a "family" i remember "waiting for the alone time" when i could watch my movies in the dark without listening to the lengthy criticism from the adopted family although alone in spirit so seldom am i alone in fact alone to listen to what i want to listen to to view what i want to view i guess i've been spoiled by my life, and i don't like it when it isn't in my control we should all be able to control our lives and yet, who can say for sure that he does.... our existence is a compromise of interaction, and no matter how many times i speak of a universal existence and serendipity for shared souls..... the simple truth is that i crave the universal companionship but i also find, i'm waiting for the alone time with which to enjoy my time alone with my thoughts and my deepest desires will some one ever share these without criticism and consequence the days and the years give no clue as they pass......   posted by Michael Nyiri at 1:55 PM Sunday, May 05, 2002  A Paean to Frustration I want to do it all To reminisce of love's sweet kiss And relate why I listened to the call I want to tell a tale A wanton fuse unleash a ruse And heave a hearty hale But the moment seems to disappear before the memory is clear And the thought seeps through the words and merely dies a wisp of smoke I wish for meaning, memory, and muses But seem to get stuck trying to get out of the ruses If man is the author of his inadequacy and ineptitude I better exit the party soon before the populace thinks me rude I've noticed that the emporer is naked more than once But failed to mention it, for fear of rife reprisals The perfect notion ain't too perfect, and the memory is perfectly flawed Again, To repeat, I count the heartbeats on the oscilliscope of life And notice the graph gets larger with those feelings of imagined strife Which, by the way, get more numerous with the passing of this life.   posted by Michael Nyiri at 11:08 PM 7:54pm pdt 5.4.02 poetryblog1 changing changing changing cars changing computers changing living space changing everything these days thjought even about changing jobs change comes with the season, the daybreak, the passing of time and time's joke gets less funny as the years pass by time's joke? i just turned forty nine. FORTY NINE one year shy of one half of a century as one who embraces a universal pantheistic mindset i can understand the concept of geologic time living one half of one hundred years tends to give a person a very interesting concept of time the joke is that we die we CEASE                                                  to                                                                                exist and it can happen quicker than a person can hit send on a Imagination Run Wild poetry by Michael F. Nyiri 2/9/02 8:47 pm ps     At once the idea seems so grandiose, so supreme A method by which humanity can truly be joined Coupled electronically by that little tv in the den or home office or on the bedroom nightstand one click to reach humanity's bower And share a conversation with eternity one click governed only by serendipity's portal and the means is there by which to meet life's companion At worst the idea seems farfetched, misbegoten So many ideas, viewpoints, email addy handles and websites So many profiles and postings and perchance this will Be the special time The special one Another time Another one At best the idea seems enchanted, universal, common sensical A method by which mankind can look for and find What it is we have in common And concentrate on trying to understand And tolerate our differences An idea brewing amongst mankind since his inception A universal coupling of shared souls And it can happen, even though it has not yet for me And it will happen After a while soon is an uncertainty And bravery and restitution And a stalwart belief in fate Will serve to redeem us all If we only wait The Politics of Lonliness: Poem for the New Year 2002 Poetry by Michael F, Nyiri Sat., January 1st, 2002 10:26am pst Each day is a joke spit it out, let the sands fall through and let the stands empty out. The sun falls into the sea, and tomorrow's another day. The creativity of existence, pouring from my loins, Energizes the path of elucidity. But if anyone knows what I'm talking about, then let him explicate And enlighten the poet. The things which have to be done will be so. Time will advance, and urgency will get real close into my face Screaming. These arbitrary divisions are getting smaller, And cyberserendipity waits by the corner with her hand outstretched. As she gestures, I am hesitant. As she calls, I am in denial. As the peals of new year bells signal solid standing ever steadfast And the gales of emotion wash over, but do not cleanse me. I will turn around and hope you exist this year, But won't get too disappointed When she drops her hand. 20032003