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 852° 
Vianne Lior
Mornings licked amber—
wet, bright—
papaya pulp split in the grass,
rain still steaming off rooftops.

they came—
sway-backed, jewel-eyed—
weaving cobalt ribbons through the cricket fields,
feathers slick as oil spills.

I waited—
barefoot, rice pinched in small fingers—
not offering—inviting.

they took—
beaks sharp,
eyes glinting like they carried whole summers behind them—
but they never left.

even when the rains came—
hard and urgent—
they stayed, hips swaying under silver sheets,
tails dragging through warm mud.

I thought they danced for me—
as if the whole monsoon belonged only to the girl watching— silent, secret-spined—
hair curling at the nape—
too small to touch,
too quiet to call them by name—
but they saw me.

I know they did.

they crowned me in silence—
Princess of Puddles,
Keeper of Small Hungers.

somewhere between the serpent hunts,
the rain-slick pirouettes—
I learned how beauty moves—
how it takes without asking,
how it lives without needing to be seen.

they were never mine—
but I belonged to them—
to the fevered mornings,
to the blue-green shimmer folded beneath heavy air,
to the secret language only wild things speak—

something wordless—
something that never leaves you.
Every morning, on my way to school, I passed by those peacocks—swaying through the fields, feathers damp with night rain—the first beautiful thing that ever made me feel chosen. Feeding them in my backyard became the quiet ritual of my childhood, and still remains one of my fondest memories.
 688° 
Marc Morais
Fences fail quietly—
in a slow tilt,
colors give way,
surrendering—
a silent retreat
from brown to brittle.

I press a finger,
catch the rough
edge of metal,
its dust scratching my skin—
years thin us,
like coins drowned
in riverbeds.

It goes this way,
I think—
a long fade,
grit slipping
into dark water,
turning to mud,
just enough to remember
we once held on.

And I wonder if we, too,
were made to loosen,
to dissolve—
no shards or splinters,
just a long sigh—
as time corrodes
at our hearts,
turning all we were to rust.
 653° 
Isaac
As I soak in the cinders of silence
that I myself have procured,
I blame the rest of the world for
the burn marks that never really go away.

I'm submerged to my nostrils, barely
breathing, yet somehow I still manage
to fill the tub with unending self-pity.

My tears do the rest of the work,
and they are the fuel for my embers,
and as I wallow in isolation,
I pretend I am dead.
 597° 
Christian
If I were a tree,
my roots would tunnel towards you.
My branches,
stretching for just one touch.

If I were a flower,
my petals would blossom at the sound of your laughter.
My thorns,
removed by the tenderness of your voice.

If I were a river,
my stream would carve for you a way through mountains.
My water,
purified by your resilient spirit.
 480° 
Liam
tremors
the familiar anxious feeling
when I'm all alone
alone with my thoughts
the shadows creep in
gifting me tremors
tremors that capture my hands and legs
tremors that make my heart flutter and pound
tremors that terrify me
reminding me of that night
the night I tried to end it all
the memory gives me tremors
and terror
 471° 
Chuck Kean
Master Of My Brain

     I know what it’s like to just
Want to be alright
I know what it’s like to just
Want to be free from the fear of night

I know what it’s like to just
Not want to feel perfect in the pain
And I know what it’s like to just
Not want to go insane

I know what it’s like to just
Feel so alone
I know what it’s like to just
Shiver to the bone

I know what it’s like to just
Want somewhere to hide
And I know what it’s like to just
Come to peace with suicide

I know what it’s like to just
Constantly walk beneath the rain
I know what it’s like to just
Have Satan as the Master Of My Brain

Written By:Charles Kean
03/03/2025
I’ve got Jesus now and I’m okay
But I know what it’s like.
God Bless!!!
 356° 
badwords
I mistook the weight of absence for clarity,
as if the silence meant something resolved.
But I find no finality in distance,
only echoes that shift when I turn away.

Certainty was never more than a flicker,
a brief pause in an unsteady hand.
Even now, I trace the outlines of the past
as if repetition could make it solid.

But the shape keeps changing,
just like it always does.
 321° 
Peter Gerstenmaier
Now at the end of all things
As we're breathing sulfur and
Lead's pouring over our heads
I'm glad you're the one I'm
Sharing the trenches with
This is the first thing I'm able to write in almost a month. A little piece about my mental health struggles and how grateful I am to the ones that have my back right now.
 212° 
Xio
Sometimes you think that you want to disappear, but all you really want is to be found.
 206° 
tiyaja cianni
i am always in the trees
and the sky that you see
or the flavors that touch your mouth

there's nothing that can be done about it
~
March 2025
HP Poet: Mike Adam
Age: 66
Country: UK


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

Mike Adam: "Slum east London, dysfunctional violent childhood, playing on bombsites. School, dungeons and kidnappings, sad little boy. Love of dogs and plants and rocks. School: Beckett Shopenhauer, work, college, work university, 1st love lost, travel Asia beaches and mountains, monasteries, monks, Bhodidharma. Work, work, work, Lady J (published collection), retirement, happy at last."


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

Mike Adam: "Began writing 10 years old, HP about ten years."


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

Mike Adam: "Poems gestate and arrive unbidden, laid like turtle eggs, a little hole, sand flicked and forgotten."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Mike Adam: "From 1,000 posts perhaps start with the latest few. I call them "mercifully short," easy to read but, given time, you may unpack a great deal."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Mike Adam:
"Ryokan:
Why ask who has Satori, who has not?
What need have I for that dust, fame and gain

Montale:
Life that seemed vast
Is briefer than your handkerchief"



Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Mike Adam: "Amidst the first suicidal mass extinction in history I am grateful to read new poetry and garner hope from young poets still expressing themselves in beautiful combinations of words so thank you all for that...

Who am I?
I don't know"



Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much Mike, 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!”

Mike Adam: "With gratitude, Mike."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Mike 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 #26 in April!

~
 196° 
Sofia
you knew I was lost,
you took advantage of that.

i had to accept your touch
i had to understand your desire
and your hand on my body
left a mark

i broke into pieces,
with your touch that I can't wash away
and with your face,
which I cannot forget


now am silenced
for the rest of my days
 177° 
ARTSAFA
If you look at the stars, you'll see the lights
If you look closer, you'll see they're only leftover lights
Left from my heart as I cast it into the dark
Left from my soul as I forsake it to the storms of wild winter

I look at the supernova that just imploded,
as I try to cover its lights, it keeps imploding,
and sinks into itself.

Rust on the sun is spreading,
and absorbing the light.
Mold in the heart is hollowing,
and overshadows love.
 144° 
Taylor
we were created for each other
truly
not Adam and Eve
but Adam and Lilith

i was not created
from your rib
i was not created
to appease
your toxic masculinity

i was created
from the same clay
as you

equals
in the eyes of god
 141° 
Jun Lit
Webs catch the small flies
But big bees just pass through them.
Talk about justice . . .
 139° 
Salmabanu Hatim
What is in my heart let me tell you today
I don't  need gold or silver ,
Neither do I need castles or cars,
Nor diamonds or pearls,
What is all that of use to me now,
With one leg in the grave,
All I need is lots of hugs and kisses,
And a simple WhatsApp everyday,
"I love you granny".
2/3/2025
 134° 
SøułSurvivør
^¡^

I heard a desert bird
sing a new song this morning

yes... before the sunrise

i recognized it as the
song of a cactus thrasher
but it had added a
new note to it's call

i've never, in my 40+ years
in the desert, heard it's like!

it must've found love

i know

because i myself
found a new note

the first time i said your name.


soulsurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
(c) 5/31/2015
When I wrote this I ehad a new love I met online.  But a long oʻng distance love affair is like taking a bite of a chocolate bar with the wrapper on
 117° 
K Balachandran
Every single
mistake of mine,
even the recurring ones,
patiently you edit within
and read as if it's fine,
nothing has ever gone wrong.

see!
what your love
incomparable
has to me done,
my poor, darling!

in my writing, they see
the grammar fully muddled,
so many words I spell wrong.

I see this, only when
others, bitterly, loudly complain
gentle soul, your'e forgiving,
but the world isn't,vengeful it seems,
don't you see the predators, prowling?

Why don't you consider the truth,
I am imperfect, want to be corrected
why not help me change,
tell me where I go wrong, urge
I'll certainly adore you more for that.
Darling, don't turn a blind eye to my faults, out of love
 89° 
Emma
The gun falls,
a quiet thud swallowed by the earth.
For a moment, everything stops—
spirit caught midair,
astonishment blooming, then fading.

The wreath of laurel means nothing now.
The universe holds its breath.
Limbo stretches wide,
a wheat field swaying like a forgotten memory.

Lost, but the road home is familiar.
It slips through my hands,
like little fish gasping in the shallows.
Their fluttering bodies remind me
of something I can’t name.

Heart breaking, but softly.
Like stepping on eggshells,
like knowing and not knowing.
Resignation settles in my stomach,
a slow swallow of disappointment.

Blowing words into the silence,
watching them dissolve.
Everything is bleached, pristine white—
a space too clean,
too empty,
too much like an ending.
Happy 1st of March, many blessings your way ❣️ medication has put me in a trance like state, hope I heal soon...
Φωνές  υψώνονται στον αέρα,
μια αρμονία που δεν γνώριζες.
Κάθε ήχος, κάθε νότα,
σμίγει και γίνεται ένα,
μια καρδιά που χτυπά στον ίδιο ρυθμό.

Η χορωδία ενώνει, μια κοινή εμπειρία,
αφιέρωση της φωνή τους στο ίδιο πρόσωπο,
αυτό το πρόσωπο είναι ο καθένας,
και ταυτόχρονα όλοι μαζί.

Το τραγούδι γνωρίζει,
ανθρώπινη καθολικότητα είναι η κοινή φωνή,
όλα εκείνα που συνδέουν τα πλάσματα,
χωρίς φραγμούς. Συναυλία.

Για σένα, για μένα
ένα τραγούδι που γεννιέται από το ίδιο αίμα,
μελωδίες που σμίγουν τους κόσμους μας,
 79° 
Mansi Francis
Please water me says the land,
I'm filled with crooks and cracks
Bring peace by showering rain
Let me forget all the sorrows and pain
Mold me in a beautiful way
So that people could see and say
IT WAS BROKEN NOW REDMADE
the land here is referred to heart
 77° 
Liana
I can't do brain
I can't do thoughts
I can't do friends
And I can't do smoking in parking lots

I can't do death
But I also can't do living

I can't do anything
Except for just giving
And giving
 74° 
Noonie
"Blue skies, golden light.
Crisp air—
Breathe in,
Awaken."
 72° 
Carlo C Gomez
~
First God
Then Everest
To the ends of elation

Her eyes in sunflare
An imprint from her light
Heavy and pulling me
The ever after of the hereafter

In that moment I was hesitant

~
 63° 
jan oskar hansen
A dreamy poem
Last night and half asleep I wrote a poem
About love not expressed but understood
A sad story of two unhappy people
Both unhappily married to someone else
I spoke the poem into the night
It sounded emotional and I cried a little
In the morning, the night poem was forgotten
I was too lazy to try to recreate its mood
 62° 
devon
darkness wears two faces
one is void and empty
cold and harsh
leaving nothing
but you and your loneliness
the other is warm and permeates
it engulfs you entirely
cradling you in its arms
lulling you to sleep
humming its tender silence
 56° 
Nancy Maine
Oh sea, oh sea, oh great blue sea,
I call to you, come speak to me.
Your waves that dance, your winds that sigh,
Your endless depths, your open sky.

Oh sea, oh sea, oh wild and free,
I send my heart, now send to me:
A gift of foam, a pearl, a song,
A treasure lost, yet loved so long.

Oh sea, oh sea, your voice is deep,
You whisper secrets, dreams you keep.
You rise, you fall, you take, you give,
Yet through it all, you teach us to live.

Oh sea, oh sea, my soul you know,
Through storm and calm, through ebb and flow.
I love, I love, I love the sea!
Oh, thank you, sea, for gifting me.

Oh sea, oh sea, oh thank you sea,
Oh thank you for your gift to me.
To me To me Oh Great Blue Sea
Thank you for your gift.
Yes.... I spent the weekend at the sea.  Oh how I love the sea.  I wrote this one years ago and I literally sing it to the sea whenever I am there.
 54° 
Gary
If ratios strike fear—
into every one in two,
half the world will be—
in abject misery.
 54° 
Nat Lipstadt
~for Jonathan Larson (2)~
~~~~
where poets dare to tread
knowing the jeopardy to
themselves when their truths
are outed by the light shedding
come the morning’s birthing,
my ending unwritten,
the methodology unknown
(1)
<•>
the tabulations final sum
identified by a =  
couplet doublet line
underlining, undermining,
tho the sign indeterminate,
pos or neg,
worse yet maybe,
zero sun-shiny outed,
well,
rue-sighing
must be one of but just
them three tri-bipolar optionalities

the script unwrit
the possibilities vast,
alone nursing home,
an empty dull
barely furnished,
studio apartment
an unnoticed blah, blah blah;
that’s ok

there will be no vast array,
conclave of family & friends,
his stateless status
formed by a choice reenforced by time,
a man chose a solitary tilt,
till it
was a deathly rigid reality factual,
free willed
~~
the irony sweetbitter,:
he who loved love
sometimes writing wrinkles
of only love poetry
but was
stumped
by its consequences continual
&
stumbled
in and out, deep or not at all ,
but only periodic,
alternating decades from
age ninteen

his leavings will be
minimal,
his trail,
dusted under,
and his sense of wonderment
at the atomic elemental
extant and yet undiscovered,
is where will live his
only wisps of his whispers,
heard  ‘pon the backs
of rushing to nowhere
guest gusts of
canyon winds
of his york;
city of naissance

do not protest
nor deviate with debate,
the future unpredictable
and yet curved hewn from,
made from straight block stone
of absolute clarity
of speckled Barre gray granite
~~
mistake this not
for bewailing,
catlike caterwauling,
ever even the bitters,
of short-lived
the in~between now
and resting place finale
indeterminate,
~~
but follow a path of words,
an Appalachian Trial
roving  through forest & civilization,
multiple states,
safe and dangerous
worldly, wormwood wordfuls
all jumble uttered simultaneous

<>
so we dare to ask out loud,
will I die in dignity,
the answer a stale prequel
question obvious answered
in his heritage-styled genes,
with another wink
of a question;

what is dignity?
~~
alone, surrounded by
no one,
matters not,
headstone irrelevant
for this good morning
of cherishing
words and tunes,
adding a line
here and there,
is dignity enough,
and this,
well known to him,
within his collapsing vein's depths,

so the answer
smooth planed and plain:

This,
this is dignity
one more time,
one more winding
spiraling downwards
uplifting
poem


and a
never ending~never the less
&
nevermore
forevermore
satisfactory
answer
(1)
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4994818/nat-your-own-chosen-speed-can-you-guess/

(2)
Lyrics by Jonathan Larson
“Will I/ Life Support

Will I?
Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?

Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?

Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?

Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?

Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?



Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
 52° 
jeffrey conyers
Got confidence, within myself.
That I can and will impress you.
Thats just what I truly do.

I will
Will win your heart.
Will be your man.
I will

It might take flowers or others exciting things.
I have no doubt that I won't win you, my way.
Because I will

I will be a magnet.
I will be attraction.
I will
I will be yours forever
Temí que el porvenir (que ya declina)
sería un profundo corredor de espejos
indistintos, ociosos y menguantes,
una repetición de vanidades,
y en la penumbra que precede al sueño
rogué a mis dioses, cuyo nombre ignoro,
que enviaran algo o alguien a mis días.
Lo hicieron. Es la Patria. Mis mayores
la sirvieron con largas proscripciones,
con penurias, con hambre, con batallas,
aquí de nuevo está el hermoso riesgo.
No soy aquellas sombras tutelares
que honré con versos que no olvida el tiempo.
Estoy ciego. He cumplido los setenta;
no soy el oriental Francisco Borges
que murió con dos balas en el pecho,
entre las agonías de los hombres,
en el hedor de un hospital de sangre,
pero la Patria, hoy profanada quiere
que con mi oscura pluma de gramático,
docta en las nimiedades académicas
y ajena a los trabajos de la espada,
congregue el gran rumor de la epopeya
y exija mi lugar. Lo estoy haciendo.
 51° 
Joan Zaruba
She felt the weight of his words
Even as she waved a hand to dismiss them
Even as she smiled
And rolled her eyes
Even as she turned away
Bounce-stepping down the hall
She felt the full meaning of his words
Crushing her into the ground
Into dust
 51° 
Jake
I wish I could finally understand
which way my feet take me.

But I know that half the fun
is that sense of mystery.

Whether through fire or clouds,
love seeps through them both.

I know that as long as I walk,
the joy, the pain, and more
is simply everything I am, yet did not know before.
 49° 
nivek
the fragility of flowers
but not so fragile as I-

my body will feed roots
and flowers will reach for the sky

my soul-self will have departed
but flowers will live on another day.
playing with matches lit
listening to the fight
sitting on the stairs
knowing it all
but not helping
you always said
a child not embraced by the village
will burn it down to feel its warmth
but now your house is flaming
the blaze flickers between your teeth
the child plays in the shadows of the fire
what will you do now?
Lonely bird,
Lonely bird,
all alone
Lonely bird
Lonely bird
on its own,
no type of empathy, or
sorrow is shown,
just sad and lonesome,
no friends, all alone,
just sitting on a tree branch,
singing lullabies,
fighting back tears,
of lonely bird cries,
Lonely bird,
Lonely bird,
questions why???
why are you so lonely,
as you weep and cry,
Lonely bird,
Lonely bird,
wipe your
tears away,
You have a Friend in Jesus
He will Brighten up your day!!


B.R.
Date: 3/2/2025
 44° 
Sebastian
Gentle touch
A warm blanket
Meet me under
In the darkness
Where no words are needed
I will be guided by your voice
Grab my hand, lead the way
Nothing to hide
No need to look away
In your arms, I will be safe.

Grab my face
Feel my soul
No eye contact, no judgment
Use your words only
Sign this love contract

We’ll resurface stronger
Knowing the map of our cities,
That leads to our hearts.
Once we are out
It will be signed
Interlinked for a lifetime
I will have memorized your world
Your gentle touch.


Sebastian Carrion
 44° 
beth fwoah dream
i thought i understood the water,
the silver whispers of stream,
dying the way sadness sighs  
like a star.

the water didn't bring me to
you or you to me.

you were not the shimmer of a
fish.

you were the light reflecting,
bold splashes of colour
on a bold canvas. you

were night when i could
hardly bear the night and you
fell through me

like twilight bringing black
marble moons and watery ghosts.

i thought i understood the water.
i thought the stars painted your
reflection on my lips,

but the silver whispers were not
sad they were happy and
i wondered how i ever
found them sad.
 43° 
Emma
She leans into the petals,
skin dissolving into soft color,
the green veins of leaves brushing her arms
as if they have always known her.

His voice, a thread of dusk,
winds around her wrists,
pulling without force,
settling in the quiet space
between her ribs.

Her breath, uneven,
presses against his mouth,
a drowning in tenderness,
a weight both unbearable and light.

She does not resist.
She does not speak.
She simply disappears
where the flowers open.
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