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"Money can't buy everything."
Oh, sure it can.
"It can't buy happiness,
It can't buy friends."
Of course it can.
"Perhaps you're right,
But they'll never be real."

So what?

Math is fake,
Economics is fake,
Language is fake,
And yet,

It is what's fake that allows us to cooperate.

"But money corrupts!"
For sure, so what?
My friend was earned, not bought
By kindness, not cash.
Yet still, for twelve years we have been
Fake friends.
And one day she left
Because my value was spent.
I don't need money to have fake things.
I can get those for free.
"But why would you?"
Because it meant something to me,

Real or not.

"Oh, but money is greed."
Of course, greed is as certain as gravity.
So why did the tree fall?
"Gravity, of course!"
As if gravity wasn't there when it stood for forty years.
Ah, right.

Perhaps it was the axe.

So, why did my friend leave?
Certainly not greed,
That was there when we got along.
"Because she was fake!"
As if she wasn't fake for twelve years.
Ah, right.
Perhaps it was...

Well I'm not sure, you'll have to ask her.

I buy fake jewelry.
Because I can't afford the real thing.
And I care not for luxury,
So long as the substitute won't turn my skin green.
And even then,
With a clear coat of polish,
I'm satisfied and the goal is accomplished.

So what if it's fake, it's still pretty to me.


๐๐ž๐ซ๐ก๐š๐ฉ๐ฌ
๐ˆ๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐š๐›๐ฌ๐ž๐ง๐œ๐ž ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐ฐ๐ก๐š๐ญ'๐ฌ ๐ซ๐ž๐š๐ฅ,
๐Ž๐ง๐ž ๐ฆ๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ ๐ฌ๐ž๐ญ๐ญ๐ฅ๐ž
๐…๐จ๐ซ ๐ฐ๐ก๐š๐ญ'๐ฌ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ.

๐Ž๐ซ ๐ฉ๐ž๐ซ๐ก๐š๐ฉ๐ฌ,
๐ˆ๐ง ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐ฉ๐ซ๐ž๐ฌ๐ž๐ง๐œ๐ž ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐ฐ๐ก๐š๐ญ'๐ฌ ๐ซ๐ž๐š๐ฅ,
๐Ž๐ง๐ž ๐ฆ๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ ๐ฉ๐ซ๐ž๐Ÿ๐ž๐ซ
๐–๐ก๐š๐ญ'๐ฌ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ.

๐–๐ก๐จ ๐š๐ฆ ๐ˆ ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฃ๐ฎ๐๐ ๐ž
๐“๐ก๐ž ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐›๐ฃ๐ž๐œ๐ญ๐ข๐ฏ๐ข๐ญ๐ฒ ๐จ๐Ÿ ๐ฏ๐š๐ฅ๐ฎ๐ž?
๐–๐ž๐ฅ๐ฅ, ๐ˆ'๐ฆ ๐œ๐ž๐ซ๐ญ๐š๐ข๐ง๐ฅ๐ฒ ๐Ÿ๐ซ๐ž๐ž ๐ญ๐จ ๐๐จ ๐š๐ฌ ๐ˆ ๐ฉ๐ฅ๐ž๐š๐ฌ๐ž.
๐€๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž๐ฒ ๐ฐ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฅ ๐๐จ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐ฌ๐š๐ฆ๐ž ๐ซ๐ข๐ ๐ก๐ญ ๐›๐š๐œ๐ค ๐ญ๐จ ๐ฆ๐ž.
Every day, I open my reality:
I wake up.
I feel.
I choose.
I decideโ€”
knowing so many others
are crying behind the scenes,
and their trembling is raw.

Pain isnโ€™t consolationโ€”
it reinforces the structure of fragility
when the towers are crumbling.

At the core, we return,
squeezing black-and-white struggles
into our veins, into our memories.

To the only home
we never left
our own body.
The first and the last.
When my oldest brother, Todd,
came back for my mom's funeral,
he had this light about him.
His face was a poem.
Sure, he was the oldest, and he
had a healthy-looking tan from the
hot New Mexico sun, working
outside with turquoise, silver,
and bear claws to make
jewelry for the tourists, but there
was more than that.

He was an artist, and all artists have
a fractured ease about things, but he
lit up.  Something from the inside
projected out.
He comforted everyone else, we leaned
on him.  His eyes oozed serenity.

A few calendars later, when I traveled
back for his funeral, I saw the same
look on a few of his friends' faces.
His wife told me after the service
that Todd had gotten sober years before.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gn9IAYo0wZE&t=9s
Here is a link to my YouTube channel, where I read poetry from my latest book, Sleep Always Calls, available on Amazon.  My other boos on Amazon are Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse.
~
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 didnโ€™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, Iโ€™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, Wisล‚awa Szymborska, Adam Zagajewski, Czesล‚aw Miล‚osz, Jorge Luis Borges, Pablo Neruda, Federico Garcรญa 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: โ€œWe 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!โ€

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. โ€“ Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #29 in July!

~
The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach,
The Ogre cannot master Speech:
About a subjugated plain,
Among its desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.
Itโ€™s hard to tell myself,
that I'm nothing more than
a collection of possibilities.

I judge myself for my feelings,
I restrict my attitude to formality,
to avoid being hurt.

When I think that I am above,
comprehensible, intellectualโ€ฆ
I feel immersed in cold waters,
floating on the surface of my thoughts.

I accept and reject what the world offers me.
I express concepts to peel off
a layer of myself,
until reaching the black core.

Iโ€™m just afraid to swim on my back
not to sink into the soft mud.
My muscles are numbing under gravity.

I donโ€™t want to return to my mental cage.
Hide again? Pretend?
Yes, I think Iโ€™m closer to myself
than I could have imagined.
I entered the room crowded
with tangled thoughts.
Something that shouldnโ€™t exist
takes physical shape.

Emotions strain my heart,
stretching my tissue,
piercing with a dull tool.

I scream soundlessly
like in cosmic space
where all sounds are dead.
Smiling outside,
not to make people feel ill at ease.

Yes, I see gray, lead clouds
above human heads.
Angry Egregores stand  
and breathe joyfully.

I would run but my fear
holds me, whispering:
donโ€™t move or you might wake up
The Writhing Dragon.

Iโ€™m still learning how to be invisible,
to one day melt in the limpid air.
 May 29 badwords
rick
when you trim your ***** and your mustache with the same pair of scissors
when you hand over your entire paycheck to the bartender of doom and glee
when you write a bounced check at the grocery store
when you sleep with a girl who isnโ€™t clean
when youโ€™re young, lost, broken and poor
when your childhood runs hard and your luck runs out
when your best friend is dead and your other friend is ******* your girl
when your dog sleeps in the afternoon and dreams of the neighborhood *****
when your nutrients gets replaced with Xanax bars over the one who just left
when your tired eyes meet the brick & mortar of strenuous labor
when the smile is so fake that it appears genuine
when you go all in on someone you werenโ€™t 100% sure of
when you wait on bleeding knees for the unreliable god
when you bet on the boxer that crashed to the canvas
when the interest is high and the banks are closed and the creditors donโ€™t care about grace periods
when you understand very little and you expel a whole lot
when the cord of anxiety strangles your very essence
when you turn out to be just as everyone expected

donโ€™t worry

itโ€™ll all turn around

and find you again

someway

somehow.
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