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 Sep 21
Rob Rutledge
Sometimes In summer
When the weather smothers
I wonder whether the garden knows.
The shape of the hand that mothers
Or the fist that brings the hose.
Flowers wilt and bow in worship,
Begging palms to bring the rain.
Fruit given up in offering
To exchange and then obtain.
No matter what your station in life
always do your best every day
Pick up socks, lend a helping hand
call a friend, ... go for a walk

No matter how you hurt inside
smiling will help you heal
Find a nature spot you love, sit  
trust in God, have faith in you

No matter what they tell you
own your own truth, don't settle
Give love a chance, spend wisely
be good to others and to yourself.
 Aug 27
nivek
to find unending love
first believe that it is there for the finding
-after that
its all icecream in the most amazing and unusual flavours
 Jun 22
Bekah Halle
I take you everywhere I go
I take you everywhere, slow.

The sun sets to sleep,
The last of its rays reach the backs of the sheep.

From golden sun,
To rose-red set.

What's left of the turquoise blue sky,
Humming out its lullaby.

The cows mo(O)ve us on,
And the roadside trucks rattle strong;
Carrying next night meals to the city gone.

I take you everywhere I go,
Searching high and low.

You're all around, this I know.
 May 27
Agnes de Lods
Anxiety before anxiety,
sorrow before sorrow,
word before word.
I think it will arrive sooner
than I expected…

Had I felt differently?
Had I known better?
That “thing” was imprinted
on the heart of each child
before it was forgotten.

The Z boson? A particle of God?
Inner awareness?
Lightness and compassion
screaming: keep going!
Forgiveness is a gift
for healing.

I prefer to withdraw.
Foreseeing the future
is too painful.

I feel safe in my inertia,
my comfort zone, not acting
but that intrusive voice
keeps shouting: don’t stop!

If it weren’t the fear of fearing,
sorrow before sorrow,
word before word…
They don’t bother me anymore.
For different circumstances,
I’m ready now.
 May 17
Bekah Halle
I want that feeling
that thrill;
Where my heart flutters
And my voice lifts in exultation;
a climactic shrill!
Is this fleeting?
Or is this real?
Is this my heart dreaming
Or is my desire the ideal?
Does anyone else feel this way, too?
 May 16
Bekah Halle
We don't fight
With fists or guns
But with words;
Ideas, ideals and puns.
We are a movement, use your words for good!
 May 16
Bekah Halle
I love my job(s),
But today, I want to skip
Work.

I want to lay, lathered in the bath with bubbles
For hours.

I want to find a new favourite
Cafe and try a new flavour.

I want to pick up my paintbrushes
and swash down scant dashes
Of paint, ink, and textures
On a canvas.

I want to write
Poetry while drinking Plonk.

I want to play dress-ups
That's yet to come.

Today.
 May 13
Bekah Halle
It's dark when I get up
To write poetry.

Who is awake too?

It feels so solitary,
But words are my comfort;
Or are they my tools?

We wangle together, wrapping each other up.
But I am no-one’s fool,
The ones that ain't got bite
Lie dormant in my mind's eye.

Potency propels prompting forth
And when I'm done, I sigh…


Relief.
 May 11
Anais Vionet
Words activate something in me
even if I’m just thinking, not writing.
So I soon find myself back at the keyboard.
It seems that my life’s been a series of keyboards.

My motor’s always running—I idle fast.
But I’ve been untying my intellectual shoe-strings recently.
Dissociatively avoiding intellective pursuits,
and embracing entropy (since school ended).
It’s been relaxing—I’ve felt new to my body.

There’ve been happenings lately,
particularly in the nocturnal theater of romantic nights.
My bf Peter’s here—trying to look impressed by an under-grad degree. He’s a pretty good actor—for an amateur.

We’ve been interrogating the richer aspects of love,
testing it’s configurations you might say,
with constant motions and lush indulgences.
We’re savoring this temporary freedom,
devouring it, like mindless carnivores.

Peter lives in Geneva, you see, while I’ve been in New Haven.
If I’ve learned anything, in my ivy league, senior year,
it’s that you can’t cheat closeness with virtuality.
He may have a new job in New Jersey and I'll be in Boston.
I've already calculated a year’s travel expenses from
Logan to Liberty and back 52 times = ~$62k. Make it so.

I'm an enumerator, I count everything
—the left facing croissants on a tray,
the days Peter and I have been apart,
and the modicum of hours we’ve had together.
I’m somewhere on that obsessive-compulsive bell curve,
and I’m a Libra, uncomfortable in an uneven world.
Perhaps there's no shame in this.

I wonder sometimes, when we’re separated, if we’ll still work, when
we’re reunited, and then, like sunlight can suddenly define shadow,
we can see that it does.
That love is more potent than wine.

I dream of things I can’t have—yet,
like the life I’d like to live—someday.
Hey, I’ve something to look forward to.
.
.
Songs for this:
Love Train by The O'Jays
Easy by The Commodores
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 05/08/25:
Modicum is a formal word that means “a small amount.” (used with *of*
 May 11
Bekah Halle
Repeatedly, I have gathered you.
And yet you still fall, **** leaves, you're like a floating fault!
Killing me softly with your incessant grin;
Endlessly gloating: "I've got more where they've come from!"
Declares MN as she blows her windy, willowy waves of air through the trees; nice breeze but...






"Come on, give me a break!" I shriek.
Looking back over old poems, I noticed one: "Afternoons on the back deck (https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4862646/afternoons-on-the-back-deck/) " and thought, "No time for whiskey when I have to rake!" Ha! MN = Mother Nature
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