"Pettiness, and jealousy, go together.

But, there is not a place for it here on HP. We write what we wish, what we feel, how we feel; about our lives, loves, adventures; our spirituality; we write because it's a beautiful hobby for many of us, and not to begin a competition as to who can do better.
There are so many on this site whose talent I so admire since I joined the site 2 years ago. Because of this nonsense, we recently lost a great writer and friend, whom I will miss terribly. Those that participate in the pettiness, jealousy, hatred, and discontent, are in a minority. Hopefully, the other contributors, writers, poets, essayists, old and new alike, also realize this. Let us not give up our seats on this "Poet's Train!"

copyright: richard riddle-August 18, 2015

Like many of you I'm getting fed up
With all the petty points scoring **** on this site
Some of you are brilliant classical writers
Some just write for love
I'm just a simple man
Very little education
But surely we are here for the same thing,
The love of words and the structure of words
You might have a doctorate
The very best money can buy
While I, like very many here have nothing
But does that really make you better than me/us
NO, it doesn't
I see you here on the same level as squabbling children
And yet you are supposed to be adults
ADULTS!!! What a ******* laugh
For the most parts spoiled ******* brats
All trying to score points

This IS a poetry site, ******* well grow up and use it as such

Yes the trees are dying
Leaves withered and brown
Now litter the ground
In unsightly rotting piles
Not the autumnal hues of red and gold
But the hues of dying leaves
Who have given up the fight
The roots of the tree are withering
But many leaves still cling on in hope
The sap now barely rises, no more strength
To feed us
The cancer is spreading
And the cure is yet to be found
And so even more once healthy leaves will fall
To be trampled under the feet and forgotten
There is yet hope for many of those falling leaves
Landed on fertile soil
And the tiny tendril roots of new life took hold
You might say that it's only one tree amongst many
And a few leaves don't matter
But every poet who falls, every poem that withers
On the branch
Is one poet and one poem to many