I once knew a girl from a north country shore 
as it was some place I had been to before.
We had met one fine day going down the street
each walking in opposite directions sweet.
We were both minding our own business when
an incident happened for us to meet then;
some elderly lady with a shopping bag
was coming along but got caught in a snag;
one of her shoes on the uneven pavement
nearly sent her headlong towards derailment.
Fortunately for her we were both there to
stop her from falling and to save the bag's spew.

As we helped the lady and looked at each other
we caught a gleam of light in our eyes to bother
all preconceived notions of what life was about
and it seemed we were both uneasy to find out.
For we looked up and away with sighs of relief
then back again at each other in disbelief.
I couldn't help seeing then the look on her face;
reflections of my own as from a mirrored place.
Or was it an image from deep within my heart
projected outward being therein from the start?
What happened next was not so amazing to tell
as we spoke certain words of greeting and farewell.
________

There are certain feelings in my heart that I won’t try to explain
which if I were to tell you about them you’d probably complain.
The well-springs of our heart run deep and determine how we live
meaning: if we don’t allow them to flow naturally hold us captive.
_______

You and I will most likely be gone as there'll be hardly anyone else around
without a building left standing, to be seen, anywhere near on the ground.
There'll be chaos and destruction wherever one may happen to look about
with the screams of women and children heard from afar in pain no doubt.
The voices of men crying together with words mumbled in resignation
addressed to a deity that had been forsaken long ago in condemnation.
Days of the future foretold now are passing under cover of a blackened sky
with the smell of smoke and ashes slowly rising from the ground to pry.
The earth as it has been known in people's memories now exists no more
and former things of beauty loved been shattered to pieces on the shore.
Hopelessness and helplessness are words to express the current situation
with no effort on anyone's part to make amends in a general desperation.
The howling of many dogs and other creatures can also be heard as well
with the sound of rolling thunder fading in the distance is a story to tell.
Flashes of lightning seen in the clouds above add a surreal touch to be
made out or viewed like it's doomsday come at last for those left to see.
With the earth itself trembling from all the current devastation around
there's no one to speak words of comfort to subdue the noise profound.
Like a worst case scenario the images will be etched in the hearts 'n minds
of all those who've remained alive, in one piece, the way that true guilt binds.
__________

~
November 2023
HP Poet: Lori Jones McCaffery
Age: 84
Country: USA


Question 1: We welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Lori. Please tell us about your background?

Lori: "I was born Loretta Yvonne Spring in a tarpaper shack on Lone Oak Road, Longview Washington, on New Years Day in 1939. That means I’ll soon turn 85. In high School a boyfriend changed my first name to Lori and I kept it. At 29 I married and became Lori Spring Jones. (I signed poems “lsj”) I had one child, a daughter, and when 20 years later I divorced, I kept the Jones name. I married again, in 1988 and became Lori Jones McCaffery, sometimes with a hyphen, sometimes not. I’m still married to that Brit named Colin and I speak “Brit” fluently. I sign everything I write “ljm” (lower case). I didn’t know about handles when I joined HP, so I just used my whole name and then felt I may have seemed uppity for using all of it. If I had a handle, it would likely be POGO. Short for Pogo stick. Long Story. I have an older sister and a younger brother. Both hate my poetry. My parents divorced when I was 12. My mother’s family was originally from No. Carolina. I’m proud of my Hillbilly blood. I went to college on a scholarship. Worked at various jobs since I was in high school. Moved to Los Angeles in 1960 just in time to join the Hippy/summer-of-love/sunset-strip-scene, which I was heavy into until I married. I read my stuff at the now legendary Venice West and Gas House in Venice Beach during that period. I’ve been an Ins. Claims examiner, executive secretary, Spec typist, Detective’s Girl Friday, Bikini Barmaid, Gameshow Contestant Co-ordinator, Folk Club manager, organizational chef, and long time Wedding Director. (I’ve sent 3,300 Brides down the aisle) "


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

Lori: "I wrote my first poem in the 5th grade and never stopped. I had an awakening in 1957 when I worked at a resort during school break and met another poet, who unleashed a need to write that I’ve never been able to quell. I joined Hello Poetry in 2015, I think. Seems like I’ve always been here. I tend to comment on everything I read here. I’ve received no encouragement from my family so I feel compelled to encourage my “family” here. I do consider a large number of fellow writers friends, and value the brief exchanges we have. I don’t know if Eliot intended HP to be a social club but among us regulars, it kind of has been, and I love that."


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

Lori: "Living inspires me. The intricacies of relationships, and the unpredictability of navigating society. A news story often does it. A song may stir words. Other poetry often sets me off on a quest of my own. I write very well to deadlines and prompts. I adore BLT’s word game and played it a lot in the beginning. Seeing the wonderful job Anais Vionet does with them shamed me away. I have hundreds of yellow lined pages with a few lines of the ‘world’s greatest poem’ on each, all left unfinished because I’m great at starts and not so great on endings. Some day, I tell myself….some day."


Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Lori: "Poetry has been a large part of my life as long as I can remember. I would feel amputated without it. I recited the entire “Raven” from memory in Jr. High School. I still remember most of it. More recently I memorized “The Cremation of Sam McGee” Poetry is my refuge - with words I can bandage my hurts, comfort my pain and loss, share my opinions and assure myself that I have value. It is where I laugh and also wail. I would like to think it builds bridges."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Lori: "My favorite poets include Edgar Allen Poe, Robert W Service, Amy Lowell (I read ‘Patterns’ in a speech contest once), Robert Frost, Shel Silverstein, and Lewis Carroll."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Lori: "I’m a collector. Whippet items, vintage everything, I read voraciously: 15 magazine subs, speculative fiction (SF) and anything else with words written on it. I try to read everything every day on HP. I watch Survivor religiously and keep scorecards. Ditto for Dancing with the Stars. I’m a practicing Christian with a devilish side and involved heavily in Methodist church work, which includes cooking for crowds and planning events."


Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to get to know you, dear Lori! It is an honor to include you in this series!”

Lori: "Thank you so much for this very undeserved honor. This is a wonderful thing you are doing. I know I write with a different voice than many, and it is empowering to be accepted for this recognition. I apologize for being so verbose in answering your questions. When you get to my age you just have so many stories to tell."



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Lori better. I learned so much. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez & Mrs. Timetable

We will post Spotlight #10 in December!

~

~ one more for patty m. ~

slept late after dancing with my devils, from,
from the wee, until a pealing pearl from the Earl of Dawn,
recovering from an intrusion~invasion~brain~regurgitation,
and it’s nearly 9am, sipping my first cuppa Hawaiian,
& woke to a repost of a ten year old wondering plea(1)

makes me think “This old thing,” poem, like a fav
frock/suit that still drapes perfectly, and yet draws the
***** admiration and drippy drawling yummy compliments,
gracefully, gratefully demurred with them three words,
& it’s 8:39am, Bruce pitching in with “Born in the USA”

recipe for a new thank u Gawd poem to make room for
a fast~break diet for an old man with a rebuilt ticker, this
very emission~transmission of a verbal politesse writ going
some where, cooked on a medium slow burner fueling dressed up seeds of heartfelt appreciation made of ancient oat grasses

birthing a poem~child of thanks to the Lawd for one more day,
opportunity, the five sense’s delivery gratitude and gratifications, and the desire to intertwine the sights, music, a crisp blue November Sky, the need to bleed brew these words into a fulfilling,
second moment mug, for the pearls and Earls

of poetic humans


10:01am
Thu Nov 2 2023