There are reasons why
some men are shy.
and women too,
when wearing silk,
lie on their beds
alone and cry.
No mother's milk
to satisfy
the cruel thirst
for love and touch.
The rule first
is to beware,
when wearing silk,
of men who stare
or fingers touch;
this much we know.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Tell me truly who you are,
not from afar, but to my ear.
Do not fear:  I shall not castigate,
excoriate. Dissemble not:  No
equivocation. prevarication.
Tell me truly what's in your heart.
Is terror there, or guilt? Rage ablaze
from needs unmet? Do unhealed hurts
leave you reeling in a maelstrom of
doubt? Open up your heart
and let your agonies fly out.
In gentle ways let us discuss
worth of self. Let light
penetrate hate, mollify madness,
assuage pain. Let your forthcoming,
my love for your realness,
heal us both.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Have you seen
"THE ELEPHANT MAN"?
It's about you and me.
In varying ways,
both of us
are he and the
kind doctor who
sees him as
a human being.
The freaks are
those rulers,
those dictators,
who treat human beings
like garbage, or worse.
I, for one, feel his heart.
It matters not
what he looks like.
What matters is
that he loves his
real self and you.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I believe I have reached a point
of creative decline. Been on HP
since 2013. Close to 350 poems.
I may have thought and said
about all I have to offer.

Hard to come up with any real
original worthy material, the
old well might have run dry.
Or maybe my brain is growing
addled. That happens in our 80s.

In idle times I will still look in
on you all. I have enjoyed my
time here and made some fine
and talented writer and poet
friends. Thank you.

Adieu good and gentle people.

With Israel’s decapitation strike on Tehran’s nuclear infrastructure, the Middle East power balance has been violently redrawn. Iran reels from assassination, bombardment, and psychological defeat. Yet one final move remains on its board: blocking the Strait of Hormuz.

This narrow waterway moves a fifth of the world’s oil. Iran doesn’t need to close it permanently — sporadic harassment and mine warfare can create economic shockwaves. Missile batteries, fast-boat swarms, drone strikes, or selective targeting of flagged ships could ***** insurers and markets alike.

The global response would be fierce — U.S. and Gulf navies would move rapidly, oil prices could spike to $150, and fragile supply chains would splinter. Nonaligned powers would scramble to secure their energy interests while pleading for restraint.

Yet the motivation for Iran’s next move may not be logic — it may be survival. Rage, not reason, rules the streets of Tehran. If the regime cannot retaliate meaningfully, it loses face, influence, and control. That’s why the Hormuz threat — the nuclear option short of nukes — must be taken seriously.


M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Dear Father
I’m alone in a very scary place
And I’m not certain how I got here.
I lost sight of the footprints I was following
And wandered off the pathway you laid out for me.

The wind is cold and the sky is dark.
I just heard screeches from the nearby woods
And this path ends in only brambles.
Kneeling on the rocky ground
I beseech the Lord to rescue me.
He either doesn’t hear my cry
Or this is where I need to be
To learn to never take my eyes
Away from the light that guides me.
ljm

On the far edge of the world there are
fanatics of many minds and religions.
They have uninteresting histories,
jejune existences, and distorted ideas of nature.

Some are belligerent, felony-friendly foreigners.
I’ve never given them a single thought,
because they're nothing to me.

They’re insignificant—living curiosities
and I grant them no more sympathy
than I would a flock of wild birds.

Of course, I’d never wish to harm wild birds
unless they had the wherewithal to attack me,
in inimitable, Hitchcock style.
.
.
Songs for this:
Kashmir by  by Toni Jevicky
broken people by narcissists cookbook
Bring Me to Silence (Audiotree Live) by Fievel Is Glauque

Have you ever seen a pair of Nine West Folowe Pumps in Red Blooms Floral - or ever held a feathery pair? They offer the pure pleasure of perfection.

You can see them popping up lately, in streetwear silhouette, matched with Dolce & Gabbana’s floral-print leggings, making a duet of blooms—petal upon petal, like a garden in motion, or paired with the new, high-waisted barrel leg jeans, lending a flash of elegance, a bright flourish against dull denim.

They’re visions, wrought as if by the hand of Michelangelo, who once from marble freed David’s pose, or da Vinci, whose brush summoned the Mona Lisa’s secret smile.

In form, they’re d’Orsay cut, sporting curves as deliberate as the Sistine vaults arch. The stiletto heels rise with the ambition of a cathedral’s spire - neither too proud nor too meek, but balanced, like the symmetry of a butterfly’s painted wings.

Upon their surface, blood red blooms unfurl - petals as vivid as spring’s first flush - each blossom a testament to an artist’s hand, in riots of color and romance that dance with the same spirit as a flowerbed at dawn.

No flaws mar their making: the stitchings are true, the fits precise—as if tailored by the muses themselves. Each pair offers its own unique foliations, bespeaking the freedom of a craftsman’s careful art.

Lastly, of course, they’re marvels of harmonious function, lightly cradling and lifting each step - comfort and glamour aren’t adversaries here, but partners in making each step a sonnet and each stride an artist's brushstroke.

Now, maybe you aren’t into fashion - perhaps you’re a male - oh, poor you, I’m sorry, but maybe, just maybe, in times of chaos, you long for the pleasure of inexpensive perfection.
.
.
Songs for this:
Glamour Girl by Louie Austen
This is what falling in love feels like by JVKE