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SøułSurvivør Jun 2015
A TRIBUTE TO HELLO POETRY

This will be a long write.
There are so many I wish
to honor and thank.

Please, if you can, pull up
Bruce Cockburn's song
Maybe the Poet on YouTube.
Listen to the words as you read this.
It will greatly add to your enjoyment.

I play no favorites...
you ALL are class acts!

Here's a tribute. Yep. It's long!
But listen to Bruce Cockburn's song.
I want to emulate what's sung
Yes, not miss a poet, one!

ryn has got a range of art
Ded Poet's got a poet's heart
elsa angelica's soul resounds
Bhumika's a dove
with a golden crown!

Wolfspirit's pen can spill his love
Wonderman's ink from up above
sjr...1000 words so wise
Scarlet Pimpernel's talent's
not disguised!

Joe Malgeri's a spiritual gent
Paige Pots' work is heaven sent
Tivonna has love for natural things
Helena's work has roots and wings!

Pradip, in my eyes number one
as is Thomas A Robinson
jeffrey robin's style is loose and bold
Rupal has a heart of gold!

John Stevens has an earthy wit
Pax means peace, his candle's lit
Tryst's ballads are a perfect fit
and I love Lidi Minuet!

donna's sweet as honeydew
Jason Cole fits like a shoe
Prttybrd sings songs with style
Day Wing flies! He has a smile!

Deborah's walking on her beach
her talent has a range and reach
Rapunzel let's her hair way down
Weeping Willow
has a pleasant sound!

Joe Cole loves all fantasy
SSilkenTounge has a mind that's free
Solaces is a very old friend
I hope to see Botan again!

Urmilla writes beyond her years
Chalsey Wilder writes bring tears
Tonya Maria and I share pain
Wise is K Balachandran!

CA Guifoyle lives in my town
Adam Childs' the best around
SE Reimer can put us in the mood
Musfiq us Shaleheen
Is so VERY good!

Richard Riddle honors with poetry
Love my collab, Arcassin B!
Sally A Bayan's good and kind
Hayden Swan's a real find!

Love comments from Joe Adomavicia
zik, I'm always glad to see ya!
TGWLY has a heart that hurts
Erenn Y does heartfelt works...

Elizabeth Squires has classic writes
Frank Ruland's fights
for what is right
And if a scare you want to see
just look up POETIC T!

Oh! There are SO many more!
There are poets by the score!
I don't want to be a bore
But read them ALL! You will be
FLOORED !!!

MORE POETS!!!

Lori Jones McCaffery
Kalypso
Niamh Price
Mya Angel
Mike Hauser
Vicki
Ignatius Hosiana
Frankie J
Chris Green
mark cleavenger
brandon nagley
Winn
Puds (Pete)
Deborah Brooks Langford
Timothy
Marian
Hilda
Harriet Tecumsah Watt
it's gonna make sense
mybarefootdrive
Dark n Beautiful
WL Winter
Margaux
Pamela Rae
Venusoul7
Eddie Starr
Olivia Kent
Brenden Thomas
Zoe
Raj Arumugam
Elijah
Sukeerti
Manny
M.A.N
Jonny Angel
Dylan Mitchell
James M Vines
bulletcookie
i am miss brightside
Chris Fracc
Cat
Ocean Blue
Phil Lindsay
Mike Hauser
PearlSy
Christi Michaels Moon Flower
Raj Nandy
SPT
PoETEPETE Now RePETE After PETE
Makayla Kelly
Paul Gafney
Nan Trapp Messer
Chloe
Steven Langhorst
Daniel Palmer
Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul
C A Guilfoyle
TRAVELLER
Soul
GitacharYa VedaLa
Rosalind heather Alexander
S R Matts
Paul Gattney
Danny Mak
patty m
liv frances
Gary L
Ngamau Boniface
IOWA
Earl Jane
ber
Justin G
James
ste'phanie noir
born
Aztec Warrior


Last but not least... olestoryteller
and Francie Lynch! Ketoma Rose!
If there's someone I've forgotten
PLEASE TELL ME!

Also please read Hello again, Poets!
I wrote more! Also please read the poem 'diamonds'. There are many tributes to people who i missed in this write.

I'LL WRITE A SPECIAL POEM
JUST FOR YOU!

---
Sia Jane Oct 2015
It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane
Mike opened this piece and we went from there.
Hope you enjoy this Hello Poetry collaboration too :)

It goes without saying, just how honoured we are to have this as Daily <3
Y'all are the greatest <3
Thank you so much <3
He truly loved the purple sun, descending from the hills,
The ways through the woods, the singing blackbird
And the joys of green.

Sombre was his dwelling in the shadows of the tree
And his face undefiled.
God, a tender flame, spoke to his heart:
Oh son of man!

Silently his step turned to the city in the evening;
A mysterious complaint fell from his lips:
“I shall become a horseman.”

But bush and beast did follow his ways
To the pale people’s house and garden at dusk,
And his murderer sought after him.

Spring and summer and – oh so beautiful – the fall
Of the righteous. His silent steps
Passed by the dark rooms of the dreamers.

At night he and his star dwelled alone.
He saw the snow fall on bare branches
And in the murky doorway the assassin’s shadow.
Silvern sank the unborne’s head.
cheryl love Feb 2015
Read Mike's work and you will find
humour sincerity and a story well defined.
He oozes talent, is a master of his craft
With all twenty six letters, he's not daft.
His timing is brilliant, he'll put a smile on your face
His quick wit will have you rolling about the place.
You are Mike the world champion of poetry.
Amy Perry Dec 2014
I live in the East
You live in the West
I roll to the right
You lean to the left

You watch the game,
I text my friends for fun.
You write every day,
What awaits me is always unsung.

I'm one that loves vanilla
While you prefer your chocolate
You live life in the open
I tend to close and lock it

I like the night,
You await the morning.
My sunsets, purple and pink,
Your sunrise has orange hues adorning.

I'm early to bed early to rise
You never seem to close your eyes
These days I'm moving rather slow
As you're always on the go

You have your coffee with cream,
I have my Kombucha tea.
You grill up some steaks to eat,
I say pass the salad to me.

Though we're miles apart
In differences between
Commonality we definitely
Have in our love of poetry
Collaboration with fellow Hello Poetry contributor, Mike Hauser. Check out his poems if you haven't already.

Thanks for sticking around through my bit of absence, you guys. I'm still writing. Take care, all!
~~~~There is turmoil in the turning,
      Breakage in the bend,
    Talks of new beginnings,
  Whispers of the end.

  Screams of silence so deafening,
    Lips that move without a sound.
      Never knowing what's happening,
        Feeling lost, fighting to be found.


        Something on the surface,
      That begs for something more.
    The meaning in the purpose,
  The dangle of the lure.

  The escaping thoughts of mind,
    Lost to the strong willed
      Caught up in the social grind,
        The way of life was once killed.


        Oh!, and ain't it a shame?
      Staying still, while life races by
    Losing this grandest of games
  Barely floating, while everyone else can fly...


  That's where some will find themselves,
    Arms down by their side.
      Standing here if nowhere else,
        This, their lot in life.
My first collaboration on Hello Poetry and I am honored for it to be with Mike Hauser!
Hope you enjoy it!
Petal pie May 2014
There's a magical place in the forest
Where fairies go to cultivate
Flutter around with verses and rhyme
Sweet poetry they make

They frolic amongst the
Verbs and nouns
Plucking flowers and synonyms
Joining hands and ripe phrases
Create odes they want to sing

Cross pollinating the pieces of poetry
With different story lines
Fertilizing with a purpose
In the growing of the rhyme.

Their dainty feet
Sow similie  seeds,
And their deft little hands
Root out mispelled weeds.

Then they whisper the words to the
passing breeze
Who takes words, caresses them,
And floats with ease.

They travel and roam
Off to distant pastures new
Where they settle
And blossom into a muse.

Then implant in the mind
Of a resting poet
Enter his thoughts and views
Who upon waking
Will stretch, smile and write,
And continue to grow and enthuse.
Mike was inspired by my larger profile pic of me (that a friend photoshopped so I appeared like a butterfly or fairy). Mike wrote the first. I wrote the second, he wrote the third, and I wrote the remaining verses. :)
Thanks for reading and stopping by! X
Beleif Jul 2014
Traveling a rocky shore,
In spite of waves that threaten.

Carried deep into the sea,
Into a lapse of memory.

As darkness pulls my very soul
The deep can't slay my fate.
Lost in all its meaning,
While I see my final day.

Awakened by the truth,
As I stare in much confusion.
Struggling to stand,
And to see through blinding light.

Beckoning me onwards even further
through the ocean,
As I struggle in its wake to see the source of mystic beauty.

I follow to the homelands,
Where the birth of man has happened.
Staring in amazement at the sunken ancient islands.
Enlightened in the truth of life,
My travel has been ended.
WendyStarry Eyes Jun 2016
Once when I was a teen
~~~~~ I too ~~~~~
had a mood ring

Yes, it was the latest craze!
~~~ I remember that ~~~
~~ Yet, not much else ~~
~~ In that time of daze ~~

~ The color of my mood ring ~
Always seemed to stay the same
~~~~ It was a tinge ~~~
~~~ Of AquaMarine ~~~

~~ When I got It I read ~~
~~What that should mean~~
I never wore it for that factor though
~~ I wore it to feel like a Queen ~~

~My Theory is that mine~
Never changed it's shade
~ Forcasting my future ~
~Like a breaking wave~
~~~~~~WKR~~~~~~~

Kinda like this poem motivated # 3 See what you started Mike Hauser! We all had those Mood rings :)
Yo, Beremundo el Lelo, surqué todas las rutas
y probé todos los mesteres.
Singlando a la deriva, no en orden cronológico ni lógico -en sin orden-
narraré mis periplos, diré de los empleos con que
nutrí mis ocios,
distraje mi hacer nada y enriquecí mi hastío...;
-hay de ellos otros que me callo-:
Catedrático fui de teosofía y eutrapelia, gimnopedia y teogonía y pansofística en Plafagonia;
barequero en el Porce y el Tigüí, huaquero en el Quindío,
amansador mansueto -no en desuetud aún- de muletos cerriles y de onagros, no sé dónde;
palaciego proto-Maestre de Ceremonias de Wilfredo el Velloso,
de Cunegunda ídem de ídem e ibídem -en femenino- e ídem de ídem de Epila Calunga
y de Efestión -alejandrino- el Glabro;
desfacedor de entuertos, tuertos y malfetrías, y de ellos y ellas facedor;
domeñador de endriagos, unicornios, minotauros, quimeras y licornas y dragones... y de la Gran Bestia.

Fui, de Sind-bad, marinero; pastor de cabras en Sicilia
si de cabriolas en Silesia, de cerdas en Cerdeña y -claro- de corzas en Córcega;
halconero mayor, primer alcotanero de Enguerrando Segundo -el de la Tour-Miracle-;
castrador de colmenas, y no de Casanovas, en el Véneto, ni de Abelardos por el Sequana;
pajecillo de altivas Damas y ariscas Damas y fogosas, en sus castillos
y de pecheras -¡y cuánto!- en sus posadas y mesones
-yo me era Gerineldos de todellas y trovador trovadorante y adorante; como fui tañedor
de chirimía por fiestas candelarias, carbonero con Gustavo Wasa en Dalecarlia, bucinator del Barca Aníbal
y de Scipión el Africano y Masinisa, piloto de Erik el Rojo hasta Vinlandia, y corneta
de un escuadrón de coraceros de Westmannlandia que cargó al lado del Rey de Hielo
-con él pasé a difunto- y en la primera de Lutzen.

Fui preceptor de Diógenes, llamado malamente el Cínico:
huésped de su tonel, además, y portador de su linterna;
condiscípulo y émulo de Baco Dionisos Enófilo, llamado buenamente el Báquico
-y el Dionisíaco, de juro-.

Fui discípulo de Gautama, no tan aprovechado: resulté mal budista, si asaz contemplativo.
Hice de peluquero esquilador siempre al servicio de la gentil Dalilah,
(veces para Sansón, que iba ya para calvo, y -otras- depilador de sus de ella óptimas partes)
y de maestro de danzar y de besar de Salomé: no era el plato de argento,
mas sí de litargirio sus caderas y muslos y de azogue también su vientre auri-rizado;
de Judith de Betulia fui confidente y ni infidente, y -con derecho a sucesión- teniente y no lugarteniente
de Holofernes no Enófobo (ni enófobos Judith ni yo, si con mesura, cautos).
Fui entrenador (no estrenador) de Aspasia y Mesalina y de Popea y de María de Mágdalo
e Inés Sorel, y marmitón y pinche de cocina de Gargantúa
-Pantagruel era huésped no nada nominal: ya suficientemente pantagruélico-.
Fui fabricante de batutas, quebrador de hemistiquios, requebrador de Eustaquias, y tratante en viragos
y en sáficas -algunas de ellas adónicas- y en pínnicas -una de ellas super-fémina-:
la dejé para mí, si luego ancló en casorio.
A la rayuela jugué con Fulvia; antes, con Palamedes, axedrez, y, en época vecina, con Philidor, a los escaques;
y, a las damas, con Damas de alto y bajo coturno
-manera de decir: que para el juego en litis las Damas suelen ir descalzas
y se eliden las calzas y sustentadores -no funcionales- en las Damas y las calzas en los varones.

Tañí el rabel o la viola de amor -casa de Bach, búrguesa- en la primicia
de La Cantata del Café (pre-estreno, en familia protestante, privado).
Le piqué caña jorobeta al caballo de Atila
-que era un morcillo de prócer alzada: me refiero al corcel-;
cambié ideas, a la par, con Incitato, Cónsul de Calígula, y con Babieca,
-que andaba en Babia-, dándole prima
fui zapatero de viejo de Berta la del gran pie (buen pie, mejor coyuntura),
de la Reina Patoja ortopedista; y hortelano y miniaturista de Pepino el Breve,
y copero mayor faraónico de Pepe Botellas, interino,
y porta-capas del Pepe Bellotas de la esposa de Putifar.

Viajé con Julio Verne y Odiseo, Magallanes y Pigafetta, Salgan, Leo e Ibn-Batuta,
con Melville y Stevenson, Fernando González y Conrad y Sir John de Mandeville y Marco Polo,
y sólo, sin De Maistre, alredor de mi biblioteca, de mi oploteca, mi mecanoteca y mi pinacoteca.
Viajé también en tomo de mí mismo: asno a la vez que noria.

Fui degollado en la de San Bartolomé (post facto): secundaba a La Môle:
Margarita de Valois no era total, íntegramente pelirroja
-y no porque de noche todos los gatos son pardos...: la leoparda,
las tres veces internas, íntimas, peli-endrina,
Margarita, Margotón, Margot, la casqui-fulva...-

No estuve en la nea nao -arcaica- de Noé, por manera
-por ventura, otrosí- que no fui la paloma ni la medusa de esa almadía: mas sí tuve a mi encargo
la selección de los racimos de sus viñedos, al pie del Ararat, al post-Diluvio,
yo, Beremundo el Lelo.

Fui topógrafo ad-hoc entre El Cangrejo y Purcoy Niverengo,
(y ad-ínterim, administré la zona bolombólica:
mucho de anís, mucho de Rosas del Cauca, versos de vez en cuando),
y fui remero -el segundo a babor- de la canoa, de la piragua
La Margarita (criolla), que navegó fluvial entre Comiá, La Herradura, El Morito,
con cargamentos de contrabando: blancas y endrinas de Guaca, Titiribí y Amagá, y destilados
de Concordia y Betulia y de Urrao...
¡Urrao! ¡Urrao! (hasta hace poco lo diríamos con harta mayor razón y con aquese y este júbilos).
Tras de remero de bajel -y piloto- pasé a condueño, co-editor, co-autor
(no Coadjutor... ¡ni de Retz!) en asocio de Matías Aldecoa, vascuence, (y de un tal Gaspar von der Nacht)
de un Libraco o Librículo de pseudo-poemas de otro quídam;
exploré la región de Zuyaxiwevo con Sergio Stepánovich Stepansky,
lobo de donde se infiere, y, en más, ario.

Fui consejero áulico de Bogislao, en la corte margravina de Xa-Netupiromba
y en la de Aglaya crisostómica, óptima circezuela, traidorcilla;
tañedor de laúd, otra vez, y de viola de gamba y de recorder,
de sacabuche, otrosí (de dulzaina - otronó) y en casaciones y serenatas y albadas muy especializado.
No es cierto que yo fuera -es impostura-
revendedor de bulas (y de mulas) y tragador defuego y engullidor de sables y bufón en las ferias
pero sí platiqué (también) con el asno de Buridán y Buridán,
y con la mula de Balaám y Balaám, con Rocinante y Clavileño y con el Rucio
-y el Manco y Sancho y don Quijote-
y trafiqué en ultramarinos: ¡qué calamares -en su tinta-!,
¡qué Anisados de Guarne!, ¡qué Rones de Jamaica!, ¡qué Vodkas de Kazán!, ¡qué Tequilas de México!,
¡qué Néctares de Heliconia! ¡Morcillas de Itagüí! ¡Torreznos de Envigado! ¡Chorizos de los Ballkanes! ¡Qué Butifarras cataláunicas!
Estuve en Narva y en Pultawa y en las Queseras del Medio, en Chorros Blancos
y en El Santuario de Córdova, y casi en la de San Quintín
(como pugnaban en el mismo bando no combatí junto a Egmont por no estar cerca al de Alba;
a Cayetana sí le anduve cerca tiempo después: preguntádselo a Goya);
no llegué a tiempo a Waterloo: me distraje en la ruta
con Ida de Saint-Elme, Elselina Vanayl de Yongh, viuda del Grande Ejército (desde antaño... más tarde)
y por entonces y desde años antes bravo Edecán de Ney-:
Ayudante de Campo... de plumas, gongorino.
No estuve en Capua, pero ya me supongo sus mentadas delicias.

Fabriqué clavicémbalos y espinetas, restauré virginales, reparé Stradivarius
falsos y Guarnerius apócrifos y Amatis quasi Amatis.
Cincelé empuñaduras de dagas y verduguillos, en el obrador de Benvenuto,
y escriños y joyeles y guardapelos ad-usum de Cardenales y de las Cardenalesas.
Vendí Biblias en el Sinú, con De la Rosa, Borelly y el ex-pastor Antolín.
Fui catador de tequila (debuté en Tapachula y ad-látere de Ciro el Ofiuco)
y en México y Amecameca, y de mezcal en Teotihuacán y Cuernavaca,
de Pisco-sauer en Lima de los Reyes,
y de otros piscolabis y filtros muy antes y después y por Aná del Aburrá, y doquiérase
con El Tarasco y una legión de Bacos Dionisos, pares entre Pares.
Vagué y vagué si divagué por las mesillas del café nocharniego, Mil Noches y otra Noche
con el Mago de lápiz buido y de la voz asordinada.
Antes, muy antes, bebí con él, con Emmanuel y don Efe y Carrasca, con Tisaza y Xovica y Mexía y los otros Panidas.
Después..., ahora..., mejor no meneallo y sí escanciallo y persistir en ello...

Dicté un curso de Cabalística y otro de Pan-Hermética
y un tercero de Heráldica,
fuera de los cursillos de verano de las literaturas bereberes -comparadas-.
Fui catalogador protonotario en jefe de la Magna Biblioteca de Ebenezer el Sefardita,
y -en segundo- de la Mínima Discoteca del quídam en referencia de suso:
no tenía aún las Diabelli si era ya dueño de las Goldberg;
no poseía completa la Inconclusa ni inconclusa la Décima (aquestas Sinfonías, Variaciones aquesas:
y casi que todello -en altísimo rango- tan Variaciones Alredor de Nada).

Corregí pruebas (y dislates) de tres docenas de sota-poetas
-o similares- (de los que hinchen gacetilleros a toma y daca).
Fui probador de calzas -¿prietas?: ceñidas, sí, en todo caso- de Diana de Meridor
y de justillos, que así veníanle, de estar atán bien provista
y atán rebién dotada -como sabíalo también y así de bien Bussy d'Amboise-.
Temperé virginales -ya restaurados-, y clavecines, si no como Isabel, y aunque no tan baqueano
como ése de Eisenach, arroyo-Océano.
Soplé el ***** bufón, con tal cual incongruencia, sin ni tal cual donaire.
No aporreé el bombo, empero, ni entrechoqué los címbalos.

Les saqué puntas y les puse ribetes y garambainas a los vocablos,
cuando diérame por la Semasiología, cierta vez, en la Sorbona de Abdera,
sita por Babia, al pie de los de Úbeda, que serán cerros si no valen por Monserrates,
sin cencerros. Perseveré harto poco en la Semántica -por esa vez-,
si, luego retorné a la andadas, pero a la diabla, en broma:
semanto-semasiólogo tarambana pillín pirueteante.
Quien pugnó en Dénnevitz con Ney, el peli-fulvo
no fui yo: lo fue mi bisabuelo el Capitán...;
y fue mi tatarabuelo quien apresó a Gustavo Cuarto:
pero sí estuve yo en la Retirada de los Diez Mil
-era yo el Siete Mil Setecientos y Setenta y Siete,
precisamente-: releed, si dudaislo, el Anábasis.
Fui celador intocable de la Casa de Tócame-Roque, -si ignoré cuyo el Roque sería-,
y de la Casa del Gato-que-pelotea; le busqué tres pies al gato
con botas, que ya tenía siete vidas y logré dar con siete autores en busca de un personaje
-como quien dice Los Siete contra Tebas: ¡pobre Tebas!-, y ya es jugar bastante con el siete.
No pude dar con la cuadratura del círculo, que -por lo demás- para nada hace falta,
mas topé y en el Cuarto de San Alejo, con la palanca de Arquimedes y con la espada de Damocles,
ambas a dos, y a cual más, tomadas del orín y con más moho
que las ideas de yo si sé quién mas no lo digo:
púsome en aprietos tal doble hallazgo; por más que dije: ¡Eureka! ...: la palanca ya no servía ni para levantar un falso testimonio,
y tuve que encargarme de tener siempre en suspenso y sobre mí la espada susodicha.

Se me extravió el anillo de Saturno, mas no el de Giges ni menos el de Hans Carvel;
no sé qué se me ficieron los Infantes de Aragón y las Nieves de Antaño y el León de Androcles y la Balanza
del buen Shylock: deben estar por ahí con la Linterna de Diógenes:
-¿mas cómo hallarlos sin la linterna?

No saqué el pecho fuera, ni he sido nunca el Tajo, ni me di cuenta del lío de Florinda,
ni de por qué el Tajo el pecho fuera le sacaba a la Cava,
pero sí vi al otro don Rodrigo en la Horca.
Pinté muestras de posadas y mesones y ventas y paradores y pulquerías
en Veracruz y Tamalameque y Cancán y Talara, y de riendas de abarrotes en Cartagena de Indias, con Tisaza-,
si no desnarigué al de Heredia ni a López **** tuerto -que era bizco-.
Pastoreé (otra vez) el Rebaño de las Pléyades
y resultaron ser -todellas, una a una- ¡qué capretinas locas!
Fui aceitero de la alcuza favorita del Padre de los Búhos Estáticos:
-era un Búho Sofista, socarrón soslayado, bululador mixtificante-.
Regí el vestier de gala de los Pingüinos Peripatéticos,
(precursores de Brummel y del barón d'Orsay,
por fuera de filósofos, filosofículos, filosofantes dromomaníacos)
y apacenté el Bestiario de Orfeo (delegatario de Apollinaire),
yo, Beremundo el Lelo.

Nada tuve que ver con el asesinato de la hija del corso adónico Sebastiani
ni con ella (digo como pesquisidor, pesquisante o pesquisa)
si bien asesoré a Edgar Allan Poe como entomólogo, cuando El Escarabajo de Oro,
y en su investigación del Doble Asesinato de la Rue Morgue,
ya como experto en huellas dactilares o quier digitalinas.
Alguna vez me dio por beberme los vientos o por pugnar con ellos -como Carolus
Baldelarius- y por tomar a las o las de Villadiego o a las sus calzas:
aquesas me resultaron harto potables -ya sin calzas-; ellos, de mucho volumen
y de asaz poco cuerpo (si asimilados a líquidos, si como justadores).
Gocé de pingües canonjías en el reinado del bonachón de Dagoberto,
de opíparas prebendas, encomiendas, capellanías y granjerías en el del Rey de los Dipsodas,
y de dulce privanza en el de doña Urraca
(que no es la Gazza Ladra de Rossini, si fuéralo
de corazones o de amantes o favoritos o privados o martelos).

Fui muy alto cantor, como bajo cantante, en la Capilla de los Serapiones
(donde no se sopranizaba...); conservador,
conservador -pero poco- de Incunables, en la Alejandrina de Panida,
(con sucursal en El Globo y filiales en el Cuarto del Búho).

Hice de Gaspar Hauser por diez y seis hebdémeros
y por otras tantas semanas y tres días fui la sombra,
la sombra misma que se le extravió a Peter Schlémil.

Fui el mozo -mozo de estribo- de la Reina Cristina de Suecia
y en ciertas ocasiones también el de Ebba Sparre.
Fui el mozo -mozo de estoques- de la Duquesa de Chaumont
(que era de armas tomar y de cálida sélvula): con ella pus mi pica en Flandes
-sobre holandas-.

Fui escriba de Samuel Pepys -¡qué escabroso su Diario!-
y sustituto suyo como edecán adjunto de su celosa cónyuge.
Y fuí copista de Milton (un poco largo su Paraíso Perdido,
magüer perdido en buena parte: le suprimí no pocos Cantos)
y a la su vera reencontré mi Paraíso (si el poeta era
ciego; -¡qué ojazos los de su Déborah!).

Fui traductor de cablegramas del magnífico Jerjes;
telefonista de Artajerjes el Tartajoso; locutor de la Esfinge
y confidente de su secreto; ventrílocuo de Darío Tercero Codomano el Multilocuo,
que hablaba hasta por los codos;
altoparlante retransmisor de Eubolio el Mudo, yerno de Tácito y su discípulo
y su émulo; caracola del mar océano eólico ecolálico y el intérprete
de Luis Segundo el Tartamudo -padre de Carlos el Simple y Rey de Gaula.
Hice de andante caballero a la diestra del Invencible Policisne de Beocia
y a la siniestra del Campeón olímpico Tirante el Blanco, tirante al blanco:
donde ponía el ojo clavaba su virote;
y a la zaga de la fogosa Bradamante, guardándole la espalda
-manera de decir-
y a la vanguardia, mas dándole la cara, de la tierna Marfisa...

Fui amanuense al servicio de Ambrosio Calepino
y del Tostado y deMatías Aldecoa y del que urdió el Mahabarata;
fui -y soylo aún, no zoilo- graduado experto en Lugares Comunes
discípulo de Leon Bloy y de quien escribió sobre los Diurnales.
Crucigramista interimario, logogrifario ad-valorem y ad-placerem
de Cleopatra: cultivador de sus brunos pitones y pastor de sus áspides,
y criptogramatista kinesiólogo suyo y de la venus Calipigia, ¡viento en popa a toda vela!
Fui tenedor malogrado y aburrido de libros de banca,
tenedor del tridente de Neptuno,
tenedor de librejos -en los bolsillos del gabán (sin gabán) collinesco-,
y de cuadernículos -quier azules- bajo el ala.
Sostenedor de tesis y de antítesis y de síntesis sin sustentáculo.
Mantenedor -a base de abstinencias- de los Juegos Florales
y sostén de los Frutales -leche y miel y cerezas- sin ayuno.
Porta-alfanje de Harún-al-Rashid, porta-mandoble de Mandricardo el Mandria,
porta-martillo de Carlos Martel,
porta-fendiente de Roldán, porta-tajante de Oliveros, porta-gumía
de Fierabrás, porta-laaza de Lanzarote (¡ búen Lancelot tan dado a su Ginevra!)
y a la del Rey Artús, de la Ca... de la Mesa Redonda...;
porta-lámpara de Al-Eddin, el Loca Suerte, y guardián y cerbero de su anillo
y del de los Nibelungos: pero nunca guardián de serrallo ni cancerbero ni evirato de harem...
Y fui el Quinto de los Tres Mosqueteros (no hay quinto peor) -veinte años después-.

Y Faraute de Juan Sin Tierra y fiduciario de
They say the grass is greener
On the other side
Which makes me wonder what color grass they see
When they look at mine

People are never satisfied
with their token hue,
gardens perceive many views 'neath blue moons
yet still seek to plant their own rose colored seeds


But with the hand of seed comes a heart in need
To plant where they will thrive
And when we look at our lives deep
We see a parched land much too dry


Upgrading new playgrounds 'tween picket transplants
only proves to drain emotional fence posts,
there's no satisfaction in elevation's turf ventures
proof grows amuck the dark sod of every plot perused
krissie Aug 2014
When it is I set my sights
On what all man has done
I'm not sure it is I like
What all man has become

This is the evaluation of evolution
The evolution of what we've become
This is the resurgence of a revolution
The revolution of us running from us

Though it's one we often fight
It is one we seldom win
A war that's waged inside our minds
Fought for the souls of man

The heart is a mechanism, I know this much
The mind is fizzled, but it catches the senses
The eyes seem human, they've got tear ducts
The soul is a body rack, that builds its own fences

We seem to treat life as if it's a game
Lost in the playground of wonder
Where we're our own bullies and nothing's the same
As we drag ourselves under

Lost in the fray of wonder and folly
We're the sheep headed for slaughter
It's the war of empathy and apathy
Passed down to our sons and daughters
Co-written with the wonderful Mike Hauser!
moss Aug 2015
There's a quality to her smile
That these days is not often seen
One that triggers memories
Of places you'd hate to leave

There's a depth inside of her eyes
Of oceans deep and rivers wide
No submarine could endure
The bottom of her waters

There's a sad ache to her touch
A whisper on her wind
That brings you oh so close to her
Then let's you go again

There's a graveness in her voice
A silence filled with screams
That penetrates your very soul
If you dare to listen

Would you like to know a secret
If you do, this one's for free
If you care to dare to look real close
You'll see this girl is me
Shannon Jeffery May 2014
A carousel of dreams I'm riding
Through the days and nights, exciting
What will come I do not know
But this whimsical path I will follow

Hiking through mountains of magical dreams
Waterfalls cascading from mystical streams
As leaves on the trees whisper to me
Take what holds you back and set it free

Letting out all that has been held
An invigorating sight is unveiled
A life stream of all dreams unsheathed
Utopia of imagination I've received

As bright colors burst from the heavens above
Flooding the land with the water of love
At the purpose of moment the perfection of place
All in the right time and space
Thanks to Mike Hauser for another wonderful collaboration. Such a fun guy to write with :)
Eudora Nov 2015
Would you mind if I wrote you a love poem
Would you care if I shared it with the world
Would it be okay if I filled it with cliches
As in I am the oyster and you are the pearl

Oh my, it'll be an absolute delight
Go ahead, let the earth be smitten
Let your words float in the twilight
It'll be a beauty no one has ever written


I ask would it be too much
If I compared your beauty to that of Spring flowers
Or how I could just sit here and stare
As I dreamly while away the hours

I'll be flushed with humility
As I am just one of His thankful creations
I'll allow your gaze even through infinity
Admiring beyond my imperfections


Would it be to much to say
That you put the night stars to shame
If I had my very own galaxy
On it I would place your name

You can ask the clouds and sky above
How your words touched my heart to the core
The unfeigned expression of your love
I'm truly blessed, couldn't ask for more


While all above is true enough
Against your beauty nature would lose
I think instead I'll make this poem
A simple "I love you"

Eudora
Mike Hauser
It is such an honor to be able to write with one of the brilliant poets here, Mike Hauser.
Thank you so much Mike, for inviting me to do this collaboration. It was a lovely experience. YOU made it so easy! :)
Shannon Jeffery Mar 2014
These days I have more flashbacks
Than I do reality
I wish the past would just sit back
And leave this poor boy be

But the past it holds more flavor
Than a stick of chewing gum
When it comes to what I savor
Babe your still the one

All I dream is you and me
Heart struck that youre gone
Forever my love I hoped you see
You are my transcendent song

The places we used to visit
A time when our hearts flourished
When the skies were our only limit
Beautiful times we cherished

Never knowing where we will end
Just a bunch of mysteries
For time to us we thought would bend
And now I have just memories

But as they say all things come to an end
And come to an end they must
For what we once held together
Are now ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Thank you to Mike for this amazing collab experience :)
moss Aug 2015
If I had to guess on what I've seen
I'm not too sure that she likes me
I've played the game, I know it well
But with this girl it's hard to tell

If I could talk to just anyone
Then talking to him would be fun
He seems funny, he seems so nice
I only need to break the ice


I'm afraid of what she might say
If I give too much of myself away
If she thinks me another man
Will she like me for who I am

When conversing, he seems so closed
Almost as if he is trying to pose
Wondering what he is hiding
I conclude that it's dividing


With her style and class she is far above me
Afraid to ask if she could ever love me
A girl like her, a boy like me
I have my wants, she is my need*

With his depth and thought he's far away from me
Afraid to wonder if he could know me
A mind like his, a fool like me
My longing for him is decreed
Louise Aug 2014
When I look around my life
I feel I'm only scratching the surface
I often throw out the question of 'why'
and wonder if it's really worth it

Aren't we here with a job to do
or maybe that's just what they say
A more positive outlook I'd choose
and find a better purpose to my day

I could climb the highest of mountains
which would mean taking to the streets
helping out those who have lost all hope
giving of myself in their need

I just want to give a part of me
that I have not always been shown
offer all I have within my heart
the best feeling we could ever know

Because life's not all about what you take
but what you have to give
not giving all you have would be a mistake
and really is no way to live
this is Mike's fabulous idea and he always comes up with something amazing!
I add kindle to the fire
That burns deep down inside
Everytime it is I pick up the pen
As I sit down to write
Upon the white
Pieces of paper
That send your name back to me
Reminding me of
A soul that gleams
With the beauty of
Caspian seas
Wrote this one with my HP buddy, Mike! Check him out! Type Mike Hauser in the search bar for some badass poetry/
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
In Their Own Words:

“All I’ve ever learned from love is....”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So come, my friends, be not afraid.  We are so lightly here.
It is in love that we are made.  In love we disappear.  Tho’ all the maps of blood and flesh are posted on the door,  there’s no one who has told us yet what Boogie Street is for.                                     Leonard Cohen

All I've learned from love that it appears on its own timetable,
and, all I've learned from love is, it is the purpose. Harlon Rivers

“is crazy and this is infinite and ever so sobering wondrous possible"
Medusa

It is a paradox of two people - in debit to one another though each may never realise;
and neither one of whom would ever consider recalling the debt. Gideon

A headlong charge into a vast unknown that promises fufillment of every lacy, perfumed dream, but may instead deliver wrenching wounds that only another love can heal. Lori Jones McCaffery

every fantastic mistake I ever really made! Drunk in shallow bar light with a woman of my wicked dreams who laughed as loud as me at our shared ****** jokes we both got. We loved for awhile and then wandered and still loved forever as we found other dim bars with more wicked dreams.                                        gray dot (unknown)

All I have learned from love is to give more than one receives unconditionally.                                                ­K Balachandran


"love is the great equalizer: ignoring age, race, education, wealth, religion, disability, and sanity... simultaneously capable of lifting all to the highest highs and dragging all into the deepest depths. In love there is no pride or ego." forgotten

that just beyond is a hidden trail, where a magical river of the purest water flows free. Here and only here, my heart can be revived, and my mind is stilled by the silence I find. Love’s call is gentle. Joey

“that love is as love does.”
victoria

All I ever learned from love is the meaning of the word, "unconditional!”.           SE Reimer

Sometimes we fall in love, and sometimes love falls on us.
Stephen E. Yocum

it is gentle rage, come like sun through clouds, to feed parched earth....one word to set life a tingle, the first smile of a golden
boy's day.  The last caress before sleep, the letting go of a dying
friends hand and the gathering together of companions for food
and laughter, love comes in many guises, has many faces and is
lifeblood to the soul hiding within.                   betterdays

where the beginnings end and the ends begin.    Elizabeth J.

The burial of fear and all we’ve ever known In hope for a new flourishment.    Dante Rocio

that life flows in abundance of peace, harmony and balance when I
surrender to live in love.                                                            ­    Cné

that love assuages hurt and heals the wounded...it rings with melody
and dances to the heavens.  It’s the divine giving over of body and mind;  it's mystic transcendence an overwhelming feeling of pure ecstasy.                                                         ­                              patty m


that love is a dunghill, and I'm a crow that stands on it and caws.
                                                           ­                           Thomas W Case

Acceptance.  Acceptance of myself and of the ones I love.
                                                           ­                                    Kelly Rose

It is easier to give love than to accept it.         Walter W Hoelbling

was what I learned from her...Love is above, beyond what we all wish, we had to touch the sun, the moon, the stars; everything we have.                                                                            Temporal Fugue

that it is unique; it makes the softest body, hard, and softens the hardest heart.                                                           ­     poetontheroof

Our hearts tied but I don't know how.                       Anonymous

Love has the ability to surpass life. Even though you are gone I still can’t stop loving you. “Love leaves more behind than death ever takes away. “ -unknown.                                        Love Storytelling

to never go searching for it. That's it, I guess.                      Aparna

has been gleamed through the sacrifice and service of a few extraordinary souls.  For true love is borne of sacrifice, and
it compels us to serve.  Without those elements, it cannot exist.
                                                                 J Klein and Sons Pen Parish

it requires curiosity to truly uncover; it is an emotion
that makes us uniquely human.                                        Angelique

that sometimes it hurts and sometimes it thrills, but
love that kills your pain is always worth the dying for.                 r

it is a gift from God, most precious and not to be abused or taken
for granted.                                                         ­ South by Southwest

how to hurt.                                                           Andrew Crawford

is that, it comes like lightning...it jolts, it makes, or breaks a future;
it hangs around, no matter what, if it's meant to be...yours...
all i've learned from love made me a tree, with fruits
with a blend of sour and honeyed truths, it is heaven...
when bared, shared... reciprocated.                            Sally A Bayan

that it is hard and it hurts but we cannot live without it... there is no storybook endings. You take the good and bad and make it what you need.                                                            ­                     Melissa S.

The burial of fear and all we’ve ever known
In hope for a new flourishment. Dante Rocio

that I can’t, won’t, don’t want to ever live life without Love! ♥️ Feeling Love Sparks everyday forever and always ♥️ Loving Love Glass Slipper Girl

to accept it when it is given, to share it when it is felt, to cherish it because it is a gift and that whether it hurts or it heals, it is far better to have experienced it than to not have.                                  BLT

that love is...forever studied; gravity, it is akin to the sense of gravity;
it can never be explained, felt, or experienced, but never grasped in ones hand.                                                            ­              wordvango

that if you have it, you should give it.                                  amanda

how to turn up my face and surrender to the rain.  
                                                         ­             Clementine Valerie Black

that God is love expressed by Jesus, and I'm my best when I imitate Christ.   Christos Victor

the most over analyzed, overwrought word that remains after thousands of years, completely
inexplicable.                                                   ­             onlylovepoetry                  

it's a strength and weakness, ecstasy and agony, a belief and fear (of losing), emotional contradictions yet so intrinsically precious to be worth living and dying for.                          Pradip Chattopadhyay

the emptiness of smothering empathy for all that lives, feels and needs.  It's to bear eternal suffering...                                   Traveler


red.                                                                                                     Fog


to give, far outweighs the take.                                        Mike Hauser


that it lifts open our minds' eyes, overturns our fears in this vast expanse of the unknown - it etherally reveals our connection
Melody

how deep is my ignorance.                                              Joel M Frye

that love has nothing to do with ***. It has everything to do with sick kids at 3am and holding back your friends hair when she pukes in the gutter crying over some ******* who just dumped her. It's selfless.
                                                       ­                                                 Acme

noth­ing compared to what I've learned from pain.                 v V v


the things I’ve never learned.                                               M-E

that is the cancer and the cure; the detour and the straight line; proof of reincarnation and death everlasting; the intersection where extreme selflessness and selfishness meet, becoming indistinguishable; it’s shapeless, nearly invisible, and yet known to everyone; a verb, a noun, a conjunction between and a preposition to a beginning and a dead end.
                                                            ­                               Nat Lipstadt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thanks to all the participants, so far...(see the note below)
This is an open, living poem; anyone should feel free to message me to add, amend, or delete; just message me directly; won’t modify if you just comment.

one more thing don’t ask me to add an old poem that is only tangentially related: write a max of two or  three sentences that
clearly and directly responds to the title...

format is.deliberately sloppy, just like the subject    
matter.

and the original version (2017)

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2187204/all-ive-learned-from-love-for-leonard/
HelloPoetry Blessed us all , no matter where we live.
I am truly Blessed by each and everyone alike here.
There are so many here on this here site that I am thankful for.
Sally Bayan, Mike Hauser, Iamdaisie, Olivia Kent, Wendy Ronshausen,Brandon Nagley, Earl Jane, Rachel Sia Jane Lloyd, Lydia Monet,Neil Aranda, Mark Cleavenger, Ann Marie Johnson, Melanie Wilson-Herring, Mike Essig,  **** Paz Its Gonna Make Sense.
PrttyBrd, Vicki Bashor, Kripi Mehra, Willyam Pax, Poetess Bhumi, Kelly Rose.
Elizabeth Burnettge, Toni Pugh, Paul Champman, David Lewis Paget.
Ryn, Sean Scibbles, Aurelia, Kim Johanna Baker,Yasaman Johari.
Lady RF,Crazy Diamond Kristy, Weeping Willow, Alyssa Underwood.
MydstopiA,adhi das, South by southwest, Petal, soulsurvivor.
reformdancerecover,Ashly Kocher, Mack, Travler, Randolph Wilson.
Plus many more whom are very special indeed whom did not make this poem love you all in Christ.
Eudora Dec 2015
Let me go for a gleeful ride on the rainbow
Or sit on the moon to watch the stars put up a show
Put on my wings and light up the night with fireflies
Or just calming the earth as the wind in disguise

Sometimes it seems to me that all I do is dream
Try as hard as I might by any ways and means
Please don't force me to face reality
When all I want to do in life is take the time to dream

Be it floating on the clouds admiring the beautiful sight
Or dancing with my love in the snow showers
Little fairies hold buckets to collect my tears at night
While I dip into a pool filled with my favorite flowers

Because to me inside a dream is like a playful tune
That I love to sing by any means letting the dreams loose
From the middle of the imagined to the very edge of time
A steady stream I hope to dream forever in my mind

Strolling through a delicious tunnel of sweetness
Savoring the generous free flow of chocolate fall
The trees humming melodies, they leave me speechless
As curly vines of mixed berries crawl up the wall

Using life as the reflection inside of my dream scape
Moving further in the direction of the dream for the dreams sake
Where in time I hope to find what all along I have believed
That the dream I'm in at this moment is in fact my reality

Eudora*
*Mike Hauser
A big thank you to the lovely Mike Hauser for this wonderful dreamy piece! Truly humbled to be able to write with you again, Mike! You are incredible. :)
Shannon Jeffery Apr 2014
Today I reached deep in my pocket
In search of some new ideas
But all I grabbed a hold instead
Was a big handful of pocket lint

It seems I'm all dried up
For the scene of current days
Maybe that's where I should start
Inspiration from good ole times

But with good time memories
Few and far between
I reach into another pocket
And find a torn and tattered dream

A dream I thought was locked away
A time of pain and sorrow
The nightmare of a special day
One with no tomorrow

Unfolding it further it changed in shape
The way dreams so often do
It was then I let go in hand
And away the nightmare flew

With a Whoosh, Fizz, Crackle, BANG!!
Coloured lights entangle the night
Raining down a gracious song
Lost in awe my mind reignites
Thanks to Mike Hauser another wonderful collaboration.
I want to thank Vicki, Poetry Journal, Paul Butter, Adhi das, Mia, FJ Davis .
Anu, Sukeeti, Paul Gaffney,NvrMd, Pradip, It gonna make sense, Marian.
Timothy,Jasmine,Georgia,Janiloms,Iluvia,Nameless wonder,Firefly, Bianca.Mike Hauser , Mohamed ,Falen Acon,MydystopiA, Vanessa Gatley, and Nicole.
Plus so many more whom poems are so beautiful, they touch us all.
I just want to let you all know on here that you are truly appreciated.
For all of your beautiful words , feelings that went into your poems.
I just wanted to say thank you to each and everyone of you all here.
God bless each of you today and every single day that you live here.
Carolin Dec 2014
Can you keep a secret ?
If I whisper in your ear.
Find a spot so you can keep it.
Until the coast is clear. We can
sit in the meadows as the deers
pass by near and the shadows
disappear. As the fear fades away
and your mine for the year. Today
tomorrow and for a forever. Can
you keep a secret if I whisper it to
you under the hotel chandeliers. Where
the crystals shine bright and
clear
. Can you keep a secret
As we sit by the babbling brook
We could hide in the country side
Were no one would think to look
If we stayed in the city
I'm sure we'd be found out.
Can you keep a secret ?
If I tell it to you now. As the
roses bow down to us while
we sit on the grass and blush.
As we feel our pulses rush. With
a gentle touch and a hush I’ll
whisper to you the sweetest
words of love
~
Mike Hauser in italics.
Carolin in bold.
My first collaboration with Mike Hauser.
It was a fun new wonderful experience to write with such a talented friend.
Check his poetry later ...
http://hellopoetry.com/mike-hauser/
Louise Aug 2014


What if the stars in the heavens above
all blinked out at the same time
Would I lose all the wishes I've wished
of having your heart close to mine

Each and every twinkling light
represents a memory from our lives
If they completely disappeared right now
Who's to say we'd even realise!

Was our love nothing but a satellite
circling distant galaxies
going from one dying star to another
out of a desperate need

It's like we're light years away
becoming scattered in cosmic dust
We're clinging in the hopes of becoming a cluster
but was there ever really, an 'us'

With outer space being the space between us
in our now lost universe
Who will show us pity
as our love blinks out, like the stars


Mike had an 'out of this world' idea with this one!
:)
Eudora Feb 2016
I believe it's time I straightened up
Knocked the dust from off my mind
Make some room for different thoughts
Find which ones I need to wipe

Rancorous experiences and sombre days
Or unending expectations of the people around me
Do my utmost to please hearts in different ways
Throbbing particles in my head, no one could see


As I feel my way along the fray
The razors edge that cuts too deep
Only in my minds eye can I blink away
All those thoughts that pressure me

Yes it is indeed time..
To deterge the nagging wounds in my mind
And cease the harsh ringing when they chime
Breathe them all out while I let my myself unwind



Mike Hauser
**Eudora
It was a such pleasure writing this with the lovely, Mike Hauser. Thank you Mike, for inviting me to do this with you, again. :))
Amy H Oct 2017
Mike Hauser had a brilliant idea to “Pass the pen” and see where it got us.  This, Friends, is the result.

I write of the stars
I write of the moon
I write of the things
That I love to do
I write of the lies
While telling the truth
And when I am through
I pass the pen to you


I read the things
that went before
and add my thoughts
for you to write more
of things we love
and things we hate
so here's the pen,
now contemplate!


I wait like a kid
the anticipation
breaks my quiet
like a train in station
with thoughts
pouring out
like the traveling weary
so here's the pen
"now what's my hurry?"


While looking at this
And studying that
As our poetic peruse
Comes up to bat
With much more in store
From the writer's’ knack
I jot down my last line
Then pass the pen back


and now it get's fun
with my lines and yours
at least it keeps me
from doing my chores!
fingers be nimble
brain be quick
I finished this part
now here's the Bic.


With words tattered and torn
I have you here to mend
Don’t know where I’m going
Brain lights on dim
With little or no warning
Here it comes again
All on a whim
I hand you the pen


*so who will care
if we make no sense
“these poets here
must have the bends!”
but all the same
we’ve had our yen
it was a good run
let's retire the pen
Thanks Mike!  That was fun.  Now maybe some of you can grab a buddy and see what happens.  To put this in context, all the stanzas went round in under an hour.  A dizzying frenzy.

— The End —