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Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.https://tinyurl.com/yd8kxt9s: and this was at a time when i actually cared what girls thought... as any chubby kid prior to the age mid 16... cared so much... like any boy... then the backfire... so i thought: well... i know of a girl that won't back down, Sophia... and she certainly didn't teach me to regurgitate logic like a sophist might... new experience... and? ever since? so date with Jack was ever the same... i really used to care what girls thought... but... eh... these days? i care whether the bottom of the bottle looks like a telescope, or a mirage of a kaleidoscope... guess all the shame went out the window... selfish... selfish... hmm... then i guess all the monks are paying dues for that kind of existential hostage heist of - otherwise unwanted enlarged *****-loads of heart, mind, hope... my kind of poker... but thank god i don't that the sort of egoism of a ***** donor, like i'm some prime material for cloning... phew!

i listen to these commentary videos on politics,
and then... i reach a saturation
point... oi! Joe! Joe! where you goin'?
to the jazz club? me come with...
   i've had enough... i get enough news
when i visit my grandparents with my
grandmother watching more
news than her age-restricted bracket
of Mexican or Turkish telenovelas...
does my nuts in!
   i'd rather watch a ******* telenovela
than the corporate news...
at least i'd be watching someone akin
to tuba büyüküstün
   (**** me, they went wild on
the diacritical marks there... didn't
they? do they match up to
the scalpel of syllables within the word?) -
hey! granny! put that **** back on,
she's showing a healthy cut of
thighs and the upper legs,
cut, right, above the knee!
    i too miss the internet...
like it was... in 2007 through to
2000 &... 17?
      well sure as **** no **** Sherlock
it wasn't 2016...
           i appreciate the work
of the counter-media...
   but after a while...
  i get bloated...
   too much information...
       and nothing of the sort i can
speak to people about within
or outside age bracket within this
restricted space...
   so i fill up the tank, realizing
it all ends with: oh, right...
the same ******* tomorrow?
    and then i desperately try to find new
music... musing over a sudoku puzzle...
taking another painkiller swig of
bourbon saying to myself:
isn't this, just the most bountiful night
filled with the oddest beauties
encapsulated most by the shadow
on the face of the moon?
      as ever, my number one motto:
stay low, steer the undercurrent -
         seek no exposure...
               enjoy the drinking,
but esp. enjoy the music...
                     but **** me...
   i miss 2004... or was it 2005?
whichever year it was...
i remember having a race with this
guy on a Tour de France type of bike...
and i was mulling this thick-tier
mountain bike from
Bałtów to Ostrowiec Św. -
   but i still remember my 50+km leisure
route...
   there are only two ways to lose
weight without having problems
of excess skin hanging like punctured
fat balloons...
  cycling... or swimming...
   nope... you go to the gym to lose
that weight? you'll be in need of
plastic surgery...
              **** the diet...
coffee is not coffee if you don't drink it
with either full-fat milk or cream...
i've seen what a coffee with skimmed
milk looks like...
looked at a receptionist's cuppa in
the local g.p. surgery...
  diluted mud-water...
                 same argument with low
fat yogurt: instant diabetes -
you, need, fat...
                    you can't fake fat with
excess sugars...
  plus... the texture?
        orangutan snot probably tastes
better...
      no... gym is a bad idea
for losing weight...
had a "friend" (fwend) who thought
it was worthwhile...
guess now he can test what
a tattoo looks like in old age...
   skin as elastic as a ******* parachute...
running? bad for the knees...
plus? 50+km on a bike?
think of the scenery!
                 - and you require but only
afternoon session when the heat's off...
roughly 2 hours...
sure... after the weight is gone...
**** that gym membership...
   but?
           not prior...
              you lose weight by concentrating
on a calorie equilibrium
with either your legs...
or your torso...
but let's face it...
i didn't swim much...
   so basically your legs... on a bicycle...
what was that route i loved so much...
ah...
the 754...
       through various names country
roads... heading back on Iłżecka
  (a road's name borrowed from
the town of Iłża - en route to Warsaw -
a medieval road -
now passed on route no. 9) -
more fun than pretending to
be a tourist in central London...
  bicycle... late afternoon...
the road...
                 and the endless
fried pine patches of forest...
there's nothing about home as
the perfumes of the land...
however grotesque -
which does include farm animal
manure...
  but **** me...
   Paris perfumeries can hide,
shy... from their poignant scents...
farm animal manure
and hay...
   but later afternoon pine...
and the wheat fields...
and the grass...
               come to think of it...
i never realized that i cycled into
a completely different county...
           like me going from Essex
through to Kent...
               fun as ****...
plus i sometimes stopped at this
old woman's hut...
           and bought some goat's milk.
~
May 2023
HP Poet: Edmund Black
Age: 39 (almost)
Country: USA

Question 1: Welcome to the HP Spotlight, Edmund. Tell us about your background?

Edmund Black: "My real name is Merlin Edmund (Black) cause I believe in magic and besides, it matches my cool ;). I was born in Port Aux Prince, Haiti. I moved to the United States when I was 11 years old and I’ve been living in New Jersey ever since. Seems like here on Hello poetry I’m stuck on 34, like I'm frozen in time alongside error 502, but I’ll be 39 years young this year on May 6. But please don’t tell anyone ;) lol."


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

Edmund Black: "I wrote my first poem (ever) here on HP called Caribbean love, back in 2018, and I have been a member since. I wrote that poem after I returned from a missionary trip back home in Haiti, after I witnessed so much poverty on such a small island. And I wanted to write about all the suffering, the poverty and the beauty. At first I was afraid, I was scared because I didn’t know how people would take to me. But there was a piece of me that wanted to come out, wanted to be free, and to learn, to help others find their own Joy, gratefulness, peace and humility? I started writing to encourage myself and many others. The truth forever remains that we're all brothers and sisters. I wanted to sprinkle some love and hope around the world, seasoned with a little bit of madness."


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

Edmund Black: "I guess every writer is inspired by different things, for me I get inspired by all the little things I experience on a daily basis. I get inspired by hatred, poverty, love, music, nature, grief, etc. I get inspired when I'm desperately searching for a life in a happier world. When I feel the desire to remind myself and others that we're all the same. Everybody has a little bit of the sun and moon in them. Darks and lights in them. Part earth and sea, wind and fire. We have a universe within ourselves. We all can shine in the midst of dark moments and we have got to remember that, no matter the weight."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Edmund Black: "Have you ever met someone that makes you happy and smile, just from being around them? They make you feel good just from their laughter. They make you feel like all the problems or negativity that you may be facing during your daily activities, means nothing. They make you realize that it’s okay to make mistakes and still find ways to make things better. This might sound insane, but that’s poetry to me. It's healing, it's cathartic, it brings out strength from within. Trust me, you can write about anything and still come out with a win. Poetry is an avenue that lets you be free while holding the memory of the world in the palm of its hands."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Edmund Black: "I think my answer is going to shock you, Carlo. I DO NOT HAVE A FAVORITE WRITER OR POET besides you guys here on HP. But If I had to pick one famous poet, if it’s a must it would have to be Jesus Christ. He was a brilliant poet who had his work of art on every mind and heart in the world. His expression, His poems, His delivery and the depth of His thoughts. The poems are so relatable and beautiful. His words are addictive. Every time I am a little bit depressed and in need of a lift upon high, He is the first and only one that always comes to mind. He’s my inspiration…… Without question."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Edmund Black: "I love spending time in nature with my family; creating art in the backyard whenever I get a chance. Weight lifting and bicycling are two of my favorite hobbies, and plus I'm a foodie so I'm very passionate about my cooking ;) especially fresh seafood, hmmm so so so good. And lastly, I have a great enjoyment in fixing old houses and turning them into a home for families to enjoy for years to come, for a small fee ;) to me it’s a form of art. It’s a busy lifestyle."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for allowing me to interview you, Edmund! I really enjoyed getting to know you better!”

Edmund Black: "Thank you so much Carlo and to everyone who has ever shown me love, support, encouragement, forgiveness, concern...at any point in my life. Your grace, compassion, and mercy does not go unnoticed. I love you all. Be gentle with each other my dear poet brothers and sisters. To all writers and poets, don’t boo yourself off the stage before anyone has a chance to see you shine. Keep dreaming and your visions alive because without us the world would be empty, sad and without a sound. Let’s create joy for hope and hope for humanity……I am all gratitude Carlo and family, thank you 🙏🏽"




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Edmund a little bit better. I know I did. – Carlo C. Gomez (aka Mr. Timetable)

We will post Spotlight #4 in June!
~
CharlesC  Jul 2013
bicycling
CharlesC Jul 2013
We learn once
and never
again..
never not
restoring from
imbalance..
a Singularity:
left and right
earth and sky
round and straight
movement and still
machine and spirit
bi and cycle..
such Centering
might one day
en-lighten our
struggling
world...
jeffrey robin Aug 2010
the last soft pretzel  has been sold
he puts the mustard jar
......back into the cart

and "home" he rolls

------------

there was an old lady who lived in Sheboygan
she had so many children

she moved to new york city
and got on welfare

-----------

he was a "podigy"
he coulda been jesus

but he decided to be
........................lebron james

---------

gentle breezes
the bicycling boy
yellow shirt against the park's greenery

and the deep blue sky

--------------

growing unto  night!
the angelic sense of "her nurturing"

all in her EYE

---------------
an obvious "sentence"

the world's been imploded!

(and is an ugly worn out place!)

-------------

the towers have fallen

oly homeland security
on the c.i.a.

watching us now
Ron Gavalik Jan 2016
On barstools, people drone on endlessly
about meditation and yoga and hot yoga
or cold jogging, and bicycling in special pants.
‘It gives you a high,’ they say.
‘You’re on top of the world,’ they scream.
The saps push their new religions
with the gusto of car salesmen.
When it’s a woman, I politely listen
between mouthfuls of whiskey and ginger ale.
When it’s a man, I shut him down
early in his ramble. I tell him to
grow a pair.

Curvaceous women with long hair
and ***** that easily get wet,
bourbon that melts the top layer of ice,
pocketing a few bucks after sinking the 8 ball,
those are the legal addictions,
I tell punks
that give a man small escapes,
the sins he commits to feel whole.
A man who knows the desperation
of fulfilling temptations always
works harder to stay one step ahead
of the game.

Those are the addictions,
I tell men in designer clothes,
that **** us
slowly
when we least expect
our demise.
To be included in my next collection, **** River Sins.
RJ Days  Oct 2015
Poem
RJ Days Oct 2015
Suffering,
bicycling west, just east of river's edge,
under overcast troposphere,
downtroddenly I recall
how shadows require sunshine.
Andrew T May 2016
You could have reached here Wednesday by last choice
Perhaps your mood shifted. All the calm nights
you had now lay awake. You explore the city
built by the perfect people, white cathedral
stands upright on a slant, a compass buried in plain sight,
the gibberish of art students from painting lullabies as sirens.
Only children are asleep. The university
grows younger each year. The best teacher
is always late, not realizing her impact.

The person I’m most comfortable with
stays in bed. Security found indoors
the couch allures, security in the capsule,
The deafening whispers, the genuine friends
who live nearby and can’t talk straight. The blessed temple
building worshiped by advertising majors.

The lucid potential, morning sprints round the track,
a library sustained by crushed Adderall —
glowering orbs rotating back counter clockwise,
out of chimneys the black spirits climb,
detectives bicycling, the honor students rummaging
for class notes in the deep end of the dumpster.

So this is college? That frontier plateauing
before you can dive off a cloud? So this utopia
was a dollhouse, the daily on the doormat
camps in the hallway: waits while the child watches
a sit-com?
Don’t apartments stand still? Are abstract paintings
and basketball supposed to nurture a city,
not only Richmond, but also other lonely cities
of misunderstood brunettes, dank **** and dubstep
the weekend will seldom put out
until the city you moved to shuts its eye?

Just tell yourself, “live.” The best teacher, eighteen
when she moved to the university, still grins
even as she coughs out fiberglass. Any day now,
she sings, I’ll take a drive and leave this place.
I pull her close and say. You haven’t slept in your own bed.
The boy who you’ve always loved still thinks about you.
The books you read before breakfast,
whoever the author may be, inspires
and your least favorite student who raises her hand
is judged but her posture never falters.
Beki  May 2013
"Free" dumb
Beki May 2013
We are cycling
Bicycling
They're living in screens
While we count on a dream
Acting sweet and intrigued
In truth, the inside is mean
I mean, the inside, it screams
till physically I'm fatigued
the pain's kept in the knees
Keep confidence in my feet
Their desire to be "free"
Is absurd, I can see, but allegedly
this ridiculous urge
has implanted a need
It has been made aware
they're relying on me
Where's my brake? Set me "free"
When I brake, let me be.
Seems I brake constantly..
but my mind sees itself
very differently
Thinks itself to be
so peaceful and serene
similar to a tree growing gradually
towards the vastness that keeps
beyond my tallest leaf
My success is not make believe
Just set in time appropriately
To ensure I've achieved
and uncovered all the wisdom
it takes a human being
just to breathe
yes i know that's an inborn skill
that supposedly comes to us all
naturally
but hear out my plea
Take a deep sigh and think.
Do I really feel "free"?
Did you feel it forced,
or was your breath like a breeze
flowing effortlessly
from your lungs to your teeth?
Because that's what we need
The weightless tranquility
of feeling whole and complete.
That feeling of "free"
I can't wait to hold it inside of me,
and until my time I will wait patiently.
Sam Oct 2014
12:30 AM.
I am a ghost drifting through the midnight-quiet,
haunting flower beds and grasses
Undisturbed in their slumber. My body floats
Through my neighborhood, stealing the
Secrets of the dark.

1 AM.
Ghoulish eyes peer out from Mrs. Butler’s bushes and
Become miniature 3-eyed deer with antlers sharpened to
Daggers. They roam about her dewy lawn,
Feasting on worms and blinking,
Slowly, one eye at a time.

3:30 AM
Arrives, and they return to their hideaway home,
Disappearing with one final b l i n k
Into the rhododendrons.

5 AM.
I never knew that morning tasted like
Strawberries and honeysuckle and smelled
Like freshly-cut-grass-mixed-with-bonfire-smoke.
My Tongue is heavy with its sickly-sharp odor
And my ears buzz from the tangy sweetness.

7 AM.
Corporeal reality coats my body, connecting my mind
to my soul, my
Soles to the soil and I am incarnate, whole,
A body amid the sunlit specters surrounding me.

9 AM.
A mumbo-jumbo grin slides onto my face,
Synthetic in every aspect of the word,
My mouth is cotton-dry as I slink into the bogusness of a weary day.

10 AM.
Crowds of people smoosh together, their words co-mingling
And I crash my bike into strung-together sentences,
Scraping my knees on the voracity of barbed words.

11. “She’s a constant damsel-in-distress, but she doesn’t work in a strip joint!” I step around the shards of her fallen tiara as I climb the ivory-tower’s steps.
12. My wide eyes view futility as a type of texture, and I imagine it feels like sandpaper. My first class feels like sandpaper-futile in this struggle to stay awake.
13. Bicycling to la clase de Español se siente como moviéndose a través de melaza.
Mis pies cansados empujar los pedales pero I can’t escape the quicksand around me.
14. Reading the thoughts of my classmates helps to pass the time, and
I can see clearer through closed-eyelids than open eyes.
15. Red walks among their peers, watching for passing dogs and smiling at them. Red is
Hyperaware of people they knew from past school and recalls names and faces in seconds. Red is
A zombie trudging on shaky legs, lumbering down the bricked path.
16. Murky sunlight streams through tired clouds and blinking is a visceral kind of pain.
17. My poetry stews in my brain, rotting and fermenting until it becomes a fine wine.
18. Trees wish me good luck, waving their branches affirmatively as I pass by. Their comforting
Footsteps warm my soul.
19. Darkness steals the sun’s warmth but I’ve hours more to be awake.
20. I am a ghost floating through this sea of people. I drift through them, haunting their conversations
Haunting my own quiet mind.
UPDATE: Newly edited, but still not quite where I want it to be.
Still WIP but getting there
Supriya  May 2015
Summer days
Supriya May 2015
Light pours in through my open window pane
The warmth waking me up earlier than usual
Sunrise before six, in summer this is a ritual
I want to go back to sleep again!

Summer reminds me of the golden days
When we went bicycling all day long
When we hummed our favourite song
But now those days are just a haze!

Summers mean tasty, cool juices
Popsicles and colas iced
Jackfruits and mangoes sliced
Summer definitely has its uses!

Summers are bright sunshine lifting my mood
They motivate me to sweat and lose some weight
Summer has its charms to which all of us relate
Summer makes me feel refreshed and renewed!

— The End —