At a desk, coffee sachets rest.
Long-life milk harbours
white dreams of expiry.
Shuffling in his forgetful nest
a grey man blinks
at the intruding light.

Americo, do you remember
your antique power,
that opened like a rose
on the walls of Hiroshima?

Poets
who have
there
poems
taken away
are doomed
to
rewrite them !

Guardian Angel,

let me rest here awhile on the sandy shore
and gaze out at the sea

everyone  dies
and some people never live

and Beloved One
hold me and love me in your heart

allow my weary head to rest
on your shoulder

wrap your wings around my heart

Angel,
let me linger here
in the salty air of time

Angel,
my Guardian Angel,
misguided Angel,

who will plead for me
when I ve gone to bone?

and my Angel s voice whispers,

"you re one big pain in my ***."

Glimmers - those tiny moments in each day that bring joy, peace, happiness or gratitude.
Moments frozen in time and space that sometimes seem to last forever but are less than a heartbeat.
The first conscious breath in the morning, filling my lungs and being thankful for the life I live.
The joyful glimpse of sunlight on the curtains promising a beautiful day.
The smell of my morning cup of coffee anticipating with a smile the first luxurious sip as I snuggle back under the duvet for a while feeling at peace.
The crunch of buttery toast salty and warm exciting the taste buds.
The sound of the sea as the waves ebb and flow across the sand of the beach.
The bubbling of the brook across the pebbles under the bridge as I stand admiring the beauty of the land.
The soft tapping of rain on the window soothing it calms my racing brain.
The laughter of my grandchildren; their presence a reminder of when my own children were small but life was too hurried to appreciate their innocence and growing. A love revisited and felt all over again.
The first brush stroke on the canvas a new painting begun an expression of colour and light unfurling.
The first word of a poem on the page a signal to the subconscious; I don’t know where this journey will end.
A liquid gold sunset fading into peach and lilac across the hills.
The glimmers : the unexplained small miracles; the moments of magic that leave me feeling at one with my world.

I'm just allowed to read 5 poems. I can't scroll down for  more.
I don't know what mistake I've made for Eliot to close the door.
I know I'm not the only one with no access to the index
Which I consulted constantly from forgetfulness and reflex.
Is there some way to make amends and put things back to right
Or are we all to drop our pens and fade into the night.

Will Eliot do something new and leave us on our own
Or are his plans a secret - totally to us unknown
Will Hello Poetry ever come back and be the way it's been
If we should lose our access it would be the gravest sin
I've offered Elliot a check instead of monthly nicks
But I've not had a word from him - up to his usual tricks.

I'll keep submitting what I write and see if it's displayed
And if it  never does appear, sadly I will be dismayed
If I am not the only one facing this conundrum
Let me have a word or two and tell me who it's from.
Then I won't feel I've crossed a line and there's no hope for me
And all together we will wait to see what we can see.

Mammy died years ago,
So I'm older than her now,
Though I never feel this way.
But I'm younger than my father was
Years after his delay.

I'm an aging Granda now,
But I seldom feel this way;
When in my memories,
Where they truly lie,
I'm still their son today.