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 Mar 6
Nishu Mathur
If I were a tuft of cloud
Up in the sky I'd float
Over oceans, rivers, streams
Meadows, glens and moats

I'd be a brush of Ivory
A streak, some fluff, a wisp
An artist's muse on an easel
A song on a poet's lips

I'd see the rising waves and land
I'd hang low on plateaus
I could meet with lofty mountains
Capped with gleaming snow

I would gleam in happy wonder
In the eyes of a curious child
Spinning shapes and fantasies
Within a dimpled smile

Sometimes, I'd hide the sun and moon
Sometimes, I'd bring in rain
Pleased I'd be to lounge and sail
In a sky of blue again

I would be glad to meet you too
Away from the madding crowd
Should you be walking on sunshine
With your head up in the clouds

If I were a tuft of cloud
I'd hum la la la dee dooo
Happy I'd be to lounge and sail
In peace in a sky of blue.
An old poem
 Mar 6
Immortality
a falling star,
drawn to another,
as if the universe
had always known.
just cause...
 Mar 6
Donna
Catching up on sleep
Is important for your health
Helps happy thoughts bloom

❤️💕❤️💝
When your extra tired everything can seem a little more down in the dumps. I’ve learnt that catching up on sleep can be  good for your mental health
~
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!

~
 Mar 5
Bekah Halle
Sacrifice with shouts of joy

There's not
Really
much
that I need.
Sure,
There's
PLENTY
I want
BUT
Need…
I need love.
.
.
.
I want love.
But isn't love
The very act of sacrifice?
Lent is the practice of sacrifice (going without) and remembrance. I am giving up chocolate this year and will try and write a poem in my new “Lent Collection” each day. Enjoy.
 Mar 5
Traveler
The poetry was flowing
But not through his poem
It flowed through his eyes
On into her soul
His words they whispered
Tears down her tired cheeks
She bathed in his passion
   And his darkness she reaped...
Traveler Tim

A creative observation.
 Mar 5
Mike Adam
Old battered hat
Skin of my skin

Over the years
We have become the same
 Mar 5
Vianne Lior
Bare feet kissing marble’s chill,
fingertips tracing teak and dusk,
air thick as mulled velvet—
honeyed, heavy, slow.

She moves where silence frays,
light spills like sugared wine,
breath lingers like an unshed sigh—
never still, never caught.

Fluorescence hiccups across her skin,
pavement inhales her weight,
a flicker, a glitch, a sliver of absence—
half-held, half-gone.

She dances where gravity forgets,
shadows soften like overripe fruit,
laughter drips slow as melting wax—
feral, fleeting, free.

She is not waiting to be found—
she is, and that is enough.

 Mar 5
Vianne Lior
Waves retreat too far,
leaving ribs of old whales bare,
oceans gasp for breath.

as the sun is to the moon
so I am to you
though oceans divide us
dawn will come soon
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