Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Life's about the suffering
Peace a destination
What is more important
Is what happens duration

Impossible to self-pardon sins
Plagued with doubt and fear
What if darkness creeping within
Sronger than the light inhabiting here?

Worrying is not worth the toll
I have to pay my dues
No one can walk path for me
Don't wear the same size shoes

Each break and bruise instruction
Finish line forever unknown
Happy endings fantasy
Majority synthetic like silicon

It has to shift before we surrender
To assimilation of society
In-between consciouslessness
And controlled compliancy

After Point A wandered astray
Point B hopeless cause
Meandering sheep in a deluded daze
Progression practically on pause

Creativity and cerebration rare
Killed in each as a child
Brainwashed being obedient
Different labeled 'wild'

Those in power yearn to program every step
Shaping image to fit their mold
Corrupt agenda is nothing new
Most don't realize they are trapped in their hold

I want to lead uprising
But I simply am too afraid
Remember when surroundings were calmer
Present for past I desperately long to trade

We had plenty of time to correct behavior
There is an existing disconnect
From planet earth and each other
Too immersed in screens for paths to intersect

A thousand unanswered questions
In silence reality is revealed
Up to us to find purpose in this dimension
Stumbling blindly through this battlefield

We are closer to cliff than we realize
Inching towards edge each day passing by
Shadows halting vision with uncertainty
Wings clipped so we are unable to fly
About the way society is in relation to our government and just how we have been regressing and it's exactly what those in power want. Wake the **** up people, especially Americans!
This too will sink I know
Like the others before
This too will go
Behind shut door.

Once a place of rejoice
Where I poured my heart
Leaving is now the only choice
And make a new start.

My work is my blood of toil
Come at a high cost
Digging deep into the soil
What I grew is all lost.

I leave this holiness with pain
Will miss all you gave
Leaving the circling dots to reign
And send old poems to grave.
I leave with love and best wishes for all the fellow members and friends here.
“A man is about as likely to ask for help for depression as to ask for directions, and for much the same reason,” said Real, who struggled with his own depression issues. “It's part of the male code, part of masculine culture.”

~~~

when they ask,

I say, parrying fast,
how you doing?

to the persisters, I mutter fine

which is 100% correct...



been fined for the accumulated

made-mistakes, wrong forks taken,

the weight invisible but the

body sags, nonetheless...



you know they know,

you know their thoughts,

why doesn't he snap out of it,

after all he is a man,

he has always been

what we needed,

why can't he

just go back to the person prior...



this code, is not law,

ten times worse,

genetic and culture passed,

double ******,

code so real, like the headaches,

the nightmares, that forbid equanimity...



not true,

we don't expect that of you,

thankful for all you have done,

but eyes betray,

a simpatico misunderstanding,

the instillers, can't take back

what they celebrated previous...



the signals everywhere, few ascertain,

cause the rule is never complain,

don't go near windows,

lest the sunlight diffused, offers no cheer,

but escape temptation ever on offer...



forgive yourself, someone intones,

but what infects my bones,

is non-responsive to the forget antibiotic,

which does not come in pill format



ask me for directions,

I will talk/walk you to your destination,

but when I'm lost,

I'm just a lost man,

who needs to do better,

forgetting is not in my DNA,

but lost is...choking on expectations

of being everyone's savior,

with no one to save you from yourself...
A day, a week
Months on a row
Unburdened by the show
They go

Dates to keep
To pass, and sweep
The crumbs, away

In the moment, and for
The quiet, in the humdrum
Forever stays
In absolute state

Pitchers and plants  
Watering and nurturance,
Symbiotically thrive
no pitcher plants
In place
It’s been a while :)  
Hope everyone here is doing well!
What does Snow White see,
When she looks in the mirror?
Does she like what she sees, freely?
Or does she, like me, look
With dismay, and say, 
"Oh, my skin is not as white,
As yesterday, I won't go out and play
Today, I will stay in and away,
Because people will say 'she's not so fair'."
It's not fair that weight of expectation,
and the wait for ultimate perfection.
I don't mean to be political or minimise minorities in this poem. I am sensitive to such racial concerns.
Stupidly genius, moronic and shrewd people eat their fast food on fine China
Failing is vertical, errors are slander
Their gross insults impacting easy digestion
Hyperbole falsehood messiah

Piercingly silent and ardently soft people keep their opinions on fences
Insults are weaponry not to be yielded
Their platitudes cradling fragile personas
Perversely destructive defences

Classically learned and bookishly rich people carry their privilege with kindness
Science is built with colonial scaffolds
Their method constraining all true innovation
Parochial qualified blindness

Shockingly worthy and recklessly small people polish their boots with lead solder
Gravity holding them grounded and upright
Their bootlaces impacting aerodynamics
Inferior sturdy upholder

Gallantly serving and fearlessly trained people douse the political embers
Fire escape blocked with hobnails and lumber
Their pickaxes caught in the thick poison ivy
Nugatory self-rule defenders

The silent, the learned, the worthy, the trained people trade voyeurism for vision
Hologram values are no longer trump cards
Their gazes averted from hate-dripping sophists
Integrity first coalition
©2024
~
November 2024
HP Poet: Jill
Age: 47
Country: Australia


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

Jill: "Mum and dad immigrated from Northern Ireland to Australia before having my brother and me. I’m very grateful to be living in South Australia on Kaurna Land. My parents were teachers, and they seeded and encouraged my love for education. At university I studied psychology, philosophy, and French. Then I went on to a PhD in psychology, and later, a master’s degree in statistics. In my day job, I’m a psychology professor, which includes lots of scientific writing. Outside work, I love playing music and singing with my partner and our friends and spending time with my precious son and our fluffy dog."


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

Jill: "I’ve been writing poetry on and off for years. The times in my life where I have been most active coincided with having friends who were interested in reading and writing together. In high school, my dear friend and I would watch British comedy shows and write silly, surreal, or nonsense poetry. Our aim was to make each other laugh as much as possible. More currently, I’ve been writing songs with friends, including lyrics, which often start as poems. I joined HP only recently, in August 2024. This community is so generous and supportive, with such a variety of style, depth, and imagination for inspiration and motivation."


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

Jill: "In many of my poems, I’m trying to make sense of big feelings. I often write about my experiences caring for my parents, who both had close and complex relationships with alcohol. That is a never-ending well for poetry, ranging from trying to process some of the intense events, to exploring what it has meant for my self-concept and mental health. Having said that, sometimes I’m just trying to write something that sounds pretty or might cause someone to smile. I love challenges like BLT's Webster’s Word of the Day – seeing what comes from a single word across different poets."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Jill: "In my more personal poems I am documenting, reconsidering, and re-investigating my memories, and organising them in nice, even lines, which feels cathartic. In poems, I find that the small or large amount of distance that you can create through imagery, rhyme, or humor makes it possible to explore difficult or even traumatic experiences, thoughts, and feelings. Writing poetry is a transformative exercise, but there is something greater still about sharing poetry with others."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Jill: "One of my favorite poets is WB Yeats, I particularly love 'The Stolen Child'. Other all-time favorites include Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, AA Milne, Lewis Caroll, Edward Lear, Spike Milligan, Rik Mayall, and Crawford Howard. I also love lyricists like Joni Mitchell, Michael Stipe, Stephen Schwartz, Tim Minchin, Wayne Coyne, Stephen Malkmus, and Rufus Wainright. I have so many favorites on HP – too many to list!"


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Jill: "I love music. Since childhood, I’ve played violin in classical orchestras and musical theatre pits. I adore Irish folk music. For me, at the moment, music mostly happens with friends, with my electric violin, in pub bands of different kinds. Most of the poems I’ve written previously have only been publicly shared, adapted as song lyrics, with some of these bands. I also love all things science-fiction."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much Jill, we truly appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! We are thrilled to include you in this ongoing series!”

Jill: "Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to be a part of this, Carlo! It is such a privilege."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Jill 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 #22 in December!

~
Weltschmerz
    it's common
    but individually hidden

    life the angst
   the grind of time
   the tribulation

   the drifting
  to the unknown
  no answer to the nagging question

the world weariness
the monotonous undertone
the same melancholic content
Next page