For one poem I shared here at HP
I got 55 views of which 5 were hearts -
hey, what happened to the 50?
OK, I don't expect all readers
to like the poems I post
so maybe HP -
to give readers a choice -
could introduce other buttons like:

DISLIKE
HATE
DESPISE
F _ _ _
YOU CALL THIS POETRY?
WENT TO SLEEP HALFWAY
DESPICABLE
DID NOT READ BUT I CLICKED LIKE
WORTHY OF BEING PLAGIARIZED


and so  then I might get a better view
of each of my poems, for example:

55 views

5 LIKE
20 F _ _ _
10 DESPICABLE
6 YOU CALL THIS POETRY?
10 DID NOT READ
BUT I CLICKED LIKE
4 WENT TO SLEEP HALFWAY
0 WORTHY OF BEING PLAGIARIZED

last year
when Jane was just 4
I took her out to the shops
and we sat in the meals area -
me with my coffee, and Jane with her lolly -
and this sweet, genial old lady
stooped down and spoke with Jane:
"My, what a beautiful girl you are
How old are you, sweetheart?"

and Jane showed her four fingers;
the old lady collapsed, and died of shock

one year on
and Jane will still not tell
how she got the *four fingers

City Slicker was lost in the bush -
two days without food
and no water
(battery in his smartphone died
so he couldn't google how to survive)
and then he stumbled into a farm
and he found a nice big cow
and he started drinking its milk straight off

But naive City Slicker, he died
How?
*The cow sat down

How are writers born? What do they suffer? Do writers have to be famous? Are writers so used by readers and the characters and the stories? Does every writer end up all right?


1
"Sammy baby
You’ve got all these voices
in your head, baby"

"Is that a bad thing, mom?
Is that gonna hurt me, mom?"

2
"No, Sammy baby, cause
You’re a writer baby
You’ve got all these voices in your head
You’re a star baby
and all these people want your hands
They’re screaming to come out
They’re saying:
'Let us out'
cause you’re a writer baby"


2
"They talk to me, mom
They say: 'Please, Sammy –
give us a name;
tell our story'"

“Cause you’re a writer, baby Sammy
and  it doesn’t matter
if you live unknown
and be famous after you die
But you’re a writer
and you do what you must do
Give voice to these people
and all their lives
You may become awkward socially
and grow old to be a recluse
but with ‘em people in your head
and as a writer, you’ll be perfect
My Sammy, baby
cause you’re a writer, baby
I carried you to be a writer
You’re born to be a writer
Sammy baby, Sammy baby"


But sometimes it gets so lonely, mom…they only want to talk when they want; then they leave me alone, unwanted…used…and you’ve left me too, mom…you’re nowhere in the rooms or anywhere…

this poem (joke-from-online-transformed-into-verse) is dedicated to everyone at HP...smile, and be happy always



"You know,"* said the sun
sending a flare out at the moon
"You're not a planet - a moon
is what you are...a little kid
in the system of things, that's
what you are"

"Look who's talking," replied the moon
*"If you're so big in the scheme of things
how come you can't come out nights?"

I drew a picture,
so simple and clean.

I drew on it canvas,
so ugly and mean.

I drew with it crayon
with red and black.

I drew it with anger
with a knife in my back.

I drew from my mind
and things that you hid.

I drew from inside
and hole that you dig.

I drew a picture,
thought it was cute.

I drew it on canvas,
thought I killed you.

50%* Love
                  40% Pain
                                 4% Jealousy

                              3% Hate

                          2% What The Actual ****?

                       1% Rhymes

                100% REAL