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It's like the little mind inside me
Minds not about my inner well being
Will stress for the things which are not in my hands
I will be worried about things not that significant
I'd be in my own world of misery
A beautiful creation of mine
Tearing into my ideas, destruction and the rot

It is just a small aspect where I got a setback
It could not have been the end of the world
But here we go into deep dissection
Let's find the reason which are unreasonable
Every person is distinct, their story to in some intersection
I have to be mindful of mine and them
Not everything has to be so serious

I feel the calmness, it is intrinsic within me
There is no doubt deep within, I know everything is transient
And need to be set free
This little mind is not mindful of bigger things
This is a step, the journey yet incomplete
World rotates, So do everyone
It's moving always, the sun shines back in the east.
Give me the colors of a rainbow and I'll be your heart's extol  
or a petal from your favorite rose so I can place it in my soul;
Send me the pillow the fairies have gleaned with watermark  
I'll hold it to my chest until I hear the melodious coo of a lark!  

Be a Spiritual Gem inside me, I will polish and make you shine  
like a soaring star I'll glitter so you know,"I'm truly~truly thine."
Hit the breaks, no room for mistakes,
feeling like the world's about to quake.
Caught between the choices I've made,
lost in stormy weather on an abandoned lake.

No directions— no clear route to take,
so many choices — afraid which to make.
This literally took my 30 minutes to make…… i am so exhausted today…
I leave it to you with fondness.

How you used to fill it on those lazy Sundays
with fresh blooms from the neighbor's garden.

You would blame the kids from across
the street and we'd laugh
as their dad chased them around the yard
with a belt.

And when they would die, as they were wont to do,
you'd replace them with your paranoid
king's fiddlesticks.

He'd come out of the castle in a dither.

But you always convinced him
it was the handiwork of little green men
--who looked very much like
the kids from across the street.

Ah, remember the fire and how we danced?

Yes, my dearest captive
--the face that launched a thousand ships--

I leave it to you with only the warmest sentiments.

Love, Paris.
 19h Nylee
Zywa
Resting without loss of time
jumping around, eating
experiences, 'Always Sunday'

Tasting together, and digesting
by the light of the moon, even
if it does not interest you

The days are too short
in winter it is cold
in summer it's still light
when I have to go

to sleep (yet, regardless
of the consequences
we make exceptions)
'Always Sunday'
For Maria Godschalk (June 21st, 2017)

Collection "Without reserve"
the only thing for my mind to keep quiet was...
to write what I feel and let my thoughts fly
like me, almost like a flightless bird
more likely Medusa, sometimes a fictional character but most of the time, me. Misunderstood and betrayed.

But he was the best.
no wonder I miss my home,
His house was a far less travelled by
I miss that home, where I could call him to come by
And hug him all the time
My home was never a building, a big structure
But he was a tall man with a dark brown round eyes like me, curly hair and dark skinned.
He has a humor that makes me laugh all the time without being tickled,
He makes me feel loved and cared for
He loves pandas, cuddles, hugs and kisses
He loves me of course above all.

He was my calm and peace amidst the noise going on inside my mind
He was my sanity. He brings out the best in me
~
July 2025
HP Poet: Bekah Halle
Age: 40+
Country: Australia


Question 1: We warmly welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Bekah. Please tell us about your background?

Bekah Halle: "I am known at HP as Bekah Halle. My first name is Rebekah, and Halley is my middle name. I am the eldest of two girls, the aunt of three gorgeous girls and the eldest of 20+ cousins.

I am a counsellor and a chaplain for people across all ages. But, in my early career I was a PR & Marketing Consultant for FMCG companies and non-profits.

I am creative and love art, drama, photography, poetry, and music. Recently, I have become more captivated by nature, writing about it and being out in nature."



Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Bekah Halle: "As a child, I used to love writing stories, and poetry later. In some ways you could say poetry found me. In 2012 I had surgery to remove a brain aneurysm and AVM that resulted in a stroke and then being in a 40-day coma. Healing involved many modalities, locations and years and poetry was a way for me to express the things I was thinking and feeling but could not say. I didn't show them to anyone until I completed a MA in Chaplaincy and during the course, there was a reflective writing element to process our journey. During this time I brought my poetry ‘out of the closet’ or into the light, and shared with people and they encouraged me to continue writing. I looked for ways to share my poetry, to get feedback and found HP! And you all have been very encouraging!"


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Bekah Halle: "I mostly get inspired by faith and life. I can get a stirring from the Holy Spirit and/or I can be in life and see a moment as special or in a new light and want to capture it in words. I will write, re-write and set it aside or sometimes it comes to me in a flash. The poetry writes me."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Bekah Halle: "Life. Expression. Hope. Extolling God."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Bekah Halle: "I studied Samuel Coleridge in High School and still remember his poems today. The Psalmists in The Bible, Emily Brontë, Sylvia Plath, Victor Hugo, Mary Oliver, Jane Tyson Clement, Rainer Maria Rilke, David Scott…to name a few."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Bekah Halle: "The power of gratitude, fitness, travel and learning."


Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Bekah, 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!”

Bekah Halle: "Thank you for the opportunity."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Bekah 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 #30 in August!

~
What’s wrong with me? I’ve been asking myself this all week.
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I weigh questions coldly and logically. Then it hit to me.. it’s summer, silly, and I'm in classes!

A typical summer would find me tanned, sunburned, greased and unkempt, like a happy, sandy, beach hobo, my hair would be either braided or left fly-about to tangle into cotton candy wads.

My bf Peter’s learned to like fine restaurants (You’re welcome). I’d have never left the beach on my own.
“They can bring us anything,” I’d argue, looking up pitiably from my shaded, Tropitone lounge chair.

Around sundown, Peter would have to catch me, slippery oiled and brown, to comb me out and scrub me before dinner.
“Get dressed!” he’d encourage, picking out a dress suitable for dining or casino wear - “I made us a reservation.”

I’d come out of the en-suite in my fluffy, Versace, terry towel but invariably, before I was even dry,  Peter would shake his head, growl and say, “Com-mere,” holding his arms out a little, palms up
(he’s never been very verbose), and smirking a little, I would, because his expression reminded me of Christmas.
“What about our reservation?” I’d chuckle.

This was, of course, a volunteer situation, where it was up to us all to do our best.
.
.
Songs for thus:
Girls On the Beach by Carter Cathcart
Wouldn't It Be Nice by Papa Doo Run Run
Please Let Me Wonder by Carter Cathcart
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 07/01/25:
Verbose = using too many words to convey a point.
Charles and my predawn jog was a sweat-athon and as the sun rose, a heat-dome brightness tattooed crisp shadows in every corner. Any lingering coolness was burned off - evaporated.

It was 94°f, 3 hours later, when I walked to campus - why don’t we use  parasols anymore? Drag on, radiant afternoon heat, please.
That was 100 proof sarcasm, in case you couldn’t tell.

Hot days seem to drag-on slowly, like waiting for a microwave or a droning, liturgy. It wasn’t in the forecast but I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear, “Today’s forecast is slow, really slow.”

Let’s start an Internet theory that the atmosphere is thinning or we’re just ants under a magnifying glass.

The finally setting sun left a blood red line under the falling blue dark, like a **** of wound in the skin of young-night.

Once my nightly obligations are done (classes, homework, reading), the silence can seem oppressive. I’m used to the never ending hustle, boiling drama and noise of seven suitemates - so there’s that.

On now empty nights, I’m tortured by the high-beating pulse of youth, and I pace my empty apartment, like someone restlessly waiting for their venti-mocha-latte at a Starbucks.

Can anyone suffer like a young woman left all alone?
Why, oh whomever, must I sip from this deep, bitter, undrinkably salty sea of solitude?

In this, my prime season, why do I only manage to exist?
My needs are in a shameful state of decay.
.
.
Cruel Summer by Bananarama
Habits (feat. Haley Reinhart) by Scott Bradlee's Postmodern Jukebox [E]
All That I Need by Ebony Loren, Matthew Ifield & Sebastian Kamae
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 06/27/25:
oblige (obligation, noun form) = something required or forced
I have never been to Alabama, or…
<>
I have never been to Alabama,
or where
Immortality
reigns supreme,
but I am told here and there
nooks and looks of poetry
reside abide and
ENLIVE,
And sadness is banished,
loneliness impossible,
&
Loveliness abounds,

And every poem
Gets a sun,
Becomes a star,
And every poem,
Is immortalized

And those who choose
to compose, selves to expose,
become angels protecting all who write poetry in their hearts,
but
who cannot nor,
dare to share
<>
but
they share with them...
who in turn
share to all
the confidence of
Comfort
[1] though I have been to Georgia, where are angels I have met, and regularly converse and reverse poems of love and respect
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