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~
January 2025
HP Poet: Rob Rutledge
Age: 35
Country: UK


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

Rob Rutledge: "Hi, thank you for having me. I’m Robert Rutledge. I’m 35, the youngest of three boys (sorry mum), born in the south of England to Irish parents who emigrated to the UK just before I was born in the late 80’s. At nine years old we moved to Manchester in the north of England where I would find a love for music, literature and general mischief before moving back down south in my 20’s. Where I have been creating mischief ever since."


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

Rob Rutledge: "I started writing poetry in secondary (high) school, I was really lucky to have some excellent English and Drama teachers who made it an easy subject to love. But like everything it was a journey, one very much entwined with my love for music and lyrics. At some point or another I realised I enjoyed playing with words, annoying everyone around me with puns and questionable jokes. Poetry became a natural extension of that while also providing an invaluable creative outlet. At home we had a framed poster of IF by Rudyard Kipling which seemed to mean something new every time I read it and really helped my appreciation of the written word. I often found the same joy in coming up with a riff on guitar as writing a stanza that I thought sounded epic and quickly realised there was a lot of crossover with rhythm, themes and metaphors between poetry and music.

I joined Hello Poetry in 2012 and have seen many ups and downs with the site but I also found an incredibly welcoming community, and I can say with all honestly if it wasn’t for the kindness and feedback of users here I doubt I would still be writing today."



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

Rob Rutledge: "Inspiration can come from anyone and anywhere but more often then not I find a single line or two may come to mind. Most of my work will contain a nod or a reference to a line that I’ve either borrowed or downright plagiarised from a book, a song, a rhyme and I use that as starting point. Iain M Banks is one of my favourite authors so when I’m struggling for inspiration I will pick up one of his many excellent books and will find a beautiful phrase or image that I can use as a starting point."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Rob Rutledge: "Poetry to me is an opportunity to create, to convey a piece of myself and share it with the world. To have made something of meaning even if it only means anything to me. A painting on the wall of the cave, a contribution to the world and something that says I was alive. Its the art of putting emotion into words and if I can impart that feeling to even one person the way other poetry has made me feel then it’s even more worthwhile."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Rob Rutledge: "I tend to love poems rather than poets the notable exception would be William Butler Yeats. There is something about the romantic idealistic nostalgia of his writings that has always spoken to me. The juxtaposition of his Anglo-Irish heritage hits close to home and I think is reflected in his wistful writings. T.S Eliot, William Blake and H.P Lovecraft (only his poetry, not a very nice chap) deserve honourable mentions as well, Eliot references feature heavily in Iain M Banks’ work and helped bridge my interests between literature and poetry."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Rob Rutledge: "Other than Poetry, Music is my jam both playing and going to gigs / raves, I love everything from classical to jungle and everything in-between. I also enjoy computer games and sci-fi in particular. I used to play a lot of Rugby."


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

Rob Rutledge: "Thank you for the opportunity."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Robert a little bit better. I 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 #24 in February!

~
 735° 
onlylovepoetry
begin the
first day
new year
with
thumb and forefinger,
tracing in no organized
specific pattern upon
her arm’s smooth skin,
just a sliding meandering

she grabs the intruders
for a squeezing acknowledgment,
unnecessary, for the sensation
sensual is shared equally,
soft, of course, but so far beyond,
there are elements that lie beneath
that requires mining deep within
yourself, contrasting currents that
soothe the heart and yet, electrify,
simultaneous, a concerto for
piano and violin

this delightful touching is the stuff
of poetry, a wish, a commandment,
for long after after the first day of
the unknowns of the measuring stick
of time concludes, the touch will be
implanted on thumb & forefinger
cellular memory, and be carried on,
reusable, recycled, even biodegradable!

but then heart hears a lyric,
she is living proof
and happily concluded,
is a poem that now
is titled, certified,
and recorded for

every ordinary moment
when memory is required,
and the thumb and the forefinger
can be diverted to write this all down
for the day when a memory fades, erodes
!
1~1~25
 411° 
Todd Sommerville
Old poems
not lost but alone,
pressed between pages
dark and cold.

Should I write something new, or
Perhaps revive one of these
lonesome works of old?

Is the old not new
if it's never been told?

Oh so many pieces
Only known by me,

From dusky corners of my mind
to yellowing pages unseen.

Unfinished bits of sentiment,
lovelorn lyrics and rhyme.

Lost and lonely lines,
too good to have never been set down.

How long gathering dust and
locked away.

Before final words
Are found.
This was originally posted with the title  27 Poems
I was never quite happy with it, and it has been asking to be rewritten
ever since. LOL  yes my poems talk to me doesn't everyone's.
anyway the old one is still posted here at least for awhile if your interested
check it out and give your opinion between the two.
Thanks
this is now on my you tube channel
https://youtu.be/bB_2UbDAul8?feature=shared
Completely changed again I might add Lol
 406° 
Boris
This grey day
I have not even my shadow
for company
 252° 
Roger
I kissed her gently on the cheek;
No Snow White story for me..
 229° 
Lehin3
Please tell me the ending is good—
I don’t want to get lost.
I feel trapped in a wood
I don't know the path of


The voices whisper,
“Follow the glowing lights,”
but there’s nothing in sight—
just imposters dressed in white,
waiting to catch me
when I’m too tired to fight.

And believe me, I’m tired.
Nothing gets me inspired
I don’t even recognize the girl in the mirror.

Each morning, I stand,
staring at her silhouette—
thinner,
slimmer.
I linger on her figure and wonder,
“Did I wrong her?
She deserved so much more.”

But no one sees that.
So, I play along,
pretending to be strong—
like I’ve done for so long,
just to belong.

Please tell me the ending is good.
Because if it’s not,
I’ll have to build a house
in the woods
 215° 
Dhruv
Your lush green eyes filled with maroon
Oh, my is it a dream that I always, have you?
Waking up by your side, with your lingering scent
Citrus with a crust of ocean in it
I have loved you forever and always
be mine my beloved in this lapse
until the twist of fate intervenes
let me be the only fool to have your hand
forever and always be mine
 206° 
Bekah
I’m good at shooting pain
So burn me alive like the sun
My fate is inked in a darkness
I’ll never be able to outrun
 205° 
Kaiden Lewis
A broken artist doesn't **** you in their mind,
Doesn't rip the pictures apart, wishing it was you, no.
A broken artist will let you live forever,
As the worst of the worst punishments.

They might make you an entire new person,
Let you into their world,
In their notebook
Or canvas.

You'll be cared about
As equally as despised.
For them to tell you one day,
"This character was based off of you".
I often base my characterss off real people, mostly the bad ones. For example, a character based off my stepfather plays a giant role in the story, it's pretty well written but it's also one of my most hated characters.
 200° 
Hope
Mine in time
And that’s just fine
Because I can wait
For something great
It won’t be too late
It’s just fate
 193° 
Thy
I never understood why people cry over heartbreaks
perhaps because I cry over my family's financials
or that my parents never loved each other
or that my sister's attempting suicide
perhaps I understood that love is just a burden
from the endless divorce courts choosing sides
or the endless fights over our school's fees
that's why love was never a curiosity
it's a plauge that I tremendously avoided
I know it's meant to be that way,
to survive, I must be on my own
if love arrived,
prepare to bury me
for acknowledging things and feeling them
will destruct every piece of my existence
 191° 
Angelo Iudici
A new day awakens
As yesterday’s moon descends

The dawn of a true beginnings
Where everything then depends

A place of wonder and newness
Doesn’t ensure a good trail

Then how are we to proceed
Carefully in every tale

This new air, I breathe
 184° 
My Dear Poet
I am more mistaken than I am taken
more misgiving than I am given
more regret than I get
more misuse than I can use
 182° 
Aditya Roy
He says you need a cigarette
You look stressed
That's the last thing I need right now
We need to go somewhere far off

On a distant pond
Where the rocks break the ripples
And the sun reflects in your eyes
Intoxicating me

As I peel off your thin disguise
It is the last time
We'll meet
So let's make it last tonight
 178° 
Robert C Ellis
Tithing ,the soul
The eyes
The ocean breathes
Tides
Blue is Earth, universe
But our blood is aged and stagnant
Recirculated red
And the microscopic wet lizard spirits
Breed until their voices grip our heads
 178° 
Ian
yes, words
have power

but only
as much
power

as you
give unto
them
 177° 
Randy Johnson
There's one thing that's perfectly clear.
I have been smoke-free for one year.
The last cigarette that I smoked was in 2023 at 11:45 PM on New Year's Eve.
I stopped smoking and you can quit even though it may be hard to believe.
Please let it be your New Year's resolution to stop smoking.
I was able to kick the habit and so can you and I'm not joking.
 176° 
dead poet
a ;
a .
a ?
some - – —
an ‘
some ( )
a ,
an _
a few ‘ ’ " "
the rare *
the gaping ...
some [ ]
some { }
some !!!
and a healthy :

there you go,
you can write a poem now.
 170° 
S R Mats
The mockingbird heralds
Each new sunrise.
This morning unbeknownst to it

Man declares it to be
A whole new year in its life.

So, sing on my friend.
May we enjoy many more days
Of your lovely song.
 161° 
Nat Lipstadt
flipping channels,
odd conjunction of random itinerants,
mix and mismatched, blend and burr, and the
combination of irritants, annoyingly raucous
pester the barely warmed brain,
by informing me to solve for X,
combine and contrast,
throw all into the blender,
add Fage yogurt, and some chill
ice with interracial combo of
black, blue & red berries
and pour it on you head…

and a breakfast poem is served up…

the utter urgency for civility
rings alarm bells, for it is so threadbare a quality these days, and it is worn by so
very few, and I ponder,
how the quality of
civility
could be so lost,
when I diagram said word,
see it
so clear
April 13 2024
 160° 
SerpentineSky
songs from the inside
losing his identity
hard hearted alice

his leather chained rock
the billion dollar babies
celebrate school’s out

fame was dark poison
nurse rossetta injecting
stevie walks alone
 153° 
Elizabeth Kelly
Well, I like me,
I say aloud to my reflection,
Wiping a tear from my cheek.

I’ve been in here awhile.
Time to get back to work.
The path of life I once beheld,
Until I agreed to be born into this world,
I knew the reason without a doubt—
You, destined to be my mother.

With or without choice, I choose you
In a world of right and wrong, painted gray,
Your color shines as white to me.
Every new beginning is special.
A challenge.
A new relation.
A new home.
A newborn.
A new year.
No one knows what new things bring.
Be kind, do good and pray.
A HAPPY and BLESSED year to all of you.
Always be grateful.
Always say “ thank You “
for the things you have
and the things you don’t have.
Be safe.




Shell✨🐚
 135° 
indi
i had a dream - you and i
were forty-ish in a room
stuck at some premiere,
maybe yours, maybe mine
our eyes would meet
and i think, or maybe i hope
neither of us would look away
and you would finally smile
and i would smile
and that would be enough
 121° 
Khushi
Listening to vehicles sound
Birds twittering round around
Sitting on third floor
Staring at door
Unfeasible fantasy of him smelling me
Eyelids open and it's fictional I see
Sunken in my seclusion
Waiting for our reunion
Lost in thoughts
 114° 
Mark Bell
You have no sight
But beautiful eyes
Your sunshine mind
Your elegant poise
Counteracts that
You can’t hear noise
I love you
So very much so
When we make love
Everything’s fruitful
With tender touch.
 101° 
Foogle
A bracelet beaded in nothing but love
Hanging loosely on the wrist
Seeing everything that you will
Through the sun, through the mist

Knotted slightly wrong, you know it was made by someone
who stared at the petals and took so long
threading the thin white string through
the subtle white, red purple and dark blue
 96° 
Millie
You were a rose.
As beautiful as its soft, red petals.
Even a perfect rose has flaws––its thorns.
And, My Darling, you've stricken me.
Just something random. I put on ambient music and wrote from there.
 96° 
Rafael Alberti
Sal tú, bebiendo campos y ciudades,
en largo ciervo de agua convertido,
hacia el mar de las albas claridades,
del martín-pescador mecido nido;

que yo saldré a esperarte, amortecido,
hecho junco, a las altas soledades,
herido por el aire y requerido
por tu voz, sola entre las tempestades.

Deja que escriba, débil junco frío,
mi nombre en esas aguas corredoras,
que el viento llama, solitario, río.

Disuelto ya en tu nieve el nombre mío,
vuélvete a tus montañas trepadoras,
ciervo de espuma, rey del monterío.
 86° 
Lawrence Hall
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                             Dense Fog Advisory

One wonders why fog should always be dense
Forever faulted for having no sense

Maybe because it’s a low-hanging cloud
Low-hanging around with a low sort of crowd
 84° 
Pax
From all these years questioning why I am alone?  Now I can simply answer, it was a choice I made that never made sense since until I see I was behind all closed doors.
Happy new year my feelings and friends here....
Stay happy even alone...
 84° 
Safana
In the quiet moments,
where whispers dwell,
A bond is formed,
a tale to tell.
Lips meet softly,
a gentle touch,
In that instant,
it means so much.

Eyes closed tight,
hearts open wide,
In that kiss,
no secrets hide.
Trust is given,
trust is earned,
In the warmth,
where love is learned.

A promise sealed,
a vow unspoken,
In that kiss,
no hearts are broken.
For in that moment,
pure and true,
Trust is kissed,
and love renews.

 79° 
fizbett
A star is born and another fades
Their incandescence mocks any tears that cascade
Galaxies collide, their chaos resplendent,
Life is but a mere blip in their existence
Meteors crash and civilizations ebb and fail
What good are my tears
On a cosmic scale?
How ephemeral are my memories
Compared to all of eternity?
 76° 
Barton D Smock
Sleep was just here. That, and being godless. I try to mourn.
 73° 
- JP DeVille
Why do I only suddenly get the urge to change the world or better my life at midnight and when everything is closed?
 69° 
ARI
When I was just 14
I met a girl who looked like me
But there were differences
I truly couldn’t help but see

Like the way that her smile
Never seemed to reach her eyes
The ones of which I swear
Were long since devoid of life

I saw the way her hands
Cradled her own heart
The ones by which I know
Her own thighs were carved

And I could see her fighting
The dire urge to scream
And refusing to give in
To the cry she truly needs

-ARI
i will tell my father
i weathered your absence

i will tell my mother
you left too early

i will tell my brother
now we are orphans

i will tell my friends
you are my family

i will tell you
grief is a dark cloud that dangles before the ever-patient sun
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