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Max Neumann Dec 2019
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry
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Congo, Republic is in need of hellopoetry  
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Yemen needs hellopoetry

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Why? Because people from all over the world have found something here: a place of belongingness.

Please note that I am just a poet on hellopoetry who loves this website sincerely. I am not affiliated or personally related to the founders of hellopoetry.

I rarely ask to get my poems reposted, but I would encourage everyone to spread the message, possibly even outside of hellopoetry, for new active users and possible contributors.

It would break a lot of hearts if hellopoetry wouldn't exist anymore.
Now since I advised you this Sentiment
Try to apply your Fares with her Mother
And if you win, which is one Compliment
That you use to connect with her Brother
This is just some Counsel from Ben Nevis' View
Hassled to ensure you did the Right Thing
For justly understand this ardent Crew
Is no excuse for Procrastinating
In private this Agent is unaware
For him to barrage out of Deep Respect
Yet keep watch for Feathers dancing in the Air
They turn to Anvils; And hit your Retrospect.
Listen you Two. This is why you will Learn
That Family's knots tied is Best you earn.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
Lawrence Hall Sep 2018
The Poetry of John Keats is not Safe


You may find there “a cave of young earth dragons”
Or with a “sea-born goddess” fall in love
You might not escape “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”
Or finish reading all your “high-piled books”

Yet “tender is the night” when sings the nightingale
And you are shown that all “Beauty is truth”
Through your soul, “The wanderer by moonlight”
And there “like pious incense” the hours pass

Though in that “season of mists” one’s life must end
“Go not to Lethe,” but sail on with the wind

1 “Ben Nevis”
2 “Endymion”
3 “La Belle Dame Sans Merci”
4 “When I Have Fears that I may Cease to Be”
5 “Ode to a Nightingale”
6 “Ode on a Grecian Urn”
7 “I Stood Tip-Toe Upon a Little Hill”
8 “The Eve of Saint Agnes”
9 “To Autumn”
10 “Ode on Melancholy”
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
While climbing near mount Nevis
A Scotsman dropped a dime.
He leaped off to recover it
So fast he dropped his line.
He seemed to fly upon updrafts
And glanced off lumps of rock
He made it safely to the ground-
The rescue squad was shocked.
He had some bumps and bruises
And was sore in both his arms
But at least he found his coin
and didn’t lose his “Lucky Charms”.

Most folks who drop a thousand feet
Would suffer death or worse.
He rode a helicopter home
Most folks would take a hearse.
A Scotsman survived a 1000 foot fall while free style climbing in Scotland. This made the internet news . Since he suffered no serious injury, I am writing it as a comedy.
Lord Cam Apr 2020
My Dearest Mommie

She is dead now...but I wish she was still here
To celebrate Mother's Day with her loving son
I'll Take her old clock and a fake cake by her grave with me
And a daffodil or two, I am the child she loved.
I will go in the afternoon and stay till I feel
The frenzy in the beckoning call of the unfriendly cold evening dew
Warning me that it is about time to go
To leave and wander on my journey homeward
And to ponder upon sweet green thoughts of her memories
And celebrate her wondorus life and dedication,
Celebrate another soft kissing anniversary of Mother's Day.
Written by Lord Cam  a 59 yr. old former calypsonian from Nevis in the West Indies..or the Caribbean © 4 years ago, Cam Morton-Lord Cam
Poem written.composed by Lord Cam of Nevis born May 21st 1959 ...Calypsonian
John Bartholomew Nov 2019
Not all yours but at first glance it looks like they are your fine pile
Lanzarote, Greece, even the Tower called Eiffel
Clumped together like a map of exceeding heats
From Lisbon down to Cape Town
Tell me of these differing seats

Did you really fly through the depths of the Grand Canyon
Or take a helicopter to that quiet place known as the Scilly Islands
Yet venture the climbing follies around Ben Nevis
And take a gondola ride around the canals of Venice

The adventure parks known as Chessington and Alton Towers
Where the rides left a taste that came out as sour
Your friends have bought you such distance as OZ and NZ
Where they'd be flying in the sky and you'd be at home in your bed

One day I will have the money and aspiration to fly to such a place
For now I will let the young adventurers fly away with such grace
As I seem to be grounded without the bank-to-fly
Do I really want to thoroughly say goodbye?

Hmm, Well I know what you mean
I'm slightly batty to have crazy yet ambitious dreams
So don't poke around my passport looking for stamps to check
As like lies on my fridge magnet door, I haven't been there yet

Fridge Magnets (most of them are fibs you know)

JJB
Do no take this poem seriously. If you do then you need psychiatric help
Joanna Garrido Dec 2018
I came upon a secret place, a land that time forgot. There surely fairae folk exist if dinosaurs do not.
A peaceful place of beauty opened up before my eyes
When through the deep and treacherous gorge, had I reached paradise?
Through woods of hazel, oak and birch, willow and Scot’s pine
On narrow paths, steep-sided, overhung by cliffs so high
I heard the water rushing as I climbed towards the sound
Steall Falls - all her wondrous waters gushing to the ground
By shingle river bank I sat, in silence mesmerised
I felt I’d gone to heaven, even though I hadn’t died
Surrounded by high mountains, it felt as if a dream
A part of me I left behind in sunlit meadows green.

15.10.18 JG
This Glen is near Ben Nevis in Scotland. It really is like a secret valley when you get through the gorge. It is beautiful.
Chris Slade Jan 2021
It seems I’m a flash in the pan man.
Too many dreams unfulfilled.
Always swimming against the tide.
Things I know I should’ve done.
I’m procrastination personified.
Bold ambition killed…

An attempt on Ben Nevis when Everest
was maybe what really I should’ve done…
Doggie Paddling (in training of course)
off Littlehampton beach
might not make you dance & sing…
If Channel swimming, you now realise,
would have been a better thing….

So, “Could do better” was always the
school report mantra.
“He’s definitely got it but doesn’t
think he needs to try…and yeah,
he’s Knocked it into Neutral,
he’s cruising, That’s what they said.
But why?
He knows it - but never shows it.

Not so much brought up
as dragged around - it caused tears…
Uprooted every two or three years
as, parental careers, the opportunities
might dictate…ever upward so we moved…
We did move around a lot, but no long stays
9 different schools - all approved.
always the new boy… Too many first days.

But fresh starts open doors; broaden the view.
I’ve seen more new schools than most folk do.
Vistas afresh. Unfamiliarity the cue…
to learn anew…the local geography or
new dialect… “Eh up lad are you reet?” begets
“alright mate? And, you’ll fit in fine if
you speak the language! So round here, as ever,
I landed…with my best Southern ‘posh’…
a plummy… “Hello, how are you?” to the letter…
Yeah pretty good… but could do better!
'Twas ever thus! I was graded at 2% in my Maths Mock 'O' Level... I think because I got my name right! Distinctions in English and Art... So I was ecstatic!
“A curse!” my fist upraised in spiteful pain.
Departing country of my birth, upturned
By war, disease. This England, inhumane,
Where all my past and aspirations burned.

West Indies bound, with brothers, to fulfill
Indentured servitude on Nevis land.
Eight years I worked and toiled there until
Emancipation from contract’s command.

But all the while in service to my debt,
I learned of herbs and healing charms and rites,
From African descendants that I met,
Who gave me knowledge under moonlit nights.  

The practices and skills I mastered there -
Twas Voodoo that I learned and brought to bear.  

Twas Voodoo that I learned and brought to bear,
And practiced healing methods as my trade,
As blowing winds of change were in the air,
When plans to sail to lands anew were made.

St. Mary’s County, Maryland would be
The place where I would strive to build a life
Of quiet service in community
Where tolerance and peace supplanted strife.

I worked the fertile fields with grit and pride
That all my efforts lifted those in need
Through persevering work that dignified
My efforts for the village to succeed.

Despite my earnest struggle to upraise,
Suspicion always seemed to stalk my days.

Suspicion always seemed to stalk my days,
By whispered words or cautious, wary glance.
Though healing practice often won me praise,
My dealings often seemed to feel askance.

The Puritanic disposition here
Would view outsiders with uneasiness.
The nonconformists lived with modest fear
Of retribution for unseemliness.

A delicate relationship maintained
A peace between the members of the church,
And denizens who lived there unconstrained
By dogma, doctrine, or of Christian smirch.

This tenuous existence would unbind
In Sixteen Ninety Seven’s wintertime.

In Sixteen Ninety Seven’s wintertime,
Calamities unfolded in the town.
The first, a death, was thought to be a crime,
A charge of mine would accidentally drown.

Another came of unexpected cold
That set just after Samhain of that year.
It stayed beyond what almanac foretold,
And racked the hearts of men with mortal fear.

An illness plagued the homes of old and young,
Consistently defying scripture’s laws.
As bells of solemn funerary rung,
Their beasts of burden died without a cause.

An icy grip of fear would tribulate,
As anxious Christians sought to obviate.

As anxious Christians sought to obviate
The pestilence that hereupon was set,
They sought official seal to perpetrate
The persecution of suspected threat.

The Council met to hear complaints of those
Affected by suspicious tragedies.
The governor declared a writ to discompose,
Evict the ‘witch’ - the source of maladies.  

Expressing reservations, some of them
Suggested much more civil remedy.
But hateful brutes moved swiftly to condemn
What they had judged to be their enemy.

As howling wind and snow befell the night
The mob set out to remedy the blight.

The mob set out to remedy the blight,
That they suspected had to come from me.
A ‘witch’ they claimed, had surely caused their plight,
And only death could end her blaspheme.

No trial, judge or jury sealed my fate
Just superstitious Christians and their fear,
With burning torches lit to conflagrate,
My home, my peace, and make me disappear.

They came for me, encircling my house,
They came for me, when I was warm in bed,
They came for me, as silent as a mouse.
They came for me, in hopes to see me dead.

The flames engulfed my cottage straightaway,
I had but seconds to escape the fray.

I had but seconds to escape the fray,
With nothing but the clothes upon my back,
There into blinding blizzard cast away,
Absconding from unmerciful attack.

I trudged through blinding snows with  helplessness,
And found no sheltered harbor to protect
My body, from the tempest’s dreadfulness,
Or soul, that God would surely soon collect.

Exposure quickly forced a quivered breath,
With freezing force that I could not suppress.
Before my body fin’lly froze to death,
I screamed with all my might and forcefulness:

“My wrathful spell, on thee, I appertain!”
“A curse!” my fist upraised in spiteful pain.
Copyright ©2025 by D B Sullivan. All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

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