Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
~
May 2025
HP Poet: Todd Sommerville
Age: 60
Country: USA


Question 1: A warm welcome to the HP Spotlight, Todd. Please tell us about your background?

Todd Sommerville: "I was born and lived in Fenton, Mi until I was 8 years old then moved to Florida and on to N. Carolina at age 15. I've called N. Carolina home ever since. Worked most of my life in the furniture Industry. Literally from sweeping floors at 16 to programming CNC Machines and designing furniture by the end of my career, and every job in between. I have one son named George, 27, who is the pride of my life and a talented musician and song writer."


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

Todd Sommerville: "I have dabbled at writing both short stories and poetry since I was in grade school, but didn't start writing seriously until I was about 50 years old after the breakup of my marriage. Sadness, depression, and copious amounts of alcohol just seemed to bring out the poet in me. (Does it get anymore cliche?) LOL.

Anyway I was writing constantly during that time, even self-published a short poetry book (A Relationship in Verse) available on Amazon. (Shameless Plug), not really it was mostly drunken crap even though I was proud of it at the time.

Anyway to make a long story a little less long, I spent about a year getting myself together, quit drinking, and repaired the relationship with the girlfriend I have today. I started writing seriously again about a year ago. I think I started posting on HP about September of last year. And started my You Tube Channel in November, which I absolutely love doing."



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

Todd Sommerville: "What inspires me? Well, originally I would say Heartache and Romance, once again (Very Cliche) but I think looking at the world differently, and finding some inner peace has allowed me to be more creative in my poetry. I look more towards nature and solitude for inspiration as well as trying to interject some humor into my poetry as well."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Todd Sommerville: "Poetry is my outlet, it is my voice. As a shy quiet guy I always found it hard to express myself verbally. A problem I don't have when writing."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Todd Sommerville: "Honestly I'm not well versed in the classics. I've been more or less self-educated, I dropped out of school at 16. But I do remember reading Robert Frost when I was a kid and I loved Poe's stories, Annabel Lee being my favorite. But to be real some of the poets right here on HP are some of the best I've ever read. Shout out to Rob Rutledge, Anais Vionet, Thomas W Case, Emma, Immortality, Abbott J Hardison, You, Traveler, and a couple dozen others. I hate leaving anybody out."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Todd Sommerville: "My other interests? Traveling, riding motorcycles, neither of which I do nearly enough. And of course my you tube channel which I'm determined to make successful.

(Last Shameless Plug) https://www.youtube.com/@tsummerspoetry."



Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Todd, 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!”

Todd Sommerville: "Thanks for Honoring me with this spotlight. I hope I wasn't to boring or long winded HP is my go to place to get feedback on my poetry and inspiration for future writes.
Thanks So Much.
Todd"





Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Todd 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 #28 in June!

~
~
It should be stark
and unprovoked,
yet fight to conceal.

It should justify
its intrusion
by layering
new narratives:
each a wonderland,
each a poison.

It should spring
like a cat,
cloud like doubt,
evaporate like
cigarettes at dawn.

It should backlight
truth, fictionalize
history.

It should undo
reality, drift into abyss
with the Lady of Shalott.

It should lead
the march into the sea,
it should die gracefully.

~
 Apr 30 Joss Lennox
B C Stan
To be loved is not a virtue
To be hated is not a sin
A light has grown
In me
In you
In us

A light came into the world
In the East
Where gardens bloom
And memories live

A light shines now
Born from silence
Close to the colorful mist
Where skylines rise

This light is for you
I’d like to give it to you
It comes from the heart
From me to you
A Light
 Apr 30 Joss Lennox
SiouxF
A seed grows through nurture:
Quality soil, water, sun, nutrients.
Even a kind word fills a plant
With optimism and positivity,
So it can grow into the life-affirming plant
It’s destined to be.
Remove any one of those elements,
The plant simply dies.

It’s the same with me.
Love, kindness, water, sun, nutrients
Nourish me to grow into the amazing woman
I am destined to be.
But without those,
I am destined to die,
Bitter, negative, angry, defensive,
And alone.
~
You're alive, my candle
You're a beautiful and unique wick
About to blow out
In the night of falling shapes
In the night of fever walk
We did the igniting
We did the melting
We do the killing

~
We are each
an author of our life
our story differs
from others
but the same goal
we aim to achieve-
ourselves and others
to understand and reach
and thus our life
to fulfil and enrich
I saw an Angel in my dream.
She said she would fulfill any wish I have.
"Should I make you the best ?"she asked.
"No,"said I.
"Just a little better than yesterday.
That will do."
Step in—
my mind is an ocean
not blue—but a bleeding iridescence
of molten violets, rusted golds,
and bruised, unraveling ceruleans—
a palette spilled by a god having a dream.

You’ll see thoughts float here
like jellyfish lanterns,
soft, slow—laced in venom or velvet—
depending on how you look.

The sky never ends in here.
It folds like cracked parchment,
stretched over the aching arch
of my imagination’s bones.

There are trees made of bone-white whispers
and flowers with petals like flame-licked lace.
They bloom to the rhythm
of my pulse when I’m panicking,
and wilt under the weight
of a silence I can’t swallow.

There’s a path—
etched in the ink of dreams I didn’t chase—
it winds through forests of
regret-shaped branches
that scratch and caress all at once.

If you look to the left—
you’ll see a lake
made of every word I’ve never said.
It shimmers,
but only under the moon
of someone else’s approval.

Birds here don’t fly,
they unravel.
Each feather a fractured metaphor,
each call a dirge sewn with sunlight.

I hide in corners lit by memory—
a field of crooked constellations,
each one a version of me
you’ll never meet,
but will almost understand.

If you stay too long,
you’ll forget your name,
start to speak in echoes,
and dream in static.
But maybe that’s the point.
Maybe that’s the way
to really see me.
Next page