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Four years is a  long, long time
To watch what we’ve long worked for
Erode bit by bit or in big chunks.
How will we survive the watching
While being headed off at every curve
By sycophants who stand in line
To get in on the unearned spoils
Of ravaging ecology, economy
The middle class and truth.

Fourteen hundred and sixty days:
What can we hide in basement corners
To keep it from being broken or soiled.
What can we bury in the back yard garden
To know it’ll still be there for us to use
When the ravaging is over and we can breathe
And try to reassemble democracy
From the leftovers and the cast-asides
That evilness bequeathed to us on leaving.
                 ljm
Prices are not going down.
Immigrants will still pour in.
They'll tell us that we're better off
And hope we do not notice.
Prove me wrong and let me love you.
It's hell out there; you open a pack,
Flip the first one—luck on the line.
The enemy waits, prepared to attack.
Smoke it last, if you’ve survived time.

I’ve been saving mine, the pack intact,
Twenties dwindled, now just one.
The crypt lies bare, fate’s lonely pact,
A single smoke, a superstitious sun.

Like these cigarettes, I too stand alone,
A thousand cuts, each loss its own toll.
We share this space, a makeshift home,
Chasing luck to fill the hole.
~ for Jules
A little tattered
Broken

A little shaken
Shattered

A little scattered
Rattled  

But a little fixed
Mended

A little patched
Stitched

With gum and glue
Old and new
Needles and pins
Tonic and gin

Up and down
Round and round  

I soared
I dived
I survived

With hope
Though a little weary
With a smile
though part numb —
I wait
wondering what’s to come
~
January 2025
HP Poet: Rob Rutledge
Age: 35
Country: UK


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

Rob Rutledge: "Hi, thank you for having me. I’m Robert Rutledge. I’m 35, the youngest of three boys (sorry mum), born in the south of England to Irish parents who emigrated to the UK just before I was born in the late 80’s. At nine years old we moved to Manchester in the north of England where I would find a love for music, literature and general mischief before moving back down south in my 20’s. Where I have been creating mischief ever since."


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

Rob Rutledge: "I started writing poetry in secondary (high) school, I was really lucky to have some excellent English and Drama teachers who made it an easy subject to love. But like everything it was a journey, one very much entwined with my love for music and lyrics. At some point or another I realised I enjoyed playing with words, annoying everyone around me with puns and questionable jokes. Poetry became a natural extension of that while also providing an invaluable creative outlet. At home we had a framed poster of IF by Rudyard Kipling which seemed to mean something new every time I read it and really helped my appreciation of the written word. I often found the same joy in coming up with a riff on guitar as writing a stanza that I thought sounded epic and quickly realised there was a lot of crossover with rhythm, themes and metaphors between poetry and music.

I joined Hello Poetry in 2012 and have seen many ups and downs with the site but I also found an incredibly welcoming community, and I can say with all honestly if it wasn’t for the kindness and feedback of users here I doubt I would still be writing today."



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

Rob Rutledge: "Inspiration can come from anyone and anywhere but more often then not I find a single line or two may come to mind. Most of my work will contain a nod or a reference to a line that I’ve either borrowed or downright plagiarised from a book, a song, a rhyme and I use that as starting point. Iain M Banks is one of my favourite authors so when I’m struggling for inspiration I will pick up one of his many excellent books and will find a beautiful phrase or image that I can use as a starting point."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Rob Rutledge: "Poetry to me is an opportunity to create, to convey a piece of myself and share it with the world. To have made something of meaning even if it only means anything to me. A painting on the wall of the cave, a contribution to the world and something that says I was alive. Its the art of putting emotion into words and if I can impart that feeling to even one person the way other poetry has made me feel then it’s even more worthwhile."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Rob Rutledge: "I tend to love poems rather than poets the notable exception would be William Butler Yeats. There is something about the romantic idealistic nostalgia of his writings that has always spoken to me. The juxtaposition of his Anglo-Irish heritage hits close to home and I think is reflected in his wistful writings. T.S Eliot, William Blake and H.P Lovecraft (only his poetry, not a very nice chap) deserve honourable mentions as well, Eliot references feature heavily in Iain M Banks’ work and helped bridge my interests between literature and poetry."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Rob Rutledge: "Other than Poetry, Music is my jam both playing and going to gigs / raves, I love everything from classical to jungle and everything in-between. I also enjoy computer games and sci-fi in particular. I used to play a lot of Rugby."


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

Rob Rutledge: "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 Robert a little bit better. I most 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 #24 in February!

~
Was that noise thunder or a bomb?
Don’t sell the children fireworks any more -
It’s all too real and no longer exciting.

Who is more alone than the fearful in the center of a crowd,
Where the brave go willingly and the timid feel trapped.
The price of fun becomes exorbitant with risk.

Fields of flowers sprout up on sidewalks,
Marking all the places where what’s ordinary died,
And wilting in the waiting time for episode the next.

Is this an earthquake or a bomb?
Normality explodes itself in front of those soon dead
And leaves the terrified to gather up the pieces.

Are we become like punch-drunk fighters
No longer noticing the blows as we fall down and get back up again.
Is the fifteenth hit less painful than the first?

A swarthy face is really just a face-
Who paints suspicion on its brow -
And must a head scarf cover more than only hair?

Was that a sonic boom or perhaps another bomb?
You can’t enjoy the sunsets when you’re scanning for
A parcel or a backpack left behind.

One and all, we’re victims of the blasts -
Staggering and dazed with confusion and despair
As we search for safety in a world gone mad with hate.

What is the awful hierarchy of those who lost a love?
Does it become a contest as to who has lost the most
And no one is declared the winner.

ljm
I wrote this in 2016 and things have not gotten any better.
I was so low when I was solo
There was darkness everywhere
On the down *****, worried
I needed care
Someone to love me
I had plenty to give
But I kept striking out
I wanted to live

Then Cindy came along
And wouldn’t you know
The sun came out
Love began to grow
Life became the way it should be
She took the sad out of the sack
It was all so carefree
On top of that, she took the initiative
Ooh, ooh oui
Poncho, there’s a commotion outside
What’s going on?
Come pronto
It’s a demonstration
Almost a party
People are shouting
They’re happy
Seems it’s about peace
That it’s come to be
Smiles instead of placards
It’s a jubilee
A celebration of life
Come and see
Let’s join the march
You and me
are calling. Momma's
on the line. She's commanding you
to see her. But she's been dead
a long, long time. She's banging

against your windowpane in
torrents of yellow rain. Voices cannot
be silenced. A hurricane whip through
your head and wet the sheets,

as if it's raining on your queen sized
bed. Sleep brings on the nightmares. But
woke memories spoke of nails scratching
on the chalkboard that rake you like

autumn leaves. The woman was
a tease, like a comb through afro
hair. And she had you on your knees
and sat on you like grandma’s chair.
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

      O Ring Out Christmas Safety Cautions and Trigger Warnings

We must not overeat at Christmas dinner
We must not pass the doggie a poisonous treat
We must not speak aloud of loser or winner
We must not undercook the veg or meat

We must not argue during the second course
We must not provoke any bitterness or tears
We must not mention our cousin’s divorce
We must not let Momma drink too many beers

We must not drop our guard on Christmas Day -
For it’s all about family (that’s what some say)
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                   Did You Enjoy Your Christmas?


                                               Christmas Night


That merry little Christmas that they sing about –
Did you open your gifts around a tree
Tinsel and ornaments and a brilliant star
Pajamas and cocoa and merriment

Did you enjoy a dinner with someone special
Or with happy children and a few friends
Then coffee and cake and quiet memories
Everyone free from telescreens and devices

And now with a fire and soft candlelight
Is this another gentle silent night?

I hope it is so, dear friend
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