Eike (ike) Waltz is a member of the Academy of American Poets

​I was born into a world where broken life spoke in riddles to muddy the past…Yet everybody seemed to understand DADA when you justified survival.
My writing style is a mix of:
DADAistic Realism
and
Rational DADAism
 
Remember…you… nor I…we cannot write without risk…anymore we cannot speak without opening our mouth within 2 inches of an Open Mic

I feel comfortable by being associated with Anti-poetry 
Why I write

• I write….because nobody says what I want to hear
• So…I write about what nobody wants to write about
• I write about issues nobody wants to hear
• I write about a society which relishes their patriotic comfy zone in satisfaction…
• I write about what upsets old farts but pleases a new generation of I-pot kids
• I expose rednecks and religious bigots
• I challenge racists…and those who can only say…it’s not my fault…don’t point the finger at me
• I tell youngsters...that there are treasures to be found beyond the horizon
• Never become the tyrant of your own mind

I rescue thoughts of a day
 
My grammar is based on being an immigrant.
My punctuation is based on my experience with the theater… where the conductor breathes with the
opera singer or the ballerina…I do not use common punctuation like commas, etc   Instead…I indicate
​where you should breath or take a breath…
3 dots mean (…) take a short breath
5 dots mean (.....) take a breath as the subject matter may change

​Comments
Eike (ike) Waltz is an artist who walks across genres on a tightrope of talent and keen, precise vision.
His poetry is informed by the varied span of his other abilities as a dancer, sculptor, orator, filmmaker, and more.
His work is wrapped in colorful and textural layers of sensual detail.
Even more, his work is informed by decades of experience across continents, sometimes barely surviving, sometimes exultant and triumphant.
He carries the reader spinning through the stages of ecstasy and despair.
Ripe fields explode into battlefields only to be lost in the depths of space or the rush of history in the endlessly shifting ethical exhortations full of wisdom.
His poetry will stick with you and invite you back to gain new insights with each reading.
Take the time to walk the tightrope of Eike's vision.
You will find each step a daring yet enjoyable thrill.
Michael Sindler……Beat Poet Laureate of Colorado

       Sculpitti, Eike Waltz’s new book, is a fusion of art and poetry in a world that is sometimes autobiographical, often political, certainly social, and intellectually challenging.
      Created and named Sculpitti by Waltz, the sculptures in this book are the embodiment of the ephemeral—while the nuance within his poignant and thought-provoking poetry offers a new perspective and interpretation with every repeated reading.
     Every poem offers a brief glimpse of a particular reality. His writing is crisp yet is fluid and flows effortlessly, creating a sense of intimacy that both captivating and enthralling. Waltz's use of specific language and vivid imagery allows readers to fully immerse themselves in the primacy of the moment.
      This book not only celebrates the beauty of art and poetry but also challenges traditional notions of what defines each medium. With Sculpitti, Waltz has created a masterpiece that demonstrates the limitless potential of combining art and writing. Sculpitti is not just a book of art and poetry, but a work of art in itself—a true testament to the beauty and power of both mediums combined. 
Dan Speers . . . Poet Laureate, Haverhill, MA…Dec. 2023
 
“Slit-Fit-Chair” Booktopia (Australia) critique
Eike pays homage to all the designers who attempted or completed a successful
or a failure of a sleek indoor-outdoor chair design.
The Slit-Fit-Chair weaves together the lower back silhouette of a potential client
with his or her personal God-given slit configuration.
The Slit-Fit-Chair creates something entirely new as it only addresses your slit.
Lightweight and durable, the Slit-Fit-Chair Chair has a narrow, almost razor-sharp seat interface,
targeting your personalized levels of pain tolerance to an historic level.
Made in the USA.
Eike shares his approach to chair design that has been inspired by clean lines,
details, graceful proportions, quality craftsmanship, and focus on function.
Eike emphasizes that the natural beauty of materials is all the ornamentation a chair needs.
This approach to a chair design results in simple, graceful, well-constructed chairs.
When designing his chairs, he also factors in cost and customers' budgets.
One of the advantages to his design approach is that the light, graceful lines are partially
accomplished using smaller or thinner detail.
This helps keep material costs to a minimum and reduces labor.
When reducing price and cost, Eike will never compromise the integrity of a piece.
Learn his game-changing insight into chair design in his book!
 

The Immigrant That Never Dies
 
There is an immigrant
in all of us…
he walks
he eats
he works
he greets
he talks to all of us
he sleeps inside the universe
next to you
in the closet
and under the bed…
we all pray
we are all made of blood
the why- where- when- and what
diversity…
in the image of God…
I thank you…a lot
 
There is an immigrant
in all of us…
I built my island
I call melancholy
and invite immigrants
to reminisce in phantasy…
the sound of a song
from where I came
rekindles longing…
I can’t go back
so I start singing…
memories
so hard to please…
tears dry quickly
so I am at ease…
and I look
at all of you…
faces become familiar…
time teaches thank you…
that you welcomed me…
I am good…
I am…fine…thank you…
 

Let me tell you…You are Triumphantly Awful
 
Wonder woman
Wonder man
Devour spineless spongy wonder bread
Wonder baby fly’s over London…diapers very wet
Hormones and steroids cuddle in a stormy wonder bed
There is so much…such wonderful…to be said
We are all obese and proud American
We kidnap children, toddlers and baby’s
And tell the world…let them die
We read the Wonder Bible
No sanctuary
Yes we are triumphant… and yes…we barbarously…can
 
And I…I…wonder…wonder…why
Wonderful Viagra
that little blue pill wonder
that temporary wonderful national insecurity sigh
erects that teeny Donald wonder… without a brain…without a will
and out of hand…stands up to attention…Putin snoopin …so wonderful…
Ready to abuse…ready to kill
We are in proud Russian wonderland
where wonders work
in a wondering bath tab advertisement wonderment
And your one man’s fake wonder stand
that wishful… wondering… chauvinistic pant
10 inches and 3 h of TV’s wondering wonder (surely…it can’t be any longer)
…Ecstasy when cold (so I am told)
shrivels into the frivolous wonders of neglected shame…
such wonderless… now worthless dysfunctional ponder
what old man call lovingly…their out of service responder
And I…For once…
Wonder…why live is…wonderful
And I…For once…
Wonder…why live is…sometimes wonderful
And I…For once…
Wonder…why live is…rarely wonderful
 
OOOPS…(unrest inside my pants) twitter twitter royal White House…
Hey orange baby…why are you hiding?
Come out …everybody wants to see you…what did you say…proudly shutting down the Government?
Fuck the people…What?…You like 7 more years of spanking…?
I wonder… where our democratic wonderment went….
Jealous of that wonderful collusion…Stormie’s wonder  lawyer can depend?
 
Oh dear…I am…in a wonder mans…wishful wondering…Trumptmania…bewilderment !!!
 
Thank you…for your reaction…Good night…Have a wonderful…American...erection
 

SON OF A GUN
 
He's got the whole world…in his hands,
He's got the whole world in his hands.
He's got my brother and my sister…in his hands,
He's got my brothers and my sisters in his hands,
And then…
He’s got a gun…in his hand
He’s got a mean gun…in his hand
He’s got a gun…in his hand
He’s had a bad…bad …day…and teach the world
 
He shot a brother …in the head
He shot his big brother in the head
He shot a sister…in the back
He shot his sweet sister in the back
He shot a mother…in her bed
He shot them all…in cold blood…dead
 
He’s got an angry gun…on his mind
He’s got an angry gun…in his ears
He’s got an angry gun…up his nose
He’s got an angry gun…in his mouth
He’s got a target…in his mean eyes
He’s got a target…in his cold sight
 
He’s got a gun…in his hand
He’s had a mean gun…‘til his end
And then…
He had the whole world…in one hand
The same hand…that pulled that trigger...‘til his end
The same hand…that dropped that blooded gun…what an end
and all the silver bullets …in his defense…do not help…do not understand
…He’s got no flowers…on his grave
…He’s got no tears…that forgave
And all that automatic gun…did not make him…that exceptional…free…American
Yes, he’s had a violent gun…one of the best
And I…I have a painful knot…in my chest…
…He's had the whole world…in his hands,
…He's had my whole world…in his hands.


Moonshine Gray
 
There are 4 people
in my castle:
Myself
a selfish cat
my love
and hidden alcohol…
There is a locked door
in my castle…
not to be opened
by
my cat
my love
and hidden alcohol….
Behind that locked door
a lake of tears
I smell dry Gin…..
No ripples
No depth
No shores
No safe island…
Moonshine gray
trembles my lost way.
An icy blanked
with little to say
but deadly breath…
My soul is sobbing
within the sound of unspoken demise.
Excuse is repeating history.
Hidden bottles
hide trust.
Every drop
fuel for that desperate must.
That toxic lie…
Lies… lies… lies…
There is that moment
you unearth the worse
of a desperate me.
Some times
I have to do
what protects
the little that is left…
I don’t cherish
this moment,
it burns my soul…
I wished
I could walk away…
But then
my drunken cat
and I
decide to stay….
When will this torture erupt…
A sleepless night
invaded by
tomorrows dreaded sun…
Is there a tomorrow ?
Is there any help?....
Is there even hope?...
You look through me
I am a ghost
only to be stabbed by the next drink…
…There are 4 people in my castle
and hidden alcohol
keeps trying to unlock its massive door…
Yet…a brutal mirror
on the wall
reveals it all…
Look at me…
Look at me…
Take a moment
of your unsocial time…
Don’t say it
don’t say it to anyone
if you can…
as I lost compassion
for an illness
I can’t understand…
It just shreds my wounded soul…
That faceless stare
accuses my love of fail, heaven & hell…
When you sleep
I kiss your beautiful face
with tears you cannot see…
I am alone in bed…
with a drunken cat
and a you
I can’t forget…
“That’s all my love”
That’s all …I am able to say


When Harley, Hog and Heaven burn in Hell
 
Roaring up the hog
Riding and soar
She is loose
She is free
It’s heavenly sin
I am feelin’ hot
The god…after all…is me…
I spruce her up
I polish her chrome
She is the custom ass
I ride upon…
You handle my touch
as much
as I am fucking you….
I kiss ma woman
on the naked blank
between my knees
a loaded tank.
On my back
tattooed your jittering tits…
Riding fast and high
riding heaven and hell
through lollipop sky.
Under my helmed of steel
shades…pig tail…filthy wits
Highway 101
Mile crunching in sane
Fog, rain or sun
Poetry between two lanes
Sun of a gun
Eny Meny Miny Mo…It’s scary so…
for citizen Paul…Harry…and old Mary
Fuck the obese police
I am that poster boy…of undiluted prison joy
I like that pussy squeezing my crutch,
I am in high gear…
Nothing is better
then to write with a stiff this poetic letter….
Nothing is sexier
then to put poetry through its paces.
Nothing is mightier
than knuckelheads and the womb of fire
chromium breasts….domes… I admire
No dress code
only… bare…bulging… desire…
Let me be responsible
for the scream I make…
after all… she can’t fake.
I inhale the rubber I don’t wear
Preparation H… or itch… I don’t care
I am the man….I have the machine
Give it to me
Give it to me ma bitch
body of metal, grease and muscle
with erotic skin and pistons of dirty sin.
We sleep over and cuddle in a puddle
I lick the ass of ma honky-tonk machine
so squeaky…squeaky clean.
A am so mean…so filthy mean
No life without her
No worry…no mind
We don’t know where to go
but wherever I go…fuzzy pussy goes too.
Driven by the horny wind
and that lingering… exhausting… stink.
I am the bastard of my age
I am the war I wage
So…fuck the politics…
I can hear you tell:
Will you sell???.....Will you sell???...
Let’s rock and roll…bro
It’s my death… they smell
But I smell…ma chick is drinkin
“It’s ma machine doin all that thinkin
Can’t you… tell???”
….My final resting place
is no prison for my soul.
I will be bedded
neither burnt nor shredded
in a revving and roaring display…
At least…at least
I… was… so… sexy
my awesome twitter… will say
Roaring up liberation
Riding the mount
Horses on the loose
I…am…free
I throttle my hog
I feel… that God after all…is me
…No confession to make

 
Arriving
 
it is so hard
to walk away
from treasured memories.
every word
every laugh
every tear
every kiss
every hug
every good night
every promise
was bliss.
…WHY HAVE YOU LEFT US …
searching questions
changing us
painfully…. slowly.
it happens to all of us.
memories
have arrived
…in peace…
infinite joy and love at destiny.
Forever Yours