Thanks for those comments Chris. These are the kind of comments and the type of review I was hoping for. I guess I better return the favor. As far as poetry I have a essay slash introduction up about why I write poetry. I don’t necessarily consider myself a poet, but instead as a writer. My favorite poets are Berton Braley, it is a sad state of affairs that I never heard of him in school, and also Robert Frost. I don’t have much poetry right now to study, I did much studying of poetry in college though and unfortunately didn’t keep my books. I am thinking that I should try to rewrite some of the poetry to have a better rhythm about them so they can be read aloud better. Of course there are still many poems yet to be posted and some of them are even further from correct poetry form than these are, just hope people will like these one’s as well.
Here goes one from my Pre Objectivist days; written during the year I turned over to Objectivism. It is a telling piece letting people know where I was during this time. Also can anybody pick up a recurring theme among my poems yet?
“A Time in Life”
There comes a time, a time in life
When a person becomes lost, lost with despair
And everything that is done, is done in strife
Were you feel that nobody, nobody cares
And you can never get a grip, a tight grip
On the way things are, how they are to be
And there is hardly a soul, a soul with a tip
To give you freedom, freedom to see
Who you are, whom it is I sought
Where does that person fit, fit in the Dance.
A Dance that has yet to be taught
Through him I have, I have a better chance
So I keep my hope, my hope that in the end
Things will be turning, turning out for the good
And peace of mind and of heart I will have, for I will have tended
To the song in my heart, the song that give me
The gift of hope, the hope of a Maiden fair
And I can hold her in my arms, arms that are open wide
For the flame of Love, of a love to see my care
The care of a man who, who has nothing to hide
Once he is unwrapped, unwrapped from the shell
The shell that has been holding, holding me down
From being the man, the man I can be so well
If only given the chance, the chance to be shown
To another of how great, how great a lover I can become
A lover who’ll be there, when times disagreeable betide
But I will rejoice, rejoice when the sun come ups
For she is with me, with me at my bedside
As I gaze in her eyes, eyes that I surrender
For we are true soul mates, and she is my true lover
Keith Engel
September 21, 2000
The next Poem:
The Higher Praise to…
There is no better sight in this life
Then seeing a man standing tall
Free from the shackles of strife
Nothing will ever make him fall
For he follows his own mind
In making the decisions for life
Never will he be in a tight bind
Following this ultimate rule of life
There is no better sight in this life
Then seeing a man accomplish a task alone
Cutting his way through the world like a knife
For he will never allow anyone to own
The tool upon which he lives and survives
It is his to use and conquer what he sees
Not squandering his life or other lives
For his life is measured in great deeds
There is no better sight in this life
Then seeing a man earning what he owns
He counts his success not in saving life
But in the irony of life’s ups and downs
For it is the fighting and struggling for it
That makes living all the sweeter
The hot sweating and grisly bleeding of it
Which allows him to come out the better
There is no better sight in this life
Then seeing a man on high peering over
For he is seeing the future, the future of all life
For in the infinite distance of forever
It isn’t into the dark abyss of night
Nor the hell bound train the world is riding
But the hidden and the forbidden hope of light
For the future rewards those who do the creating
For there is no better sight in this life
Then seeing a man of independence
Living by his own rule’s in this life
Never giving over to the credence
Of the morality of self sacrificing
Never living for the life of the other
But just enjoying the simplicity of living
This is why I give no praise higher
Then to the Independent Man living
Keith Engel
Monday, August 30, 2004
Time for another Poem, and on a sidenote I had better begin writing some more. I am running out of Poems to put up.
The Servant
Oh how I bow down to you master
Nothing makes my heart beat the faster
Then becoming your humble servant
Nothing makes me overcome with fervent
Then doing your glorious cause
Nothing will ever give me sudden pause
In doing my best work for you
For no one will ever give me more due
Though some may call you hard and cold
I will never be part of this fold
In your brilliant light do I shine
For everything will be just fine
For you are always here with me
Letting me to remain carefree
For there is always a constant strife
In the simple world of life
Many say you are uncaring
Their reason and faith wavering
Placing their belief in others
Hiding and shaking behind covers
From what you can call down on them
Hiding behind their mother’s hem
Seeking from you always mercy
For sins committed cowardly
Yet I am not unwavering
For I am always favoring
To follow the hard steady path
Never fearing to face your wrath
For I will never stray from you
Being one of the very few
Never becoming uncouth
For I am the Servant of Truth
Keith Engel
Saturday, August 28th 2004
I decided to put this one up as well due in large part that the two poems are connected and consequently were written on the same day, my birthday to be exact.
…and The Seeker
I am seeking an object which
Many others find to be a bitch
While the power of my mind is always
Through out the rest of my long days
Will be searching and striving for it
Struggling and suffering for it
Thirsting and hungering for it
Nothing will ever quench this thirst
Hell will have to freeze over first
Before I ever give up this quandary
Because it is with great sagacity
And ever growing tenacity
That I give the chase for the quandary
This matter that is so elusive
That it has become quite obtrusive
Just how many pretend to know
Treating my object of desire as a foe
Listening to the sweet sounds of omission
All the while it is with fervor commission
They cast my quandary to the red flame
Now they only have themselves to blame
The means of their salvation is ash
Giving up the future in one mad dash
To have the illusion of the carefree
All based on the whim-ridden plea
Crying out that it is all just so unfair
The world being so cruel, crass, full of no care
So I accord them justice and their due
For if they only had the inkling and knew
That the very thing they scream against
Rally and fight and clash against
Is the very means to having it all
The very thing leading to their downfall
The quandary of my quest and my life
It is joined to me as a loving wife
For I am like a master sleuth
Because I am the Seeker of Truth
Keith Engel
Saturday, August 28, 2004
I finally got a chance to read your first poem here, “No More”.
Wonderful piece of work, something that I could have written.
It reminded me of growing up in a Catholic household, the fear of God and/or the Devil (caps are on purpose for emphasis) always being forced onto me.
I will read another one of your poems soon. 
Thanks for the reply ann r kay. That is what No More is dealing with. I grew up in a Catholic household and held onto the faith until it lead me down the road of disaster. This was the catalyst that made me change over to Objectivism. The poem is a statment about what I would not accept anymore and what I would.
This is one is my longest poem.
A Righteous Rage
The Flames of righteous rage burn deep
Constantly do they come, flow, and seep
Like the sticky, salient sap of a tree
For this rage is easy to spot and see
It resides in anybody who wants to be free
What did you say you are already free?
This begs, Free in every form of life
Free from the threat of a knife?
That comes during the long night
Or even when it is daylight
That can, slaughter, come and kill
Just by the whim and the will
Free to actually have a choice?
And have your own simple voice
And not having others telling
What is theirs for the selling?
Or screaming, hollering, and yelling
That this is not the way to be?
Why can’t you just see?
Yet most importantly
Free from the needs of others?
Aren’t we all just sisters and brothers?
Isn’t this is what is told to you
And that you must give them their due
That you matter not, but live to serve
They hit you and strike every nerve
They come at you with pity
And say that it is morality
To serve others and be helpers
Yet only the lowly paupers
Are good enough to receive
Yet we have all been deceived
For you are nothing more than a slave
To those who don’t have
They have you shackled in chains
Bringing it on with the emotional pains
That you will not be good
If you don’t give some food
Or perhaps it is some money
To make them feel sweet like honey
That they are after and seek
For the so called poor and weak
And it must be given with meekness
And never should you feel happiness
For it is your purpose and duty
To give all the earned booty
Does this mean that kindness is wrong?
Yet, is this truly the tune of the song?
That they give to you and ask?
No, they have given you a greater task
You will be the savior of all
Even if you happen to stumble and fall
And end up another brick in the wall
And instead of standing high and tall
You are leaning and stooping in shame
You haven’t given enough in the great game
Or is it that you haven’t had enough lashes?
On the bare back without the sashes
To protect you from the mighty whips
Yet they won’t be happy till the flail’s tips
Are soaked through with your blood
And your body sweats like a flood
With the worry, concern and stress
That you haven’t done enough to address
The problems they have set forth
And that you are of little worth
Yet, burning deep down is the rage
Just waiting to break free from the cage
It is the very thing that the masters
For they are the very blasters
Of the object that is seeking release
Spouting blasphemous lies all they please
Against this sole single object
That is the much-feared subject
That they won’t touch
Nor will they even vouch
That it should be in existence
This is the very persistence
That allows everybody to be a slave
They have put blinders on the eyes
With the deceitful and cunning lies
This lie that is so witty and sly?
That every man who is suffering and dies
Is your fault and lies at your feet
Isn’t it all just so tidy and neat
How it all fits together and continues
Yet there is some brand new news
That they don’t want to be seen
It is the, what could have been
This is the rage that burns deep
Just wishing to come out and seep
Into the very heart of world
Much like the whiteness of a pearl
That is hidden in the oyster
So it is hidden all the deeper
With in the very heart of you
You must grant it its credit and due
For this object, the one that will grant you true freedom
Is nothing more than your SELF!!!
Another Poem
The Sleeper
This man you well know
You walk by him with the flow
Jostling in the crowd while on the go
And it just goes to show
That when standing in the brilliant glow
Of a man who is on the threshold
One willing to be daring and bold
Willing to grab on and take hold
Of what it is so simple and clear
Never showing any mind numbing fear
Or a shiny single wet dewy tear
Has it become any clearer?
Or is it possible that a look deeper
Is needed to see this man cleaner
For you have placed him in the grime
And it truly is a heinous crime
Yet everybody will see in time
When the man who is the keeper
For he will no longer be a creeper
Faltering along the Road of the Weeper
For he is The Sleeper
Now The Sleeper has awaken
Everything is now his for the taken
Free, proud and no longer shaken
Taken with great joy for what is his
Not by the force of the fist
Yet by the earning of the keep
And from the very high of the deep
That warm place down within him
The happy light outshines the dim
For he is the Sleeper Awaken
And the World is his for the taken
Another Poem
The Sleeper
This man you well know
You walk by him with the flow
Jostling in the crowd while on the go
And it just goes to show
That when standing in the brilliant glow
Of a man who is on the threshold
One willing to be daring and bold
Willing to grab on and take hold
Of what it is so simple and clear
Never showing any mind numbing fear
Or a shiny single wet dewy tear
Has it become any clearer?
Or is it possible that a look deeper
Is needed to see this man cleaner
For you have placed him in the grime
And it truly is a heinous crime
Yet everybody will see in time
When the man who is the keeper
For he will no longer be a creeper
Faltering along the Road of the Weeper
For he is The Sleeper
Now The Sleeper has awaken
Everything is now his for the taken
Free, proud and no longer shaken
Taken with great joy for what is his
Not by the force of the fist
Yet by the earning of the keep
And from the very high of the deep
That warm place down within him
The happy light outshines the dim
For he is the Sleeper Awaken
And the World is his for the taken
Richard, this last stanza strikes me as the best thing you have done. The unnecessary bad grammer at the ends of the lines ruin it, however. Why not something like this:
Now the sleeper is awak’ning;
Everything’s now his for the taking;
Free, proud, and no longer shaking,
Taken with great joy for what’s his;
Not by the force of his fist,
Yet by the earning of his keep,
And from the very light of the deep----
Thar warm place down within him,
The happy light outshining the dim.
For he is The Sleeper Awak’ning
And the World is his for the taking.
Notice, by using “light” in line seven more emphasis is placed on “happy” (and thus, the whole, contrasting, “happy light”). Also, "awak’ning, “taking”, “shaking”,
are now active, thus representing an active living being. The idea of the poem and the basic stanza structure are excellent, the latter a good fit for this strong, self-assertive declaration.
Oops! Sorry about the misspelling in line eight.
For the time being I will not be putting up anymore poems. I wish to begin writing some more poems, as well as begin work on some other projects. Also, I am thinking about self publishing these and other works. So I better not post all of my works for free viewing. :lol:
:dough: A new Poem and Yes I am still around, just taking a break to sort through matters.
The Most Dangerous
By
Keith Engel ©
The most dangerous man of all,
Is the man with nothing to lose.
No lower can he go in his fall.
For it is up to him to choose.
Which course will he go?
Will he curse the cruel twist of fate?
And shake a mighty fist at the woe.
Just waiting for the gruesome date.
And treating life as the real foe.
Never finding true and real bliss,
In this great grand grotesque Dance,
Despising even his lover’s kiss.
While leaving it all to chance.
Going into a spitting mad rage
Banging his fists with chilling screams
Like some schizophrenic in a cage.
Never willing to do the dreaming!
Or will he chose a different path,
Just viewing this as another route.
Looking at the plan, simple, math.
For the stars he can now shoot,
He doesn’t curse his existence,
Or where the road is leading him.
For it is with great persistence
That he doesn’t let his light dim.
For he will now be daring,
Willing to reach out and grab hold.
He is never one for the fearing
Wanting no part of that particular fold
For there is nothing to be earned
If there is not the gritty trying.
And going on what he has learned,
He is not one for the dying.
So reaching out with a hand,
It is with purpose and love
That drives him on this land.
And when push comes to shove,
He won’t let it slip away.
For he will be standing tall,
Not fearing the coming of day,
For he is the most dangerous man of all!