Only six hours stretch
between us.
The air wrapped in night
slowly turns into dawn.
Time flows through our veins,
for one of us quickly,
for the other more slowly.
Soon I will say good night,
and you will wish me a good day.
The distance in time and space
makes me think
of those who came and went
with the ticking of a clock.
A few words
could have been comfort,
but they left silence instead.
And we write that ending
in our minds,
as if closure could bring us peace.
Does a loss repeated
hurt any less?
We are still lucky.
We can say
good morning at night,
and words carry us
through another circle traced
by the hands of time
until the next meeting.
I wish I could be sure
that the same will happen
when there are no lips left
to speak those words.
Fragility suspended
on slender stems
in the shimmer
of passing lives.
May all the touched moments
fall now
upon this blue planet
and hold us all
in gentleness.
Yes, we are bodies
longing for a mother's open arms,
a father's voice,
a friend's handshake,
a lover's tender gaze
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 9:02 PM UTC
The wind is up and the landscape is changing.
Like a bureaucratic comedy, tomorrow’s forecast calls for
‘strong winds,’ as if the gusts we’re seeing now aren’t
physical enough.
The big yachts that usually cluster offshore are gone.
They moved out, heading for deeper, more sheltered
anchorages.
We went to the outdoor Saint Tropez market this morning,
to get brugnon, abricots, rouge cherries, fresh bread and
tapenades. Fishermen in the harbor were working with
quiet anxiety to lash down and secure their boats.
On the beach, ocean waves are boring in on shore - sharper,
faster and frothier, rolling in more dramatically, tucking down
at the last second to break on the beach in sudden, forward
rolls - like you see on the gulf of Mexico.
Gulls, herons and swifts hang in the air, like sculptures in orbit,
not flapping - just rocking back and forth above the waves.
Clouds rush by, like a ticker-tape Rorschach test and the
umbrella pines are starting to shimmy like bobblehead dolls.
I wonder if the giant show kites will be up tomorrow,
the big 40-foot long ones - the whales, dragons, caterpillars,
and octopuses - I hope so.
We’ll have to watch those from the hills, because sand whips
along the beach, flowing like a sandpaper river to sting
bare ankles like a swarm of bees.
We had to tie-off our suites sheer Belgian linen drapes earlier,
they were thrashing like living flags of surrender.
I delight in this kind of domestic chaos, it makes me feel alive.
.
.
Songs for this:
Riviera Life by Caro Emerald
Sail on sailor by the beach boys
Colors Of The Wind - End Title by Vanessa Williams
1d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 8:57 PM UTC
My mother wears her metallic and luminous grey hair long —
She dons a complementary brushed-chrome suit with a gunmetal woollen jumper to shield her from the biting weather.
Her glasses - rimless, blue-tinted and square are a statement that sings: “I may be nearly 70, but don’t underestimate me!”
She is a walking, striking song —
People stop and stare as we walk by here and there,
In the busy Melbourne streets, she sashays sleek and sweet.
Some serenade her with compliments, some take pictures, many engage, asking for her take on fashion.
I love that she is now in her limelight, the spotlight - gong!
And I get to witness this exquisite woman’s moment,
That may have been lost if we’d just walked head-strong, me scurrying behind her titanium metre hair, long —
2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 12:28 PM UTC
Soft is earth that receives us
the rain, the root, the fallen seed.
A thousand seasons enter it;
one tree rises, many valleys
Yielding, it conquers stone.
Empty, it gathers worlds.
The Sun watches it all silently
The fruit belongs not to the flower,
but to the silence that bore it.
2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 12:28 PM UTC
~
June 2026
HP Poet: Kalliopie
Age: 28
Country: USA
Question 1: We warmly welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Kalliopie. Please tell us about your background?
Kalliopie: "My name is Kay, I'm 28 and live in the united states. I'm a nurse, who comes from a long line of nurses and Healthcare professionals. I actually was pretty resistant to the idea of working in Healthcare my whole life but a nursing home ended up being the first job I ever stayed longer than 6 months at, so I guess it's where I'm meant to be after all. I'm a mother to one daughter and the oldest of five. I love, love, love cats and I have three!"
Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?
Kalliopie: "I have always loved to write, I thoroughly enjoyed writing essays and any form of English assignments in school. I joined Hello Poetry in 2018/2019 and though I haven't always consistently posted, I've always been a reader of everyone else's work."
Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).
Kalliopie: "There isn't a quiet moment in my head. My gears are always turning. I draw inspiration from a mix of situations I'm in, combined with what I see around me. I often think of a line and put it in my notes, where I'll finish it later. I'm heavily inspired by the moon and rain, it's just when I feel the most at peace I think."
Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?
Kalliopie: "For me poetry is therapy. It's creativity unleashed. It's being able to subconsciously work out my thoughts through rhyme in the name of art."
Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?
Kalliopie: "Embarrassingly, I don't read much these days, aside from what I read on Hello Poetry (there's so many amazing poets here). But I quite like Rupi Kaur and Atticus Poetry, I have a few of their books on my shelf."
Question 6: What other interests do you have?
Kalliopie: "My main hobby is video games; I love to get lost in a different reality. Over the past two summers, I have started to garden as well, nothing crazy. I'm not very good at it, but I enjoy it and my daughter seems to like it. I also really like to watch the hummingbirds, so that's become some what of a hobby, trying to plant the flowers they like and making sure their feeder stays clean. I never thought I'd make time to watch birds but maybe that's something that comes age, lol."
Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you, Kalliopie, we truly appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! It is our pleasure to include you in the Spotlight series!”
Kalliopie: "Thank you so much for this opportunity!"
Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Kalliopie better. We most certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez
We will post Spotlight #41 in July!
2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 12:25 PM UTC
She led me to the waterfront
I cast a skimming stone
Three bounces secured true love that day
Seeds of future lives were sown
We married in a small town church
Two rings blessed with a kiss
A baby was born the following spring
Three bounces gave us bliss
Alas, our bairn was taken after three short years
From this it became hard to recover
So we walked back to the waterfront
Three bounces, this time, cast by my lover
In the years that passed, five children were raised
Each one filled with joy and laughter
The first born was always spoke of and rejoiced
As much as the ones that came after
We often led them to the waterfront
They cast skimming stones, perfecting the art
My love and I smiled with pride
Three bounces was just the start
2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 12:25 PM UTC
A Peculiar Poet,
only one characteristic,
vary, varying, variegated,
various, varied;
always metamorphosing
neither
among nor between,
always /
living within a host,
in splendid isolation,
supping on diverse
dusts of a human mixte,
drinking deep from
the diverse melange;
human, humane,
hominid, **** sapien,
he eats a salad of humanity,
dressing it differently daily
anew, with newly
acquainted alpha~words
of one of the
7,000 languages
upon this planet
spoken
by the varying
beaucoup individuals of
Mankind
7:10am
Thu May 14
nml. f i n i
2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 12:25 PM UTC
There is no death
there is memory, resting in flowers,
soft sounds that return
at unexpected moments,
making us pause
that voice,
those hands,
that tenderness,
the scent of peonies,
the scent of summer near
Sing, birds,
let us be glad
with those who no longer ask to be noticed,
Even if we forget
they will be remembered
by the wind
by the colors
by the earth that once carried them
Memory opens the wide peony blooms,
and there,
between the petals,
looks at us
a caring
eternity
2d ago
Jun 2, 2026 at 12:05 PM UTC
There are days
when the fat
rain beats the
tent like a snare
drum.
Sleep is impossible,
a distant
memory from youth.
Beautiful flowers die,
and green is quite
green enough.
It turns to olive brown,
then black.
People don't behave
and we can't make them.
I hope there is
rest when it's all
said and done.
3d ago
Jun 1, 2026 at 1:50 AM UTC