Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 May 2024 Nylee
Dougie Simps
Dear Expectations,

I have given up on believing in you. It seems that for years and years and so many more years to come. You have constantly sent out more pain than you have happiness. You give a sense of hope that doesn't equal someones reality. You portray this false imagination. You try to allow myself and others to believe that if we set certain standards and place things/people on a pedestal... That we will achieve you. Why is it that even after constant let down we allow you back into our lives? why do we still wait for you? expect you? hope and wish for you? set you so high...
To expect is to assume
to assume is to make a mockery out of yourself
I'd rather not.

I don't expect her to ever speak to me again
I don't expect those who've doubted me to suddenly believe
I don't expect my lost friends and family to suddenly be found
I don't expect immediate change
I don't expect the best outcomes to my hard work, right away.
I don't expect you to love me
I don't expect my father and I to ever have a relationship
I don't expect freedom in a life of chains
I don't expect anything, anymore


The only expecting I do now is the kind I can control

I expect myself to love who deserves to be loved
I expect myself  to be the best man I can be
I expect myself to try and change what is my flaws
I expect myself to be there always for my family and some friends
I expect myself to believe in me
I expect myself to try even if it's so much easier to quit
I expect myself to forgive...Even when I know they don't deserve it
I expect my self to live...even when life has killed all my faith
I expect myself to fight...even when I don't have much left
I expect myself to always remain honest to who I am


Expectations.

We place em on things that we have no control over...
on people who just may not be able to live up to our needs
we can't expect anything out of anyone or thing...
all we can do is expect what we want in ourselves.
Put out in life what we hope...but don't expect...to get back.

Change your mindset - Change your heart - Change your life
I expect nothing out of this.
 May 2024 Nylee
Rob Rutledge
I do not write of sunsets,
Those farewells of weary days.

I will not speak again of forests
Or golden sunlit glades.

I have said my piece on oceans.
Brokered peace among the flame.

I have walked many an idyllic garden
To find each flower's scent the same.

At times the grass appears the greener,
A feature of how light strikes the blade.

The sabre seems as great a teacher
In the sunshine as the shade.

So I shall write again no more of sunsets
Those farewells of weary days.

I lay down arms against the evening.

To the dreaming

I cast my gaze.
Love is a breath of fresh air in the park, a sapling inhaling sunshine
Open your heart to it and it will surely make you feel wonderful    
Veer towards it and it will take you through the dance of life
Each and every one of us is capable of such, just don't ask too much

Icebergs melt at the sight of it, so do icecaps in Love's Hemisphere
Scintillating emotions bubble up when it draws close, so enjoy it !

Eager to please love is always on the roll cruising right past go
Veer towards it and it will take you through the dance of life
Eye candy it is not, its much more than that, its enduring and strong
Regard it with great passion and zeal, for it is something you can't steal
Grow with it and know that when its true love, it never dies, like the    
Rose, even when the petals fall away, the memory of its scent remains  
Enameled in your heart forever and a day, Love is like the evergreen tree
Enlisted in nature's plea, it is always well taken care of, by the devotee  
Night never closes in on it without a sweet goodnight, love oh love, it is !
Oh heart of mine be still as feathered quill
like poetry Divine we are well paired, consigned    
Oh self of innermost desire stoke me like fire  
and fill my hub with poetic bliss attire
Oh love, oh love, my dove, fit me like a glove !

Oh joy of my soul bring forth your kiss
in fervent mesmur draw me in and sweet concur  
Oh  jewel of my pine, be my templed nave    
my loyal stave that saves
Oh love, oh love, my dove, your sent from up above

Oh enchanted one immobile as the noon day sun
steady as a rock you stand as you take me by the hand
Oh lover of eyes, lips and ears make room  
for a rose of scented value, I am yours,  
Oh love, oh love, my dove, fly me to the moon

Oh love, oh love, my guy, please don't be shy
say you'll be mine until the day we die.
 May 2024 Nylee
Francie Lynch
Who waters dead plants?
Me.
Who pumps air into tires with holes?
Me.
Who spits into the wind?
Me.
Who swims against the current?
Me.
Who presses the walk button at intersections?
Me.
Who clicks BBQ tongs to make sure they work?
Me.
Who hits the save button more than once?
Me.
Who kills puppies?
Kristi Noem.
 May 2024 Nylee
CJ Sutherland
Is cultivated structured, planned, made
He responds better rested, well paid
Handlers near, He hides in a blockade

He starts off strong, but can’t last long
He can’t speak dance or sing a song
He doesn’t know where he belongs

He stands out ,awkward in the mix
Needs downtime to program another fix
A well oiled machine knows the tricks

Tall tale signs practice to deceive
reiterate the theme until all believe
American People are not that naïve

Regurgitate phrases, people in a daze
Mindless masses follow the craze
Blind obedience, ignorant haze

Occasionally , He will misfire
That’s when He should retire
Yet they prop him up and falsely admire

Too feeble to read his lines
If judged, he will never do time
continues to perpetuate another crime

When it all goes south
Blunders bloopers comes out of his mouth
Blame insanity says the speaker the house

He stutters, mutters, then stalls
He shuffles his feet and falls
A blank look He stares at the walls

He shakes a hand yet nobody is there
Bewildered, he falls up the stairs
Sadder still his handlers Don’t care


He can’t get off the stage
Easily confused, his tone He can’t gauge
Has trouble reading what’s on the page

The media’s prepackaged narrative
Fact, checkers, collaborative
Concealing the truth is Imperative

Keep in line, Lock stock step together
Party Polar opposites, birds of a feather
Another four years we cannot weather

A debacle for the world to see
Destroying America Land of the free
But he gets away with it! How can that be?

How did we end up here?
Protesters yell” Death to America” cheer
This is only going to get worse, I Fear

The U.S., a strategic coup, is it our fate?
Will we stand or will we capitulate?
At a precipice, wake up before it’s too late.
BLT word of the day challenge 5-16-24
Debacle
Synonymously with fiasco to mean a complete failure. It can also refer to a great disaster, causing significant suffering or loss..

I saw this movie Manchurian candidate with Denzel Washington. about a  candidate a Group of soldiers that were programmed with mind control . It was my inspiration me  for this poem. I know the government has used mine control and currently uses mind control. Interesting concept frightening actually.
~
May 2024
HP Poet: Melancholy of Innocence
Age: 59
Country: India


Question 1: A warm welcome to the HP Spotlight, Melan. Please tell us about your background?

Melancholy of Innocence: "My name is Raj / Melan (as on HP). I am an Architect and Urban Planner with a MBA. I unsuccessfully pursued Doctorate (twice), but due to circumstances - could not complete it. I have worked with several International Non-Profit Development Organizations and Projects. While living in Amsterdam (Holland) for 4 years I was International Development Manager in-charge of ten-countries of the world – Oceania (Australia, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea), South-East Asia (Indonesia, Thailand, Philippines), Spain, Russia, Belgium, United Kingdom and Chile. And for separate projects I have lived for more than 6 months in Bangkok (Thailand) and Accra (Ghana). I have travelled to more than 40+ countries."


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

Melancholy of Innocence: "The first vivid memory of mine that I can call as a poem was when I was 8 years old. I had gone to my Mom’s office picnic tour for 2-days and there I had met someone of similar age of opposite gender. On coming back, whose name I wrote “three” times (one below the other in 3 different fonts) on the last page of my school notebook. I consider that as my first LOVE-poem. My first form of “identifiable” poetry was at the age of 13 years. It was about doing “morning household chores” and helping my Mom so that she can reach her office on time. After a very long break, it was only when my BELOVED inspired me to become member of Hello Poetry, I did so in 2016 and started writing serious poetry. I have 23 books (fiction, non-fiction, poetry) self-published on Amazon."


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

Melancholy of Innocence: "LOVE surely inspires me. Being in LOVE makes me feel - live and breathe in PEACE. Poetry happens to me when without knowledge amidst mundane incidences of life – like, while taking bath or wearing clothes, standing in front of a mirror, reading some story/poem/article/lyrics, watching an interviews/movies/songs, listening to music OR just by observing the way people behave, express themselves, their ****** expressions, their mannerisms, smiles/sorrows/laughter/giggles; the way they walk, turn and look around them, stand, sit that always reminds me of my BELOVED. I also always make it a point to peep out from my home balcony / window seeking a glimpse of sunrise/sunset, moon/stars, birds, clouds, feeling breeze on our skin, blooming flowers, bees, insects etc. and many more things…! Basically, I think I get inspired by something that touches me deep inside and reminds me of my BELOVED. I immediately experience the realization of “I being in deep true pure eternal LOVE” in our heart and soul. That’s how poetry happens to me."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Melancholy of Innocence: "Poetry is a true expression of how exactly I feel inside me at that very particular moment of time and I try to be as honest as possible in expressing it with words that communicates my true and pure feelings of LOVE to my BELOVED."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Melancholy of Innocence: "Rumi, Omar Khayyam, Ghalib, Tagore, Neruda, Pushkin, Kabeer, Jayadeva, all enlightened Sufi fakeers and many more contemporary lyricists."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Melancholy of Innocence: "I like to read. Now a days I read in digital format anything that catches my interest ) text books, non-fictions, literary-award-winning books, biographies. etc. I like to draw, paint, sketch, do photography, do exercise, play sports, watch movies, serials etc. I even have written full-feature movie-scripts. I try to download and listen to all songs of music my BELOVED likes and sometimes recommends me. I like to do simple household chores (sweep/swab the house, clean the toilets etc.), do mundane shopping errands, cleaning and arranging things around me, I love to sit and observe things – “Nature”; and especially common everyday people and wonder about their childhood years and their life’s journey. I like to introspect a lot and question my own thoughts – making sure I do not get convinced and/or imprisoned by anything (beliefs, rituals, superstitions, views, thoughts, religion, philosophy, “..isms” and “so-called” TRUTHS) that I may have come across - seen, read or heard. I am very uncomfortable and vary of building identities of I, me, my, mine, myself…"


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for allowing us this opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet, Melan! We are honored to include you in this ongoing series!”



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Melan a little bit better. I surely 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 #16 in June!

~
 May 2024 Nylee
guy scutellaro
gk
 May 2024 Nylee
guy scutellaro
gk
george collects baby doll heads

my guestion to george,

do you cut the baby doll heads
off the dolls?
 May 2024 Nylee
Kurt Philip Behm
Living alone
in quantum space
vibrations
dually churn

Hiding behind
a simple rhyme
their essence
undiscerned

Turned into words
exposed at last
where time and
memory join

Feigning the praise
for something they’re not
disparaged
— and purloined

(Villanova University: May, 2024)
 May 2024 Nylee
Jeremy Betts
Pain affects immediately, sticks around indefinitely
The headcount is up to sixty over infinity
And right around the corner is another three
Meaning it's always in the vicinity
And every type lands just a smidge differently
This feels like what I might imagine to be purgatory
Woe is me
My future will be winless if I'm too stay in the business of learning from my history
The bell to start the fight indicates the end, just prematurely
Loosing in a victory, contradictory absurdity mentioned literally,
All ***** nilly
As I'm sure you can imagine, maybe even probably agree
Somethin' like that is bound to change the complexion of a personality
I know personally
I'd hoped good days would roll in gradually, at least eventually
Instead they taunt relentlessly
It's with a heavy, often broken, heart I go in and defend half heartedly
Enjoying the savagery, a familiarity that relaxes me
But positions me next to the poisons amidst the pageantry
In the direct line of sight of my worst enemy
Me looking back at me directly
"You're talking to yourself again Jeremy..."
...shiit, sorry

©2024
Next page