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March 2025
HP Poet: Mike Adam
Age: 66
Country: UK


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

Mike Adam: "Slum east London, dysfunctional violent childhood, playing on bombsites. School, dungeons and kidnappings, sad little boy. Love of dogs and plants and rocks. School: Beckett Shopenhauer, work, college, work university, 1st love lost, travel Asia beaches and mountains, monasteries, monks, Bhodidharma. Work, work, work, Lady J (published collection), retirement, happy at last."


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

Mike Adam: "Began writing 10 years old, HP about ten years."


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

Mike Adam: "Poems gestate and arrive unbidden, laid like turtle eggs, a little hole, sand flicked and forgotten."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Mike Adam: "From 1,000 posts perhaps start with the latest few. I call them "mercifully short," easy to read but, given time, you may unpack a great deal."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Mike Adam:
"Ryokan:
Why ask who has Satori, who has not?
What need have I for that dust, fame and gain

Montale:
Life that seemed vast
Is briefer than your handkerchief"



Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Mike Adam: "Amidst the first suicidal mass extinction in history I am grateful to read new poetry and garner hope from young poets still expressing themselves in beautiful combinations of words so thank you all for that...

Who am I?
I don't know"



Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much Mike, 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!”

Mike Adam: "With gratitude, Mike."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Mike 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 #26 in April!

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I love the rain, but you dote on the sun
I sing for spring flowers and life-like trees
I gaze at the stars when the day is done
But you hide from the dusky canopy.
Your eyes are violet, but mine are not
Your hair is auburn, mine is like night
What I think each day are not your thoughts
Neither are we wrong, nor in the right.
Beneath the veneer, behind given names
I walk my walk and you do what you do
Despite the differences, we are the same
A heart beats in me as it does in you.
Together, let's revel in being alive -
Dance to the beats of the rhythm of life
I believe everything
Happens in a sequence
In an order

I don't need to be
Versed in religion

To understand that
Every test, every sickness

Is moulding me
Into a more concrete form

One with unshakeable foundation

Through every pain
Along my incision side

Made me softer
To other people's pain
And yet I'm grateful for it

The pain yesterday is worse
Than today's pain

And yet with that I still
Don't glorify pain

I just think it's the only way
That I truly learn
It tells a story,
the sadness in her eyes,
are words you don't hear,
When eyes speaks louder than what you hear
i thought i understood the water,
the silver whispers of stream,
dying the way sadness sighs  
like a star.

the water didn't bring me to
you or you to me.

you were not the shimmer of a
fish.

you were the light reflecting,
bold splashes of colour
on a bold canvas. you

were night when i could
hardly bear the night and you
fell through me

like twilight bringing black
marble moons and watery ghosts.

i thought i understood the water.
i thought the stars painted your
reflection on my lips,

but the silver whispers were not
sad they were happy and
i wondered how i ever
found them sad.
i can't say i like the taste
especially—
it’s quite bitter
but you (i) much rather prefer
there’s nothing bitter about you

a nespresso with caramel—
no, i don’t see
the resemblance
(sticky, sugar, honey)
(stay, the taste—caramel)
i must be broken
but not you (you) are heavenly

(Oh—the door—hush)

the taste (you —sweet)—
caramel
March 1, 2025
Updated: April 14, 2025
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                              The List is Death

There is said to be a list – but whose?
Who wrote it? Where is it? Where has it been?
On what teakwood desk does it now repose
Around which names and lives are negotiated

The matter is not that names are being removed
But that your name might be written in
Because your attitude has been noticed
The hand that once shook yours signs away your life

Someone pencils your name upon The List
That’s your loyalty reward (you won’t be missed)

Thoughts ‘n’ prayers as in Two Corinthians
One person like steam on the horizon in a winter morning as the sun rises

stuck in the awe of them, the way of them, the transientness of knowing how soon the day will move on,

be over but that feeling lingers
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