#agnes
< A de L >
an extroverted extraordinaire day,
a day of special thoughts
so many, that she must summon
assistance
the wright of the mulch
of so much life yet to be consumed,
tolls heavy on the scales,
and she says:
“hand help me!
hold my weighted head up,
keep it higher than higher,
so much work inside
so much insight needy
for release, time requires
help, for time makes a human
heavier, like a thick chain
of gold upon my neck,
and sighs do not lighten
my load!”
the heart replies:
“breathe faster, write more,
give light and air
water and good soil,
to unleash the within,
to become the
a crown of from without,
you are poet,
be a poet,
levitate us,
levitate yourself,
words are like
paper mache rocks,
look heavy,
as heavy as a ton of butterflies
eager for freedom, exploration,
beautification of nature;
give us your works,
yearning to be free,
lighten our load
by alighting
yours!”
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 3:02 AM UTC
go ahead,
be an idealist,
Not Nat’s problem
thankfully
got enough just being a delusional realist
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 10:51 AM UTC
I notice.
you change yourself
so frequently, a new photo,
as if it be
new po-em-po-me,
almost daily…
don’t be embarrassed, love it;
and know now we know now know,
now, where you go
to compose,
clean sheets on a desk
with daylight streaming in
in a surrounding of flowers
falling upon your shoulders;
and the paper asking politely,
then shouting with impatience;
fill me, fill me!
so you can become,
Agnes-Agnes-de-Lodz
Agne-de-lighter-than air…
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 9:46 AM UTC
"Thank you for writing to me in Polish.
I have a feeling you'll visit the land of your ancestors again.
Spring and summer are the most beautiful here,
especially in Krakow, but there's also Zamość, Lublin, and Łódź.
I think I understand what you meant with your words.
Materiality holds us together,
and spirit spreads across time and space.
How can we reconcile this?
Allow yourself to be rooted in culture and language
while soaring high in your thoughts.
I wish you and your loved ones all the best.
*Peace, health, and fulfillment in your words
and in your lives*"
Best regards,
Agnieszka
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 9:24 PM UTC
The precisely exactly correct grasping.
moderne modified by
what shall we call it?
gentility,
sensitivity,
if
you will hold the door for me,
if
thank without thinking,
if
you agree to disagree, avec politesse,
if
your natural inclination to feel superior
is denaturalized
if
you stranger, answer my silently smiling smile sent at you
directly,
then there will never be an
if space
entire entre juste nous
between our two hands
no space, only celebration of our commonalities
and now ask, delve,
does this
if
please you,
then
we have closed the if between our two selves,
potentially
with every one else,
so
you know it, what’s coming next;
entre nous deux
just being next to thee/me
and mouthing silently
thank you for not agreeing with me. 🍀
nml>
Nov 1, 2025
Nov 1, 2025 at 10:51 AM UTC
Dedication from Life. The Re-Dedication
by Agnes de Lod. by nat lipstadt
I will not heal you with my words,| denied: you write, thereby invite,
I will not warm you with my skin,| your words are skin, now ready
I will not do the hardest work,| available to anyone with eyes
I will not release your mental pain,|to have their pain dissolved away
I will not look for you|| anytime, every-time-one-observes
inside your own soul.| your words glancing off of ours,
I answered only to the call,| this call, will n'ere forgotten,
I am the safe place for a fleeting moment| comes to you Agnes, in
a transforming meeting,| a transforming momentous
a rest before what hurts,| you by authorship required now
an inevitable sum of decisions.| help, sum up-correct, our decisions!
Everyone finds their soul’s spirit| Can and will each rereading ,
in looking at the world|. even when looking away, unable to
that believes it is drowning |. we'll extend outstretched arm, call
Look,|We do, look, |. poem in our mouths no matter month,
the sun turns cold in November,|. and yet, heated every time,
dryness in the mouth|. dryness, demands our lips recite this
It will not be easy.|. what ever is easy in everyday living.
But I am here,|. And we too, remain, many in pain,
close to you,|. closer than close no need-to be
beside your tense neck,|.
asking you|
to forgive yourself,|
for the past,|
for the present,|
and for the future|
in which I am happening|
just call
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
<nml
sometimes I ask permission, for this I did not for I was so aroused,
instantly compelled , no, compulsed! to refute, and AMPLIFY that this is invitation, an obligation of any poet worth their salt must proffer, accept, and never ever deny is a moral responsibility…
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 3:23 PM UTC
"*How could I live
without metaphors?
To call things by their names,
not to drown in longings,
not to color them,
to make shapes less painful?*"^
><<><
this quest, this verse curses
my drifting senses. now all attentions,
the outlined shapes that haunt, daunt,
lacking ****** substance,
just wafers and wines symbolic,
to defer away the many pointy fingers,
hands of nothing but forefingers
aiming exactly at our temple's
temple
stating most factually,
J'accuse
shadows are metaphors,
images meta-stasizing
into what ever
you believe,
what
you think you meta~need to see,
in the dark late of the light of our soul's night,
so you right of,
you write of
seasonal changes,
hardly illusory,
failing to note, that when you wrote:
How could I live without metaphors?
the answer metaphorical+historical,
for the question is only
rhetorical
for you know~knew
that once we know the name to everything,
we will no longer want them,
but only to write of them in
idealized metaphors
so we can sleep~dream on,
perchance
while the
restoration of the imagination
is our brain sourcing
new things
that seek, crave,
to satisfy our urgent needs
to describe, define, our every fractional moment
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 4:27 PM UTC
upon reading your poem
Tremor^
and this what I think:
when reading your seamless
writing connecting of moments
of immortality,
only one question remains,
why, does our own writing
not approach the level of your exquisite precision
soul's ***********
is it our
own immorality
that permits our soon-to-be-
discontinued pretenses,
wherein, whereby,
we can still believe
our own words should be
deservedly disowned,
disinherited to the
scrap heap heated,
burned, eradicated
and
why do we even try?
sigh
>.<
dare not read it twice,
lest my inked fingertips
surrender to my
indecent indecision
Sep 26, 2025
Sep 26, 2025 at 5:19 AM UTC
Metaphysical meaning of Lod
Lod, lod (Hebrew)--
division; conception; emanation; pregnancy; travail; nativity; birth; contest; cleavage; fissure; strife.
A city of Benjamin (I Chron. 8:12). Its Greek name was Lydda. In the New Testament it is called Lydda.
Meta.
The breaking up of an old group of thoughts, or thought habit in consciousness, that a renewal of the mind may be accomplished. In other words, the effort that the seemingly human mind expends in bringing forth new and higher ideas, or the strife and contention that attend the breaking up of error that Truth may be brought to birth and take precedence
(division, conception, strife, travail, birth; a city of Benjamin)
<>><
how would-could you know that my Hebraic background,
gave me a specialist insight into your writings,
in any language you employ
each and every trait.
in a potpourri scented and secretly elixered
division, conception, strife, travail, birth, travail
fissure, contest, nativity and birth
a potion powerful that needs to take
the moments of anyone's life
and bring to it, to them,
scope, recognitions, inside light,
for all conception
is precessed
by de~visions of,
strife, travail, birth,
for us all, even those,
who hail not from Lods {z}
there is much mystical here,
even magical emanations that occur in seconds,
how does one concept~conscript them,
to take, remake, mold them
both new and old simultaneously,
is a quality super
so truly human
so Agnes, write to us, write for us,
in any language of your preference,
for the it is the
captured content of those exquisite seconds,
that is all that matters,
and be of good cheer,
for your are
well received
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 2:56 PM UTC
Agnes de Lods.writes:
"Writing turns our thoughts inside out.
We cut and suddenly join words to touch the essence of both human and non-human existence. I allow myself not to be too sure
whether what I write is a record of what I have seen,
of my falls, or maybe a hallucination,
trying to wear the veil of mysticism.
I am only following the crumbs left by the undefined"
<AoL>
PREFACE
Perhaps it's me,
perhaps it's you.
but I trip over the inspired insights you so oft
slip in, share, and guilty feel
you have commissioned me to write
a poem for everyone
but especially,
for the poets here,
who peer, preen
and pepper their
inside innards
to find,
"the undefined"
<>
I know well these crumbs,
that once,
tasted
demand a full on British Baking
real life escaping escapade of a unque episode
god how I love the poetry of a glance askance,
the invisible invitation to take a closer look,
the hither in-a-come-closer
god how i love the well hidden but tracing whiff of a smile,
of an 8 year old when she's gifted an
unexpected delight, a simple bracelet,
which alway says please, little one, always,
remember me?
the pretense of irritation of an phony whiny
'I know, I know'
just for her, a savory masking
of the pleasured knowledge that you know her,
so well, of what she'll next speak.
just as well,
hell! even better,
before she knows herself
the shock of a particular poem
when first read, is a stone to temple,
a knife to the breast,
for the only first thought
forever, is my guilty plea of
"I should have written that!"
Need I go on?
perhaps one more,
the very first time you accidentally intentionally
touch each other's skin, hair or breast,
and the shock equivalent is of an electric chair
shared,
that requires stoppage of breathing, allowing for the full on
desire to fall to the ground,
thinking I'm found, I'm found out, I'm revealed, unveiled,
that comes out
of your eyes silently beseeching
if anything could ever be better,
than a joy undefinable.
and a memory memorized forever,
that defines,
that makes one fine,
that comes crossed off that secret list,
one more of the
undefined
of being alive
and changes you
for the entirety, and
the subtlest shade meanings of the phrase.
just
for the
rest
of your life
is immortalized
<>
now, here. I cease.
quite pleased,
that I do indeed!
remember;
begin again to recall
how to breathe
out, then in…
and then,
tho still off kilter,
again, and a gain
<nml>
7:58am Tuesday Sep 9 Twenty 25
Sep 9, 2025
Sep 9, 2025 at 3:23 PM UTC
outstanding
i do not research the words's etymology,
for it might steal it's magic from me,
you take me to different places different nights,
in shoes that hold eyes that see those sights.
that I cannot, though perhaps commonplace,
they are
out standing of my welds experience
so i, we, are voyeurs to a moment of humanity,
and i am out side, outside my body, in your visions,
out standing, near by, by words, moved by words,
composed outstandingly…
and now under~standings achingly transport me to
where you have been/seen
and send us
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 4:49 AM UTC
~
June 2025
HP Poet: Agnes de Lods
Age: 47
Country: Poland
Question 1: We warmly welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Agnes. Please tell us about your background?
Agnes de Lods: *"My name is Agnes (Agnieszka), and I come from Poland. I grew up in the countryside, in a family rooted in rural and small-town traditions. My mother is a very intuitive person, and my father was always standing in the last row, quietly helping others, especially people with disabilities.
My parents gave me two ways of perception: seeing with the heart and with the mind. They didn’t have higher education, but our home was full of music, books, radio talks, and documentaries that showed the world in many dimensions. They helped me see that reality is full of tension and harmony, depending on what we pay attention to.
They gave me space to speak in my own voice. Growing up close to nature, I spent time observing, listening to the rhythm of the seasons. I learned humility, compassion, and what it means to face hard work and failure."*
Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?
Agnes de Lods: *"In Polish, I’ve been writing for four years. In English, two or three. But in a way, I had been preparing for it all my life by writing, reading, and observing the world around me.
I started sharing my reflections on Hello Poetry in December, just a few months ago. For the first time, I felt ready to express everything I had kept inside for years."*
Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).
Agnes de Lods: *"People. I love people. Every single person has a story. Sometimes strangers stop me in the street and start talking. I guess they want to be heard, and I love to listen.
Nature inspires me. And my dreams, too. Some of them come true, others do not. Still waiting for those lottery numbers to show up in a dream.
Books are also a huge source, just like music and art in all their forms. I am inspired by Karolina Halatek and Hania Rani, Marc Witmann, Umo Vide, Dror Elimelech, and Patricia Suarez (Colombian poet and painter), and many others."*
Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?
Agnes de Lods: *"Poetry is exceptional on every level. Metaphors express the unspeakable and have real power. They change the frequency of thought.
Poetry heals, invites contemplation, and opens doors to the many layers of human nature.
To me, poetry is sound, color, scent, even taste."*
Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?
Agnes de Lods: *"Sylvia Plath, Alejandra Pizarnik, Wisława Szymborska, Adam Zagajewski, Czesław Miłosz, Jorge Luis Borges, Pablo Neruda, Federico García Lorca, and many more.
I also read poems on Hello Poetry, and I am so glad to see many truly talented writers here. It means this world still has a chance."*
Question 6: What other interests do you have?
Agnes de Lods: *"I am fascinated by psychology and archetypes. I read Jung with deep interest.
I love sci-fi, deep conversations, walks in the forest, and learning new languages. But more than anything, I care about human connection and understanding.
I like to dance and play the piano, though I have not had much time for that lately. And I love connecting the dots."*
Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Agnes, 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!”
Agnes de Lods: "Thank you so much for letting me share my story. I am so glad to be part of this community of sensitive souls. I feel good here."
Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Agnes 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 #29 in July!
~
Jun 1, 2025
Jun 1, 2025 at 4:03 PM UTC
Yes, I am angry and I have anger,
Burning inside me, like an amber,
You can also get injured by it,
So, better you stay away from me.
Neither I intended someone to suffer,
From mine fatal disease,
Nor, I did it; Cause I had been
Storing Grudge inside me.
But people never stop Making talk;
I am a ***** And many more.
Well, I was aware of everything,
Like what I was made and what I am being.
Nothing mattered me now more or least,
And I didn't wanna be a beast,
Everyone called, I heard silently,
Cause I am aware of my animality.
Neither I was alike it,
Nor I had become a bit,
Situation - Suffering made me rough,
But there exists humanity though.
I was same as a common girl,
Had a tolerating power pearl,
Abide everything like other,
But Not I had fortune further.
I had to rant and rave,
Every time I faced a deprave,
Made of injustice and wrong,
That only I had borne for long.
Tolerating was, I doing all times,
But with the hostility of my prime,
Make my abstinence of long,
Turn into dust, Oh! My song.
And then my emotions and me,
Aren't in control for a second, see,
I say, then, the truth of my heart,
Had felt, with words that worth.
And what I spoke then,
Is not all wrong; when,
You start first; And my defense,
It becomes for every one wrong.
Truth is truth, it will flow one day,
Let me a bad person for someday,
You will be hero, for sure then,
God knows everything; So, have some same.
My anger is wrong I know,
But what you have done till isn't an evil show?
Leave it, I don't wanna discuss more,
Stupid fiend, in disguise of a friend, you are a sore.
So, Yes, I am Angry and I have Anger,
Burning inside me, like an amber,
You can also get injured by it,
So, better you stay away from me.
Written by
Ifa Agnes
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 10:31 AM UTC