Every bad has some good in it
like silver line round the cloud
a bad isn't bad every bit
has something to make feel proud.

One night on a rainy day
out on my aimless roam
saw a koi that lost its way
caught it and brought it home.

In a bucket it lived two years
no way I would ever regret that
had I on that day chosen to stay clear
it would have been taken by a cat.

Once she bought a bird cheap
back home we soon found out
surely it wasn't a prized keep
was lame in one leg no doubt.

But be sure we chose not at all a wrong
the foot though not cured healed a lot
the budgie would not have lasted long
had its lameness prevented to be bought.

Friends, there are many(I think, I hope). So, to be fair, I will respond with this.


"Stricly an Opinion"
October 20, 2014   8:40a.m.

On August 28, 2013, strictly as a novice, and not having posted anything, anywhere, I posted my first two pieces of "literary art" on the HP site. I had previously searched other similar sites until finally deciding on posting with HP. I'm glad I did.  Why?

Not knowing what to expect, I threw "1894", and "Folklore and Fairy Tales" into the "mixing bowl". Pradip and Sally were the first to comment, and I will never forget the encouragement their words gave me. Never! Quite often, I go back and re-read them, particularly when I get a little discouraged when the "writers block" syndrome decides to attack. Thank you both, so very, very much!

But that is the core of the HP Family. There is an aura, a special atmosphere of cohesiveness among its contributors, willing to offer(in most cases) constructive criticism without being cynical, and always encouraging each other. Making friends whom we may never see, whose hands we may never shake, but a friendship none the less, that is spread throughout the globe, with the thoughts that will always be there. It is a feeling I did not sense with other sites.

One thing is for certain. We never know what our readers are going to like/dislike on any given day. When we post a piece, of what we may think is the work of "pure genius" could go by the wayside in seconds. On the other end of the spectrum, what we believe is not so great, could trend in minutes.

We will keep trying.

Richard Riddle
copyright: October 20, 2014

I called the lone parrot passing over my head

from the blue
i won't fly to you
it said

forgot the love i gave?

but you made me your slave
to repeat your chosen line
to voice your chosen tune
my life was not mine

so from the blue
i won't ever fly to you

she affirms the parrot escaped

but i know one dull afternoon in March
she let the bird fly away
being too weary of the chosen line.

Inspector Dork was not pleased with himself

he had interrogated everyone in the house
only to be knocked down by
impenetrable alibi

Spouse Susan slept soundly through the night
and was awakened in the morn
when the alarm bell rang in his room

Daughter Debby's room was a floor down
she was up with her studies
plugged to earphones

Son Simon was out for the night
he was at his friend's place
for a birthday party

Maid Maddie made his bed
when the clock in his master's room
was chiming ten

Butler Bill having served a glass of milk
closed the door behind him
and retired for the night.

Inspector Dork was about to leave the victim's room
when his eyes fell on the clock pendulum

it was not swinging

he knew who was lying.

A year older, a year wiser

A wisdom always in the making
Nourished by experience
Vitaminized by failures
Strengthened by aspirations
Built on the foundation of hope!

Year after year
Brick after brick
Wiser
Cemented by determination
Watered by dreams
Cracked by blows
Repaired by a mason
Working round the clock
Anointing healing!

Get up man.

You are a year older
But a year wiser

And the fruits of this wisdom
Often unseen
Oftener unknown
Ripen inside
And then no more just yours
Scatter in the surround
Beget nurseries of wisdom
Building, vitaminizing, strengthening
Repairing healing
Your foundation
Your hope!

He had to come back.

On a December afternoon
when the sun was more to west,
he landed on the most favorite place of his house,
the roof.

Just as he had imagined
the still winter air was abuzz with life.

Doves were pairing for a home
Green bee-eaters swooped on insects
Two herons kept following the grazing cow
Crows were busy with twigs and wires
High up beyond where paper kites could soar
Storks slow sunned their wings wet from the jhil
The cats warmed their furs before the cold night
The stray puppy gamboled with its mother.

Each piece had perfectly fitted the other
including the silently sleeping house.

He was tempted to walk down once
has she changed any little way?

He smiled to himself
then breezed away from the roof.

Is there anything more wonderful
Then being part of the poet’s corner?
Lucky am I to be a poetry lover!
A romance novelist used poetry to ponder
A story that changes and transforms
One’s heart.  Is there anything more wonderful?
Joining a poetry site, I blundered
My way to writing a poem, oh what torture!
But lucky am I to be a poetry lover.
Many offered their support, allowing me to discover
My path and slowly my writing became stronger.
Is there anything more wonderful?
So many inspired awe and wonder,
Giving me strength to claim my own corner,
Justifying my becoming a poetry lover.
To those who offered encouragement so tender
I offer my thanks and give honor.
Is there anything more wonderful
Than becoming a poetry lover?*

Kelly Rose
December 29, 2015