I might feel happy, I might feel real sad
Think life is ripe, think all the vibes are bad
Might feel a surge, a rich romantic hold
Might feel as if my turgid soul is sold.
It's all as if I have my own detecter
But the knob fell off of the channel selector
Don't send your love to the P.O. box this time
Because I no longer live in my own
State of Mind.

I glimpse the children playing on the street
No misdirection clawing at their tiny feet
I claw my brain, a lump climbs up my throat
They look so happy but I just missed the boat
It's all as if I am my own detractor
I lost the device to measure this important factor
Don't look me up if you're afraid of what you find
Because I lost the address to my own
State of Mind.

I might stay quiet, I might say a lot
I might think it's right but the meaning's not.
Might lose the grasp to my own solutions
While wading through the mire of the other's pollutions
It's all as if I don't care what's correct or
Maybe lost the keys to my own private sector.
Don't call my number cause there's no one on the line
Because I'm tearing up the map to my own
State of Mind.
`

easterpoem michael f. nyiri 4/3/83 11am

""I'm not you"", you scream
As you do the same things I did
And I view the same scenes
I've seen before

""I'm not you"", you cry
And you slip inside yourself nightly
Just like I did
Not too long ago

You aren't me - and yet you are
Because you're human just like me
And I refuse to reach out and touch you
Maybe because I'm afraid of finding myself

Isn't it a pity
That each one of us tells the world
We're so open, so enthusiastic
to the needs of others
So caring
But we're not really
We close and lock doors real quickly
I know I do
Even if I'm not you.
 

poetry MFN 8-25-83 5:35pm pdt

The louder the voice
The more shallow lies the complaint
The more erratic the gesture
The more meaningless the action

I try to counteract the
screams with serenity
The wildness with solidity
But I lose to louder voices
Until I raise my own

Communication with
stubborn conceits
yeilds no fruit

Nothing is accomplished
No one listens

I hear the loud voices
but I find them difficult to understand.

poetry:Michael F. Nyiri:8/25/83:5:40pm:pdt

Ten years ago, as if in a dream,
    the Angel of Friendship came to me
I contemplated her as a poetic presence
    and then let her leave, you see

When the Angel of Friendship extends her hand
    You had better believe and hold on
I wrote her a bad poem, then let her go
    and the succeeding years
    have been boring,
            and long

With nostalgic recall, I will view her sweet face
    Her ebullience, her somber sad views
But as I sit alone in cathedral silence
    No friendly light
        shines on the pews.

Ten years ago, as I fondly recall
All my cynical seeds hadn't sprouted
And I made light the encounter
    with the Angel of Friendship
A glaring mistake loudly touted.

Where are you my Angel of Friendship
Where are you my Candle of Love
I see a dark place in a pasture
And nothing but dark clouds above.

The present cannot be defined much
    the Angel of Friendship is gone
I exist as a shadow of circumstance
    My skin shards will rot on the bone

Ten years ago, as if in a dream
    the Angel of Friendship came to me
I've tried in years hence to call to her
    I put out an APB

The "you" disappeared in my poems
    the tears and sadness all but disappeared
But I can't find the Angel of Friendship
    Once lost
    Always lost as I feared.
 

poetry:michael f.nyiri:11/11/83:5:20pmpst

Can anybody hear the people
As they scream with sour intent
Is my mission for the masses
Overripe with discontent
I can hear you crying needlessly
A tear adorns my eye
Is this compassion
Or simply fashion
We surely try to live the lie.

A blowing horn belies the silence
Sitting vacant behind the wheel
Could I honk like geese in summer
Would this cacophony make me feel
I can shout with rapt attention
Let no soul return my gaze
Is this concentrated passion
Or simply fashion
Or surely simply another phase.

poetry written by Michael F. Nyiri
December 5, Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Three
Nine and ten minutes past the hour
in the morning

                I want you
                    I need you
                        I love you

                Where are you?

                I see you
                    I feel you
                        I''ll open my eyes
                        and I'll see what you see

                 But I'm blind.

                I'm happy
                    I'm open
                        I'm waiting

                  Where are you?

                I hear you
                    I'm looking
                        But I can't see
                        and I know I will always

                be behind.