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I try to show love,
But people don't see.
I try to be strong,
But I am weak.
I try to be there,
But I fall on the way.
I want to be happy
But inside I am sad.
I want to live,
But inside I feel dead.
I look in the mirror,
But the reflections not me.
I see a face
But know its not mine
I cry to myself,
But know I must stop.
I have so much to live for
But losing is my fear.
I know it will get better,
But I just have to wait.
I know, I know, I know.
I went out to find
Some value in me,
So I sold what I had
For little a fee.

My eyes for a penny
I sold to some fools,
They're blind and useless,
Mistook for jewels.

My lips for a nickel
To the sweetest sin,
So they'll know the love
That has never been.

My ears for a dime
I sold to a lover.
To hear sweet nothings,
And silence uncover.

My hands for a quarter
I sold to a ghost,
So that she might feel
What I've wanted the most.

Finally my bones for a dollar
I sold to the earth,
But as for my soul-
There was found no worth.
Click, click
Scroll, scroll
Light shine in my face
Clock is ticking
As I lie awake

What time is it now?
Doesn’t even matter
The birds will chirp soon
I’ll hear all the clatter

My family waking,
Breakfast will cook
“You’re up early!”
But sleep I never took

Click, click
Scroll, scroll
Tap, tap
Roll, roll

Side to side
I rocked all night
A comfortable spot?
No, not quite.

Time to get up, another restless night.
Will I ever sleep again?
June 2023
HP Poet: Patty Mager
Country: USA

Question 1: Welcome to the HP Spotlight, Patty. Please tell us about your background?

Patty M: "I was born an only child in a 3 generation household. I loved books, and playing imaginary games, and chasing my mom with really long nightcrawlers, my Grandpa raised in a washtub. I was a banker, and a financial banker for many years. I quit to do hospice for my Dad when he was to go into hospice. My husband had heart problems and my little Mom eventually got Cancer. So I nursed and loved them all. My Dad for a year, the others over an 8-year period. I saw the transition of each and the way each handled their ending, and I was there for them all. I consider that a special blessing."

Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Patty M: "I always wrote, but I found a poetry site 20 years ago, and began to write seriously. I've been published in many anthologies both in the US and abroad. I was nominated for the coveted Pushcart Prize twice and I once had a three-page spread in our local newspaper. I came to HP in 2014 and I love this special place with amazingly wonderful poets who have become really great friends."

Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Patty M: "Sometimes poems seem to write themselves, almost like automatic writing."

Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Patty M: "Poetry is spiritual, and a lifesaving rope that carries me through both good and the horrible times of my life."

Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Patty M: "My favorite Poets are: Sylvia Plath, Neruda, Billy Collins, Maya Angelou, Poe, Ginsberg, Anne Sexton, and Longfellow."

Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Patty M: "I love to cook, do crossword puzzles, read, and play card games like canasta, and spider solitaire. Being with family is my heaven."

Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for allowing me to interview you, dear Patty! I learned a great deal about you!”

Patty M: "Thank again Carlo. Thanks so much for all your help and kindness."

Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Patty a little bit better. I indeed did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)

We will post Spotlight #5 in July!
David Lessard
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)
The pain is gone,
The pain is gone,
I've finally found a friend,
I can count on.
im not wanted here anyway.
The Wonderess
I confess
That I undress
To feel less

My head is a mess
But I’ll make up for it
With what’s under this

That’s the only way
to get you to say
And the only way
For be to do right by you
Is to do you

So what’s the point
Of putting up a fight?
Hussein Dekmak
Plant a tree,
Water a flower,
Preserve nature.
Have a purpose!

Feed a bird,
Cuddle a pet,
Be humane to animals.
Have a purpose!

Save a life,
Nurture an orphan,
Stand up with the oppressed.
Have a purpose!

Count your blessings,
Recite your prayers,
Contemplate the universe.
Have a purpose!

Nurture your mind with ideas,
Fill your heart with the wine of love,
Dress your soul with the garment of kindness.
Have a purpose!

Hussein Dekmak
Unprecedented to me,
Your presence,
Hold constellations of the cosmos,
Planets of distant suns,
Secrets of the stars
this is a stupid desk
a stupid-shaped desk
i can’t write on it
the ink won’t stick
when i rub it
the ink makes my hand blue

stupid fat richard keeps flicking
spitballs at that twerp scott
the teacher’s so stupid
he don’t even know

this stuff hurts my head
stupid sentences
stupid direct objects
take the stupid action
of the stupid verb

dad’s stupid
mom’s stupid
lets dad beat her too
i’m not stupid
i’ll beat him
i’ll beat fat richard
i’m not stupid
© 2001 by Jack Morris
is it the golden threads of fate
or your puppet strings on my hand?
fray narte
She was an art,
but she wasn't the type
you'd find in museums
or the type that would
make you feel profound things
in your chest.

She was an art
tucked in hidden pockets
of a faded yellow dress.
She was an art,

slowly sketching herself
out of existence.
She does not ask me
May I be there
She does not ask me
If I want her
She does not ask me
In the right time
She does not ask me about the day
She is just there
The fear
Nelida Evelisse
Why do I feel numb
Watching the world
Listless in sight
Because I only see it in black and white

Colors are washed out of my eyes
And every light in me has died
All I see are smiles as frowns
Because I only see them upside down

Love songs don’t have any meaning
For a person who is trapped in their mind
Love can attempt to come my way
And I will just glance and walk away

Storm clouds cries and fills the ocean
But my salty tears competes with emotion
Filling the ocean ten times till tomorrow
That the ocean will be overwhelmed with sorrow

In the end,
I try a superficial smile
And try to fool myself for awhile
But as much as I try
There is nothing left inside
Because everything in me
Can’t seem to come alive
For those who suffer from mental illness, I hear you and I know.  There is help and above all hope.  You are strong, keep fighting, you are worth it.
Caela Bay
No one every tells you how hard it is
                 Watching someone you love die                   slowly.

                            It’s worse
Than the quick knife to the heart when their death is sudden.

      A moment:grief. Then nothingness.

                    But the slow deaths,
They ache.
Like a growing cancer eating its way out
and we acknowledge that there is no cure.
         Just waiting. Watching. Agonizing.

This time will be it.    
   I’m ready. I’ve said my goodbyes.

                              No. Not yet.
                         One more month.

And while I wish I could rejoice in this extra time together. I can’t.

                    You’re in pain. I see it.
                                   I feel it.
You’re suffering                
And all I can do is watch.
You tell me “it’s not that simple,”
You’re right
Nothing ever is
Simple it would be without human frailty
It is that simple
We are too weak
Or at least
You are too weak
About that otherwise simple thing
Don’t feel insufficient
If you were always strong enough
You’d be a freak
you say my writing is
but you forget that you’re
the one
inspiring it
Ariana Bagley
I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.
She sang a song
of ice and snow
and dreamed of oceans
swaying slow
She swam through clouds
and flew near stars
Fell so proud
and dove so far

She was a sad harmony
A song she unsung
A silence unheard
A deed undone

She hummed a tune
of fish and birds
and bore with devotion
The beasts she herds
She swam through life
and flew from death
Fell from strife
and dove bereft

She was a sweet melody
A smile she unsmiled
A violence in violet
My hope she defiled

She sang a song
that twists the mind
and played my emotions
Leaving me blind
I swam near folly
and flew through sin
I fell in love
and dove right in
because of you
when feel defeat  
i now bleed black ink
to hello poetry:
thank you for giving me an outlet. a place where I can speak freely when i am at my lowest, in the darkest place i can reach. thank you for giving me a place to put the thoughts that i cant comprehend in my head, and making me realize I'm not alone. i cannot thank you enough!
The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.
A little escape from the madness.
Or maybe, into.
Nat Lipstadt
I am a Taken Poet ~ “The Wreckage of Your Silent Reverie”^

<6:45 AM Sat June 3>

again and again, a peculiar lyric
more than provokes, ******, injects,
no mere head buzzing, sledgehammer
beheaded, no under skin, in my pores,
shedding,reabsorbed, replaying the replay,
until I, will-less, commanded endlessly,
induced, besplay my irritants into my
“take,” for I am an overtaken poet, searching relief

too well, the wreckage refuse of these
silent reveries consume us, and I shriek,
contemplating the years of holey falling,
not hours or days, not weeks or months,
spent in rigorous dreams, facing & escaping,
my guilts, my fork failures, bottling & pouring,
with no relief from screams, head-banging,
nightmare visitations and inarticulate moans

until they form words, projectile ejected,
pollutants upon a clean, white background,
and dispatched to the heavens or nether land,
and to you, here in poem form that brings but a
modicum crumb of relief that empties, buying
time, knowing full well, my cup runneth over and
fresh replacement troops are eager, readily available,
by joining the seesaw border war, splitting my halves

my halves for I am not whole, I am deboned,
and slices fall off of these trough of words,
these statements of fact & fission, uninformed forms,
even worse, formed formlessness reciting repetitive,
inescapable  escapades, dead-ended hell highways,
these poems, all carcasses of me, roadside ****, until,
someone unseen, unknown invisible, removes them
to the largest refuse pile in world, a inutile poem heap

even this epistolary of diary entries offered down for
your bemusement, my expulsionary relief, give but
the briefest analgesic, and a newest version of an oldest
reverie, old friend, comes like the unending beeping,
of a dying battery of a fire alarm, squeaking, unrelenting,
unresponsive to curses or begging till the last ounce
of its energy is consumed, so too I, impatient squeak words,
too many contemptuously familiar yet well hid in new combos,

temporarily pulled from the wreckage of my silent reverie

~~~~~~~~~~~~<7:45 AM>~~~~~~~~~~~~

^ “Oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees
In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie

You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here”

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Sarah Mclachlan
gray overcast chilly Saturday morn,
listening to the chirping of a dying battery,
reminding me of my mortality and
my other stuff.
The angels' harps play a sacred tune,
while planets dance around the moon;
In subtle strains our spirits rise,
and leave us grateful and starry-eyed.

Recalling life as it once seemed,
this vision floated inside a dream;
In many days of endless chants,
the angels' harps cause us to dance.

When voices touch each other's hearts,
there's always a sign creating sparks;
And with that strong secure emotion,
then lives connect with pure devotion.

No longer chilled in fears of life,
all folks fly far away from strife;
The added wealth of kinship stands,
as children sing while holding hands.
your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you
if only i could chase you with pizza but shots don't work like that
Damien Ko
so you're an e-girl
havin fun online girl
patreon subscribe girl
premium snapchat girl
I'm that white knight
asking you for nudes type
saying I'll treat you right
crying about Chad type
I'm the niiiiiice guy
i love a little degeneracy
Where Shelter
Silver Beach: Always the Sole First

familiar white fishing boat, up with early light,
seeking sustenance and pleasure in = measure,
anchored ‘bout quarter mile east of my under-the-coverlet,
(of course! as the crow, raven or scavenging osprey flies),
it’s precise location amazingly exact, but alas, soon daily
familiarity breeds no secrecy, and now joined by a
farther out, smaller version, a compatriot in spotitude,
of the best spots for harvesting the early running
brackish bay water favorites, striped or black sea bass

what persistent fortitude these fisher-peoples display,
early to rise, first to depart, when others crowd its “spot,”
(amazed by its knowing precision the exactitude of “spot”)
this ship, always the sole-first, invokes a first poem of the day,
always a soul-first, an unburdening of deepest gratitude that
one more day granted me to imbibe this vista, awake to its
soothing silent heavenly serenity, absent machine or
electronic interference with my delicate sleepy wakefulness,
when newly minted words come into my mind, my
secret spot

Sat AM June 3
Sometimes i wonder do you
Remember me like i remember you.
"What colour is my heart?" she sings,
And as her voice soaks into me,
I feel you slink and coil yourself around my heart.
At first it felt like you were meant to be there,
But the longer her set goes on
The harder you squeeze.
"What colour is my heart?" she sings.
I know the answer.
My heart is black and blue,
Thanks to you.
-I can't listen to jazz anymore.
so gently
you pulled the
threads loose,
set me free

but the relief lasted
barely a moment -
you tied me to
you, chained me,
and even after
you decided
you didn't want me

you left me
with the shackles
and the bruises
and the empty bed
and the sheets
that still smell
like you.
Joel M Frye
To my friends
who can write
bouquets of words
with splendid color,
I offer my envy.
Mine are the blunt, stunted words,
rooted in the cracks
in pavement,
or forcing their way
to light around
overbearing rocks.
Some useful
in their own way,
edible or flavorful,
some with a
pedestrian beauty,
but few that one
would bring home in a bunch
with a box of candy.
More appropriate
in a grimy, young fist
crumpled in love,
destined to be vased
in a water glass
by a doting mother,
or shredded petal by petal
for the sake of soothsaying...
he loves me, he loves me not.
The beauty of your words takes my breath away some days.  Thank you.
We chased a feeling
not a reality

We both wanted someone
So desperately
that we found each other

Even though no part of

Our pieces didn’t fit together
so we pressed and jammed them
until they were stuck
and stayed that way
we broke

-red flags
That sense of peace and wellbeing
could well be due to the drugs that
you're taking.

the non-prescribed variety only lead
you down the road to anxiety
be like me (now)
and say no.

if you've read the contra-indications on
some of those medications!
would you still take?

I take
cinder-water for the stomach ache
a cold compress for a headache
anything else
and I grin and bear it
swear a lot
and get over it
unless it's serious
and then I cry.
She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."
What's the difference?
Chris Balase
I only have 5 minutes
To spare this poetry
Here it goes:

I do not wish to be seen
Said the old man in me
So leave me alone
Cause I don't want to be

For I've been running away
This is what I hate
And I envy everyone else
Who are not in the same fate.

What have I become?
Where will I go?
The questions are left unanswered
And I've searched high and low.

To be strong once more
In my world full of doubt
To be strong while I lose
In my latest bout.

I wish I had more time
Just like before
I only have 5 minutes
And I wish I had more.
please dont kick down the door
my bloods still all over the floor
its red and pink
i cut my hair, its in the sink

please leave me alone
pain in love is all ive known
let me cry
but dont let me die

i miss you and love everything you do
but you cant see me now, im just so scared of you
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