"consultant" poems
*all poems write themselves, following plans that are drawn only
as the poem goes along, neither leading or following, but
carrying the writer along as first violin, a VIP passenger,
the first viewer, a consultant but not a conductor*
***a poem is written based on what has happened
a poem is written based on what was hoped to happen
a poem was written based on what could never happen
but is so well imagined that it is more real than if it happened***
*I willingly tell you I will not tell you which is what, for there is no difference between them for the writer, the first passenger,
though undeniably fully aware of the quality of the ware
that is proffered, plottered or just perchanced
perhaps you are thinking, but of course,
this is the way,
the way of all of us,
the way it has and will be and no
disclaimer needed for no believable claims are made
perhaps
for the weave is oft tight, tight as near-truth, and so well imagined, it wraps the first passenger in a cloak of skin
that actually feels, though cloaks cannot feel,
but belief is easily eased
there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth
Therefore,
my poems are splats and drips.
you make them into paintings that hang
in your own private museum
but authenticated by me as
first viewer,
3/13/18
1:09am
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
Tacked tin sheets
promoting brand names
Real local grown food
little meat eaten
our elders thin, bony and fit
Yet birthed another foolish generation
seeded by World Wars
planted by Lend Lease
fuelled by aged forests
we farm, feed, cleave and eat
Greed walks besides naive naivety
slaughtered sheep full of cancer
processing industrial carcase-ed meals
shopaholics fat consumerism
a speeding, partying, dancing waste of ills
Lawyer-ed politicians chain us
whilst stymied party politics deafen us
Money-ed propaganda’s herd us
Local economies destroyed to feed
*National ..European ..Pan European ..Pan Asian ..World Bank ...
Prime Minister ..President ..Minister ..Senator ..Consultant*
Globalisation’s plague of selfish-self-grandiose labels
A generation’s survivors
will despair
as the Ganges runs dry
then die with their children’s children
in an armed-hungry-thirsty tide
.
Apr 23, 2010
Apr 23, 2010 at 3:41 PM UTC
~
October 2023
HP Poet: Maddy
Age: 65
Country: USA
Question 1: We welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Maddy. Please tell us about your background?
Maddy: "Retired Teacher now Media and Digital Literacy Educational Consultant and writer."
Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?
Maddy: "Been writing since I was eight. Three years now as an HP member."
Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).
Maddy: "Poetry wakes me in the middle of the night on airplanes and when I walk. It is still one of my best friends other than my husband, sister, and Best BFF Irene."
Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?
Maddy: "It is my friend and companion and is a precious asset. Without it my life would be empty."
Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?
Maddy: "Thoreau, EE Cummings, Sappho, MAYA Angelou, Carole King, Emily Torres, Mary Oliver, Millay, and many here on HEPO."
Question 6: What other interests do you have?
Maddy: "I love Travel, Photographer, Nature, Cooking, Theatre, Concerts, and Reading."
Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to get to know you, dear Maddy! You are a wonderful addition to the series!”
Maddy: "Thanks and looking forward to it and your review of my book on Amazon."
Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Maddy 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 #9 in November!
~
Oct 1, 2023
Oct 1, 2023 at 3:33 PM UTC
( or also entitled : Just How Much ******** Are You Prepared to Believe)
Confidence - grandiosity
Hope - Delusion
Ambition - grandiosity + delusion
Love - Co-dependency
Unrequited Love & romantic hopes - Erotomania
Sexuality - Hypersexuality
Happiness - Manic mood
Sadness - Depression
Shock - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Emotional - Bipolar
Fear - Paranoia/psychosis
Distrust - Suspicion ( e.g paranoia)
Loneliness - Neediness
Needing connection to others - Co-dependant
Existential doubts - suicidal
Spiritual awakening - psychosis
Sarcasm - Aggression
Loner - socially-withdrawn
Messy - self-neglectful
Angry - dangerous/violent
Faith - dangerous Religisiosity
dubious combination
of some of the above : Schizophrenia
Note : All of these need drugs to 'cure' them so the drugs companies can make a fortune & pay you a premium. Where did you think the money for your salary came from?
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
IN FLANDERS FIELDS THE POPPIES BLOW*
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Here my comrades and I are laden
We fought for King and Country
Here we are---the fallen.
‘Be proud’, was the national proclamation
‘ You are the chosen’
We left home and our loved ones
Here we are—the ill-begotten.
Some of us once upon glorious corridors
Of Cambridge and Oxford had trodden
The best and most fertile of young minds
Here we are—the forgotten.
How strong we then were, riding on the back of youth
Its dreams so sweet and resplendent
Rained by bullets in the battlefield
Here we are---death has spoken.
Pro patria gloria, dulcis pro patria mori
(Never mind if our hearts were cruel and rotten
We must **** all enemies over the fence)
Here we are---the terrible who were chosen.
Were we born to destroy and mutilate?
But in the battle-front ---all we loved and espoused had been stolen
Buried in dark pits of hate and revenge
There we were----inhuman and despondent.
Those whom we slaughtered and maimed
Didn’t they like us once did hold dreams just as golden?
Weren’t they who happiness sought as we did?
Here we are—to bemoan all the precious from such that had been stolen.
In Flanders fields the poppies weep
For us who are far from home and have nowhere to return
With the wind’s nightly melancholic sighs whispering in our ears
Here we are----empty, with dark sins upon us—for absolution is all we yearn.
• inspired by the opening line of John McCrae’s poem IN FLANDERS FIELDS published in December 1915 (Flanders is in Belgium where a million died or were maimed).
John McCrae (1872—1918) was a Canadian doctor who joined the army as a gunner but later transferred to the medical service.
IN 1918 he was made consultant to all the British armies in France
but died of pneumonia before taking up the appointment.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 6:56 AM UTC
**To Incorporate Institutional Effectiveness into
Our Everyday Language**
)/)/)/ is updating our assessment plan for
Instructional units beginning this fall
2016 semester. After
Visiting with /)/, our SACSCOC
Consultant and Dr. /) yesterday
About our assessment process, it was
Determined that it is in our best interest
To clarify, verify and hopefully
Simplify the current random selection
Assessment process. Therefore, in lieu of
The use of the random selection process,
The plan for this semester and moving forward
Is to assess all students in all sections
Of courses used in the assessment process
And to report data on all students,
NOT just assessing or reporting data
On a random sample. In order to provide
Appropriate artifacts, we will choose
Representative samples (examples
Of great, fair and low achievement artifacts)
To be included in the artifacts
Collection for SACSCOC reporting. However,
We do still need to collect all artifacts
So we have those in the event they are
Needed. This will give us a better picture
Of how our students are performing.
I know that we are changing directions
And I ask that you be patient as we
Navigate through this process and determine
How best to collect, assess, and use the data
We receive to make continuous improvements
For the good of the students and to
Incorporate institutional effectiveness
Into our everyday language.
Thank you for your willingness to assist
In this process and determining the best
Ways to help our students. Stay tuned as we
Look at and develop some additional
Templates or formats to report the data.
Please share this information with your faculty.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
I love the smell of my flesh in the morning
So soothing, like the ghost of the woman you're mourning
Conforming to a bitterness, you swore to me
That you wouldn't do what you did, but what's more to me
Is that your stain rests upon every thing that I enjoy
My heart is a consultant, don't insult it by calling it unemployed.
I put too much time into your eyes on my mind, in my rhyme
Undermined, badly timed, so let's get to other subject lines
Starlight baking cloudy, shaking
Hourglass breaking, howling naked
On a street corner, "Happy Birthday!" (belated)
Just say it. If it's in a reactor, it's decaying
A single rooftop smothered by snowflakes, earthquakes
Heartbreaks, salt shakers, risk-takers, green bakers
Understudy, crush me honey, lose my number, don't go under
Keep me waiting and debating, my hand shaking, the phone breaking
My face is a reflection of the sunlight's rays
Keeping a constant rumbling from underground at bay
And everyone complains that they're smothered in their own way
But when I rationalize the rainbows, their records won't play
I simply need the orchards to escape this lonely torture
A place to sit and paint in front of a tree and make a fortune
Soothing ears to rest and putting minds at ease
My music, a viral infection, a depressive disease
Constantly starving myself of the rain
I bring the trees to their roots and stimulate the brain
With a conflagration of color, instantly insane
Yet civilized, melody harmonized, urbane
The strings will vibrate and body rejuvenate
Conceptual mind-rape a rising heart-rate
The starlight glowing outwards, the falling of the towers
To signify to flip to side B in a mere matter of hours
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:14 PM UTC
I think about Shane in the middle of the night,
For no apparent reason.
No telegraph arrives to remind me.
Just immediately caught unawares,
By the timeline of months days and hours,
Since he left.
There is substance to his departure.
He doesn’t park in my spot anymore,
His seat on the couch is empty,
His opinion is not heard,
He doesn’t come with us to the matches,
He doesn’t eat hotdogs at half time,
He doesn’t buy his round anymore.
There were many beginnings to his departure.
Some noticed and some dismissed,
The shaved head,
The weight gain,
The staying in bed,
The tiredness,
The missed team practice,
His soft quietness rather than his razor wit.
There was a documented record to his departure.
The consultant’s diagnosis.
The recorded return of the tumor like a badly made film sequel,
Chemo 1, Chemo 2, Chemo3.
The morphine drip beating out the measuring of the waiting.
The finite final breath.
Our hearts stopped with his as he departed the room,
Dressed in a suit and Despicable me Socks ….Only you Shane!
The Final notice in the paper recording the date and time of departure.
There were things left behind after his departure.
Mainly my daughter’s young heart.
As I lie awake in the darkness where death accompanies me till the dawn,
And then as one bright day follows the next,
I dismiss my own departure,
Until I think of Shane again.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC
Torn away from his two loving parents,
And put on display in a zoo,.
Gus suffered from chronic depression
A white bear with black moods, sad but true.
He’d swim figure eight’s by the hour,
as if stuck in a Mobius strip.
Zoo officials called it a neurosis
But were worried their bear just might flip.
A consultant said Gus had depression
And collect a munificent fee.
Gus would be treated with Prozac
And be as happy a bear as can be.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
Sammy Turpin one fine day
Took his go—cart out to play.
While speeding quickly down a hill
A passing fly his eye did fill.
He couldn’t see two yards ahead
And landed in a hospital bed.
The nurse was very sympathetic
The fly was extremely energetic.
The doctor came with his stethoscope
But it wasn’t long before he gave up hope.
The consultant came to get it out
But he was never in there with a shout.
Just then the gardener passing by
Raised his leaf blower to the sky.
The air came in just like a rocket
And blew the fly from Sammy’s socket.
l He isn’t the gardener anymore
He’s chief consultant on ward four.
Keith Wilson published 2001 (Anchor Books)
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
So just how much ********
are you prepared to believe?
Lets see, take a seat
we've got half an hour
or maybe even better
you're locked up
at my mercy
& my team
are giving you drugs
for a diagnosis
I've given you
before we've even talked
& hopefully the drugs
are curing you of life, love, hope
& any despair you're feeling
at being stuck here
what's that?
you've ballooned in weight?
all you do is sleep?
your feet are turning inward?
You're nearly diabetic?
Your hands are always shaking?
I'm shrinking your
unwanted little brain?
A small price to pay
for the promise of freedom
my little puppet
on a string
lets see just how much
******** we can make you believe
I'll make you say it
' I'm ill'
or I'll never let you out
it's just my little whim
you're one of the chosen few
whose life will be shattered in two
kiss goodbye to your emotions
What? You're angry? That's atrocious.
You are dangerous
it's good we locked you up
and what?
You say you're in love?
sheer Erotomania, my dear
we will cure it, never fear
Talking of fear,
I'd say you have paranoia
MHM, Psychosis,
that's right, Momma
Happiness is mania
Sadness is depression
having said that,
you'll hopefully want to **** yourself
after our little session
to confirm my treatment of you
I'm an expert
I've got a degree in ********
no-one has ever
dared to say I'm wrong
so don't you start
I do, you know have a heart
& it beats only for me
so if you want to be free
you'd better **** it up
& suffer
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:45 PM UTC
Lumpy, bumpy, feeling rather jumpy.
Nodule? Cyst? What have I missed?
Kindness pouring from soothing eyes - ladies in purple who have seen it all, beckoning sirens though to the hall.
Consultant - God, Guru, Man, Father, Lover, Philanderer, Tooth Fairy, Assassin
He checks like a 15 year old boy, passionless, conscientious, circling
Is this ok?
Lump - Yes. Bump - Yes. Am I going to jump? - Yes
Off to see the coolest man in the hospital - the Ultrasound guy
But first back to sit in cornrows with the ladies who coyly all dressed like me.
Russian roulette - someone will be upset.
Mamm-o-gram - scans your ***** like ham.
Kindness of the operator who's careers advisor could never have predicted this.
And then up and off to be seen by James Dean
James Dean with a wand and gel and a screen
And a squint then a glint - it might just be ok....?
90% its benign - oh mine the benign, fine, tine-y lump
But we had better double check.... with this massive needle
Please Mrs D please don't wheedle
Eyes shut tight anaesthetic mirroring a mastectomy....is it still there?
Then back to see my crew
Of ladies old and not so, a sea of tight smiles and frightened eyes
90% it's benign
90% it's benign
90% it's benign
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 10:19 AM UTC
my room, late at night when fear scratches the back of my skull the way my dog does to get in. he can't come in, he'll make me soft, and I can't be soft right now. flames ****** the walls, lapping up my arms and fingers, I feel nothing, and yet I'm overjoyed. See, burning love reaches further, so with this, I have to prove. I'll scar your name into unwanted flesh until I'm nothing but a sign portraying a name unable to properly be voiced in fear of crumbling. I cannot do this anymore, all of your apologies mean nothing to me, and yet I still love you. I swore I'd never be with someone like him again, and yet here I am crying in your jacket, which has somehow become a better consultant. I'm tired of not being good enough, and yet you tell me I am, then snap, and then apologize for it, you blame it all on others, you say you're sorry I deal with it- YOU DO NOTHING TO CHANGE IT. I want to tell you that I'm done, but I'm not and you know it. Even if I were to block you again, you could win me back easily. Why am I like this? why can't you love me? don't say that you do, God please say that you do, but we all know you don't. Why lie to me? to keep me here? it's working. but why? Why me? you couldn't have tortured anyone else? I love you so much, why did you listen to my pain and decide to do it all over again, please I am so tired of hurting, why won't you love me, what do I need to fix?
Dec 16, 2020
Dec 16, 2020 at 4:48 PM UTC
His is love
Is like a boomerang,
No, frisbee, he throws it out
And that's where it stays.
It doesn't even come close
To her hands.
She can't catch his love
Because it's not there.
Intangible. Vague.
That's his love.
His unreal, intangible love.
His love is like a mother dying.
You're only consultant,
Gone.
She can't imagine it
Because she never had it.
She can't feel it
Because she never experienced it.
It's not there
Cause it's his
Intangible love.
Now she's a broken hearted girl,
'Cause her true -fake- love,
Who she'd catch grenades for,
Abandon family for,
Sell herself on a corner
At a late midnight hour for,
Was seen with his new Barbie doll.
Now she's at home
Overwhelmed with depression.
Scoffing down her third bottle
Of E & J.
Poppin pills like pain killers
To heal her wounded heart.
Neck tied,
Standing on a chair.
Jump! Twitch. Death.
And all just because,
Of his intangible love.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 5:55 PM UTC
poems
my friends my family
the only thing i have to help
when im lost and have no one to turn to
i grab my only hope for survival
this cruel world ruined me
poems
my own counselor and consultant
i have been cursed with evil emotions
yet i harness them in my poems
hopeing for them to leave my soul
poems
always there for me to write
always there for me to enjoy
my only means of entertainment
unless i watch the blood flow
poems
my key to a world unknown
my adventure on this wretched planet
unchained and ready to ****
my last poem still unwritten
poems
still in all of us
like an unknown power
a single poem could save humanity
but still they remain lost to poetry
poems
our last hope to rescue us from the dark
our light at the end of the tunnel
can we really let it go
we thrive to let our emotions know
our lives are not a show
poems
releasing us from the currents
having faith in the poets
the made us who we are today
look in the mirror and write a poem
poems
are the end of the apocalypse
we ended a war inside of us
hoping to end the war in humanity
poems
our own savior from the chains
our master of words
elegant in nature
and true in your words
poems
you steal the air in my lungs
you stop my heart
you are the one we love
dont hide from us
poems
the truth untold
and today you are told
the path you have paved is the one i shall stay on
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
This city is built like all the other cities
Atop lives and deaths long forgotten
Covered in the dust form its excess
The people, draped in costume and mask
Rarely pulling them off
Always making up stories to go along with their suit
I'm a business consultant
I'm a banker
I'm a painter
a poet
a liberal
a conservative
an anarchist
a national socialist
Forgetting what it's like to be naked
Even when they are alone
But a few walk naked
Hearts out, heavy with the weight of the world
They sink deeper and deeper
into a sea of trouble and worries
There is no land to call home anymore for
The restless wanders going nowhere fast
Once forgetful
But remembering what it was as children
We play games with friends
while spitting the fire in our breaths
Atop the graves soon to be reused
waiting to be buried in them
so the city can be built on top of us.
Jul 28, 2011
Jul 28, 2011 at 6:37 PM UTC
I wish
Want
Need
Pray that...
I were brave as my friends
As fearless as my therapist
Have the power on my Consultant
The looks of Helena
A voice within me
Tells me to speak
The hurt that runs through me
Shuts me up
I pray for intelligence
So so bad
The mind of a airhead
Damaged beyond death
I wish for acceptance
Just run of the mill
Nothing outrageous
Just one of would sure do
Accept who you are
You're not changing for sure
How ever much you try
You'll never prove more
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
Need plumbing? Call a plumber.
Need an apartment? Call a broker.
Need career help? Call a consultant.
Need love? The number you’re trying to call does not exist.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 3:15 AM UTC
You don't really cook
or even like reading a book
but upon closer look
you are a man with such intelligence,
a man with so much diligence
but doesn't have that much patience.
Set that aside, you are our life consultant
as if you've recorded all the ins and outs
of life as you grew up and you tell us
all about it.
You act out as our instant super hero when
our heads are coiled up but I guess a poem
can never really explain the whole you.
Only those with you could tell who you really are
even though you have your own shortcomings.
You are a man of many names
"Papa, Dad, Daddy, Pops, Pa, Itay"
and many more names the world could make of
but there is only one name for us
DADA.
Happy Father's Day!
We Love You!
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 1:31 PM UTC
I still ponder that day in nineteen eighty one
was that my time to die?
Yes so vivid in my mind how good it felt
laying in that hospital bed!
Feeling at peace without pain or remorse
as nature took its course!
After an operation about one week before
there left to bleed inside!
Then you never saw the consultant again
but for a female junior doctor.
Who observed I was getting very weak
worried the reason she would seek!
Back to the theatres urgently dispatched
where indeed inside I bled!
Just in time the flow was safely stopped
and four units of blood transfused!
Since that date nothing has gone right
was that the day to see the light?
Maybe it was meant for me to be here
with a purpose still to be made clear!
The Foureyed Poet.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 8:40 AM UTC
*I met our company’s consultant
Asked him –
How are you doing?
He replied – “just surviving
And I guess it is same with everybody.”
Everybody on the same individual boats
Surviving through storms on their way
To the shore!*
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC
Innocence standing right in front of my eyes
Taunting me to get out of the cries
In my head, telling me to back away before it's too late
Before the hate comes rushing through, this feels so great
The pain I'm feeling is irritate, you're imitate
So stop before this breaks down, you're in a shade, I'm blazing red
I'm hot from this madness you're causing but wait look, there's a parade
Cheering me on to do what I don't want to, consultant please freaking consultate!
Look at my plate, it's emptier than a blank wooden crate
This date, this year, this month imprinted into my head.
So every time when I look at the calendar on this exact day
I remember it's the day u ******* up, not me, cya in hell mate.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 10:44 AM UTC