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But I will not bay over a lamb —
Nor will I say there is respect for an idea —
That never should be warranted —
If such idea enjambs with any virus —
Or, if is not to qualify the use of crack —
Given that there is the privilege of **** —
I will not bay over anybody’s lamb —
I will, though, hold my tongue, to wet my arid lips —
Your son uses zucchini improperly —
And we all babble around Crowley —
In grey fields, where the brain bubble popped —
September 2023
HP Poet: Old Poet MK
Age: 80, but feels 79
Country: Canada

Question 1: We welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Old Poet MK. Please tell us about your background?

Old Poet MK: "I was a poor scholar…difficult concentration issues from grade school onward…very little was known about dyslexia in those early years…it’s a bit of a different world…many blessings and all kinds of curses. I was fortunate to invent and able to patent a few things that people were willing to pay for. My wife and I opened a small factory and manufactured decorative accessories for interior designers in the commercial market, offices…malls…lobby’s, etc. Making a living doing something you enjoy…feels good…and for almost 40 years It was hard working fun…I was inventing day and night."

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

Old Poet MK: "I recall attempting poetry when I was in my early 20’s…lyrics for tunes, etc…but I didn’t keep a record of that period, it wasn’t until my early 50’s when Leonard Cohen captured me in the magic of his rhythmic language…it was a melodic trap…the lyrics blew my mind and my world got a little bigger, from that time on I wrote frequently…and read the work of many poets trying to figure out how it all works….I wrote for my own enjoyment and a deep desire to improve...I began to submit my poems on a couple of sites about 12 years ago…I finally found Hello Poetry in 2016…the best of the lot in its own way…There are talented wonderful people here…"

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

Old Poet MK: "There’s no particular formula or pattern….I think it happens when I get a little edgy…and my unconscious has observed a puzzle untamed…for me poetry is self discovery, it emerges raw…and I do my best to tame it."

Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Old Poet MK: "Poetry is important to me….a sense of fulfilment digesting the work of the great poets…incredible philosophies between the words….reading the work of fellow poets…learning from heartfelt insight…I take my own work seriously and work ******* interpretation and refinement…it all feels a worthy time spent….squeezing meaning out of abstraction and allegory tongues or plain words. The freedom of poetry is a gift….the lightning speed of brevity conquers a complex point in a flash….compared to a few pages of prose…it is a fascinating creative process using colors of your own choice…up down or sideways…verse rhyme or hybrid…you birth an original poem."

Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Old Poet MK: "Leonard Cohen…I understand his misery. Irving Layton…another Canadian poet…a close friend and mentor of Cohen…fascinating love poems. Bukowski…for his genius and dignity. Mark Strait…amazing work that surprises. Billy Collins…the lightness of his heart. Emily Dickinson…who forced me to find the voice in a poem and it’s attitude to help me understand and interpret (as important as writing itself) and I don’t always get it…"

Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Old Poet MK: "It is wonderful when one retires and has a few hobbies and deep interests. I’m an Audiophile…with a proud record collection and old vintage gear. I clean, preen and constantly improve. I paint large abstract expression (acrylic on canvas), they take a long time, sometimes one will surprise me and end up on a wall. I’ve been playing saxophone since I was a kid….never could read worth a nickel, yet it’s been very rewarding…the challenge and joy of improvisation trusting your ear. In the world of jazz I’ve met and performed with amazing people…"

Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to get to know you, my friend! You are a wonderful addition to the series!”

Old Poet MK: "Thank you Carlo…Appreciated….What you do is not easy…"

Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Old Poet MK a little bit better. I indeed did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)

We will post Spotlight #8 in October!

There's a life of a show, not on the road
where you always know where to go
Crying rivers in your eyes, but you still
have to catch another day, of life's chaotic flow
Told to act right, but you don't know your role,
trying to fit in everyone's shoes; that stained yourself
and scuffed up your soul

Driven into destiny's twine, you try and try,
caught in the ties of a victorious lie
A glorious ugly sight, pinned into you mind,
as you stuck needles in your eyes
As I've seen a buttoning of a sea; fasten into a chest
and drifting away, as you took that dive- trying to survive

And in the night; the stars called me softly,
under a yellow moon, in my highs of emotions all so lofty
In a perfect silence I hear so loudly; choking in the mornings
rushing to me, as when you first drink is bitter cup of coffee
In the shadows of my alarm in these lucid dreams,
the ghosts of those incomplete stories, start to haunt me

Always so antsy; I just keep on searching for answers,
chasing circles inside a box, and counting on my chances
With all of my advances, I'll still slave away my time to
what I always must do- but never to call these despairs
my masters
Blood in the blue,
a direct proclamation of fate,
guided like an arrow,
an actor, or oneself-
a mere impulse-desire in the velvet ruins of eternity.

Temporally displaced,
The hidden moment of a lifetime’s innocent
desire to become
nothing more
than this, that is here,
a dream working on the edge of town,
an elephants delight,
a signal flare on a dark sea nesting quietly underneath an endless, black sky.
The Fatigue

is newly familiar, but familiarity breeds
surrender, not contempt, for its powers
are overwhelmingly secretive, coming anew,
stealthy like evening fog, all encompassing,
departing when it chooses, only by choice,
fearing not day or brighter burn of sunlight,
or even the insistent rules
of the mathematics of a timepiece

it hides within the ordinary, the mundane,
the onerous lifting of the fork, the exhausting
chewing, chewing until sleep offers distraction,
but not necessarily relief, for the chores of
living, are an endless looping, and the fatigue

does not recognize the clock, the body’s rhythm,
only its own schedule, I proud man, am but its
vessel and vassal…
Aug 22 2023 11:03pm
  Jul 21 Sean Fitzpatrick
You’ve always been
there for me.                                               My rainbow
in my life’s storms.
My daily sunshine rays.
The evening beam that sends the dark clouds away.
The hopeful tints on my bleakest day.
But what if tomorrow never comes?
The tomorrow you’ve daily promised.
Your promise of forever.
But what if tomorrow never comes?
Can I dream by myself?
Would I carry on?
But today is what matters.
Today with you.
Our love is timeless.
I’ll embrace the love we have today.
I would never worry about tomorrow.
Even if doesn’t come.
I’ll hold your hand today and you’ll hold mine.
I have this cause so consuming . . .
like an overdose that's overwhelming

When salt water was as sweet as the memories that washed over my feet by the edge of high tide's completion

"Go find the door to your ambition
before it closes to the winds of desiccation"

The binding has cracked
the paper turned yellow  
Touching ,  now brittled backed
So it has been written "finis" upon the last page of life

The words I collected like seashells
as the wrinkles of face grew to foretell

The foam and waves swept over my toes
as the sand was ****** away from beneath

They say the pain will go away .
then they wish you well ,
. . . turn . . . and walk away

I look back upon life as if it were a dream :
a scheme . . .
a scream . . .
and so naive

"I will check out the skies in Rome ,
I promise now when winter is gone"

I long for the hot sands of purification
Where the bleached bones
have reached end's destination

Somewhere next to a Coptic sea
where time falls short on eternity I will kneel to my desperation

In another year
it will be another day's difference in time ,
as another grain of sand falls it loosens its bind

"Won't you come and bring thirst's renewal of relief ?"

Don't leave me gazing . . .
searching for that distant smile . . . buried in my  beliefs

If not . . . then
let me wish you well . . .
turn . . . and walk away
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