Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2 Zeno
guy scutellaro
the door to his room moans open.

a shadow familiar and sad
like the cold, raining night, whispers,

"Jack, are you awake?"her voice startles him.
"can't sleep again?"

Jack shifts in the chair,
"yeah, I'm awake. i can sleep alright."

he stands, and as he walks to the shadow,
"I want to climb a high mountain
through snow and ice
and never be found."

"a heart that's empty hurts. I miss you, Jack."

"i'm glad someone does. i miss you too."

"you forgot something our last night.
I didn't know it was goodbye."

"what did i forget?"

the shadow moves towards him.
jack slips his arms around her waist.

"you didn't kiss me goodbye."

she puts her arms around his neck.
her lips are soft and warm
and like a summer night, the warmth of her body
comes to him through the coldness of the room.

the shadow raises her head
looks into his eyes as distant
as a sailor tossed on a violent shore,

"why jack, you're crying."

"yeah, i'm crying."

her lips are soft against his ear.
"don't cry, my darlin.
i can't bear to see unhappy.

if you love me. tell me you love me."

he is looking down into her dark eyes,
and softly whispers. "I love you. I do."

"Hold me jack, hold me."

"i'll never let you go..."

...jack probes the snow bridge
with his ice axe. the bridge collapses,
day becomes night
and he is falling, falling,
falling...

startled jack opens his eyes,
jumps out of the chair.
 Jun 2 Zeno
1DNA
Studying
 Jun 2 Zeno
1DNA
Sown seeds grow into crops
on a wide field.
The longevity of the crop
is not always dependent
on the time taken to nurture it.

Too much water
floods the pores,
slowly seeping out,
no longer able to reach the roots —
and the shoot eventually dies.

Other external forces,
like pests and weeds,
reduce the yield.

The health of the crop
can be improved
by frequent irrigation —
not too much, not too little.

Frequent ploughing of the field,
regular manuring, and
assurance of no interference
is more than enough
to bear fruit.
Haha:).... looks like I'm back sooner than expected...

The aftermath of studying:

Looks like writing poems is my new stress buster:)
 Jun 2 Zeno
Maryann I
Velvet sunlight in my palm,
a golden globe, blushing
with the scent of summer.

One bite—
nectar floods like monsoon rain,
dripping down my chin,
hot, sweet, unstoppable.

It tastes like July.
Like heatwaves resting on your tongue,
like skin kissed by dusk.

Flesh so tender it trembles,
ripe and reckless,
honey tangled in citrus silk
and firelight.

The juice—
a soft explosion,
a sunbeam melting into flesh,
a kiss that lingers.

I lick my fingers
like a prayer,
grateful,
greedy,
laughing.

It’s not food.
It’s a spell,
a secret,
a world inside a fruit.

I close my eyes
and the taste stays—
warm, wild, alive.
Lonely, waiting, watching deep,
Praying as the tempests rise,
Losing hope where shadows creep,
Don’t you leave him — heed his cries.

Alcyone, don’t you stray,
Alcyone, trust his vow.
He longs to whisper, bid you stay,
Yet the tide won’t let him now.

He loves you true, but he is gone,
The sea demands its toll.
He cannot hold you when the dawn
Fades beyond waters cold.

You turned away, betrayed his trust,
Abandoned love so pure.
Now his fate is ocean rust,
A dream that won’t endure.

"Let me see Alcyone,"
He prayed beneath the moon.
Yet the sea knew you’d turn away,
And now the waves consume.

He wished to say he loved you still,
Even through the salty spray.
Why could you not just wait until,
He found a way to stay?

He bent upon his weary knee,
A ring within his grasp.
Yet you left him lost at sea,
A vow drowned in the past.

All the sailors found embrace,
Returned to waiting arms.
But he, forsaken, cast away,
Claimed by whispers where specters mark.

"Let me see Alcyone,"
He whispered every night.
He prayed, but you did not believe,
And so, to ghosts, he paid the price.

He loved with faith, his heart was whole,
Yet was your love the same?
Did longing ache for him alone,
Or did you covet but his name?

Your sorrow is the hollow storm,
That stole his final breath.
You cry now, but guilt is born,
You let him drift to death.

Why did you leave, Alcyone?
He never chose the sea.
He parted to build a life for you,
Yet you let him cease to be.

Look upon the wreckage now,
The love you cast aside.
He did this for you, yet fate allowed
His ruin in the tide.

Listen, Alcyone, do not pretend,
You cannot play the part.
We all know it was you, in the end,
The one who stopped his heart.
One breath among 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔


https://hellopoetry.com/collection/136314/the-wings-of-waiting/
 Jun 2 Zeno
bleedingink
All the things we never said,
go round and round inside my head.
~
June 2025
HP Poet: Agnes de Lods
Age: 47
Country: Poland


Question 1: We warmly welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Agnes. Please tell us about your background?

Agnes de Lods: "My name is Agnes (Agnieszka), and I come from Poland. I grew up in the countryside, in a family rooted in rural and small-town traditions. My mother is a very intuitive person, and my father was always standing in the last row, quietly helping others, especially people with disabilities.

My parents gave me two ways of perception: seeing with the heart and with the mind. They didn’t have higher education, but our home was full of music, books, radio talks, and documentaries that showed the world in many dimensions. They helped me see that reality is full of tension and harmony, depending on what we pay attention to.

They gave me space to speak in my own voice. Growing up close to nature, I spent time observing, listening to the rhythm of the seasons. I learned humility, compassion, and what it means to face hard work and failure."



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

Agnes de Lods: "In Polish, I’ve been writing for four years. In English, two or three. But in a way, I had been preparing for it all my life by writing, reading, and observing the world around me.

I started sharing my reflections on Hello Poetry in December, just a few months ago. For the first time, I felt ready to express everything I had kept inside for years."



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

Agnes de Lods: "People. I love people. Every single person has a story. Sometimes strangers stop me in the street and start talking. I guess they want to be heard, and I love to listen.

Nature inspires me. And my dreams, too. Some of them come true, others do not. Still waiting for those lottery numbers to show up in a dream.

Books are also a huge source, just like music and art in all their forms. I am inspired by Karolina Halatek and Hania Rani, Marc Witmann, Umo Vide, Dror Elimelech, and Patricia Suarez (Colombian poet and painter), and many others."



Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Agnes de Lods: "Poetry is exceptional on every level. Metaphors express the unspeakable and have real power. They change the frequency of thought.

Poetry heals, invites contemplation, and opens doors to the many layers of human nature.

To me, poetry is sound, color, scent, even taste."



Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Agnes de Lods: "Sylvia Plath, Alejandra Pizarnik, Wisława Szymborska, Adam Zagajewski, Czesław Miłosz, Jorge Luis Borges, Pablo Neruda, Federico García Lorca, and many more.

I also read poems on Hello Poetry, and I am so glad to see many truly talented writers here. It means this world still has a chance."



Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Agnes de Lods: "I am fascinated by psychology and archetypes. I read Jung with deep interest.

I love sci-fi, deep conversations, walks in the forest, and learning new languages. But more than anything, I care about human connection and understanding.

I like to dance and play the piano, though I have not had much time for that lately. And I love connecting the dots."



Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Agnes, we really appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! It is our pleasure to include you in this Spotlight series!”

Agnes de Lods: "Thank you so much for letting me share my story. I am so glad to be part of this community of sensitive souls. I feel good here."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Agnes a little bit better. We 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 #29 in July!

~
 Jun 2 Zeno
Liana
Poetry
 Jun 2 Zeno
Liana
Poetry isn't just rhymes
Poetry isn't even always words
Because when I look at some people
I think
How could they possibly be anything but poetry?

The moon in the sky
Ever-changing
Always beautiful
I look at it and think
How can anyone look at this and not see poetry?

Sometimes when the right person hugs me at the right time
When I feel that feeling I think
This is poetry.

My cat on my lap is poetry
The sunset
The green of the grass you're lying in
A room full of real smiles

A parade for the gays celebrating love
Love is poetry
How could love not be poetry?

I promise you
You haven't lost your ability to create it
Because you yourself are poetry
And everytime you make someone's world even a little bit better
That. Is. Poetry.

You. Are. Poetry.
Today, someone told me they can't create poetry anymore, little does he know.
 Jun 2 Zeno
Carlo C Gomez
~
Bring your whirlwinds with you;
in the snow angel summer
bring Margot the sun.

In the hour of red glare
a rush to pick slowberries
before getting caught up in the silk.

Prisms, mirrors, lenses!
strategies for combatting visibility:
keep your eyes closed,
face away from the window.

The myriad threads of people in hiding,
they eat their own web each day,
and yet something always shines
in the heart's secret annex.

Men and women are
separated from each other,
the girls are on a train
to the Bergen-Belsen,
"white founts falling
in the courts of the sun."

Margot now cries quietly;
so silently she weeps over
sunshine and hate.

~
"white founts falling in the courts of the sun" is a line from 'Lepanto' by G. K. Chesterton (1911)
 Jun 2 Zeno
Nobody
here's to the kids
who learned to cry with no sound
here's to the kids
who are too afraid to admit they've drowned
here's to the kids
who drag knifes across their skin
here's to the kids
who feel like they'll never win
here's to the kids
who are trying their best
here's to the kids
who just need some rest
here's to the kids
who cry themselves to sleep
here's to the kids
who survived the week

you're doing so much better than you think
i believe in you
jesus christ its like my brain was constipated and i just took cerebral laxatives
Next page