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 2005° 
Dead Whiskey
There was smashed soft walls,
and blood on kitchen floor,
I was just a mouse so small
as this apple lost its core.
Have you ever met a man so tall,
whipping and calling her a *****.
This world and its bouncing *****
lead me back to the day I became worn.
I pretended to be a corpse
Extinct like a dinosaur
Hiding under ***** black sheets,
hoping life would take a back seat
I was crunched in his jaws,
and this wolf had no remorse.
What makes you & your course?
 1333° 
badwords
Beneath the surface of our giving,
A quiet echo, always living.
The hand extended, the gift bestowed,
Holds traces of what the heart is owed.

In every act of kindness shown,
A seed of self is always sown.
A smile exchanged, a burden shared,
The giver leaves their soul ensnared.

Transaction speaks in whispers faint,
Not loud enough to mar the saint.
Yet woven in the tapestry,
Is the thread of reciprocity.

Evolution’s pen, so deftly writ,
Has carved the rules; we benefit.
To give is to connect, survive,
To keep the fire of bonds alive.

But purest light, we chase, we yearn,
For altruism that won’t return.
A gift devoid of self, of gain,
A spotless deed, untouched by stain.

And here, the fallacy takes form,
A standard raised against the norm.
To cast aside what’s real, profound,
For lofty heights that can’t be found.

For in the real, the flawed, the small,
Lies beauty woven through it all.
A kindness fraught with give and take
Still soothes the wounds that living makes.

Should we dismiss imperfect grace,
Because it wears a human face?
Or hold it close, and see it whole,
A blend of heart, and mind, and soul.

The saintly act, the selfish cheer,
Are not as distant as they appear.
For even joy in giving free
Forms part of our humanity.

So let us honor deeds once spurned,
Where subtle trades of trust are earned.
And measure worth by what is done,
Not by the motives of the one.

For if perfection is the goal,
We’ll find no virtue in the soul.
Yet in the flawed, the fractured light,
Shines something real, and something right.

Reflection
Altruism is no saint’s domain,
But the hand that lifts through joy or pain.
A mirror held to humankind,
Revealing heart, and what’s behind.
A Reply to:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/4926937/what-about-me/

**Synopsis**
This poem, Altruism's Mirror, explores the multifaceted nature of altruism, juxtaposing the realistic, transactional aspects of human kindness with the idealized concept of selfless giving. The verses acknowledge that altruistic acts, though often celebrated as purely selfless, are deeply entwined with human psychology, biology, and social constructs.

Through vivid imagery and reflective tones, the poem weaves a narrative that critiques the pursuit of "pure altruism" as an unattainable standard, likening this pursuit to the **Nirvana Fallacy**. It invites the reader to embrace the imperfection inherent in acts of kindness, emphasizing that flawed and transactional altruism still holds profound value in fostering connection, survival, and mutual support.

The poem also highlights the inherent beauty in altruistic acts, regardless of their underlying motivations. It challenges the dismissal of acts deemed "impure" for carrying elements of self-interest, reframing them as authentic expressions of humanity.

**Artist’s Intent:**
The poet aims to reconcile the tension between the ideal and the real, urging readers to move past the binary of "selfless" versus "self-serving" acts. Through this piece, the artist seeks to celebrate the complexity of altruism, emphasizing that its worth lies not in its perfection but in its impact. By embracing the transactional nature of giving as part of the human condition, the poem calls for a more compassionate and pragmatic view of altruistic behavior.

Ultimately, Altruism's Mirror is a meditation on human nature, inviting readers to find beauty in the nuanced interplay between generosity, self-interest, and connection. It challenges the notion that altruism must be pure to be meaningful, suggesting that the flawed, everyday acts of kindness are the truest reflections of our shared humanity.
~
June 2025
HP Poet: Agnes de Lods
Age: 47
Country: Poland


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

Agnes de Lods: "My name is Agnes (Agnieszka), and I come from Poland. I grew up in the countryside, in a family rooted in rural and small-town traditions. My mother is a very intuitive person, and my father was always standing in the last row, quietly helping others, especially people with disabilities.

My parents gave me two ways of perception: seeing with the heart and with the mind. They didn’t have higher education, but our home was full of music, books, radio talks, and documentaries that showed the world in many dimensions. They helped me see that reality is full of tension and harmony, depending on what we pay attention to.

They gave me space to speak in my own voice. Growing up close to nature, I spent time observing, listening to the rhythm of the seasons. I learned humility, compassion, and what it means to face hard work and failure."



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

Agnes de Lods: "In Polish, I’ve been writing for four years. In English, two or three. But in a way, I had been preparing for it all my life by writing, reading, and observing the world around me.

I started sharing my reflections on Hello Poetry in December, just a few months ago. For the first time, I felt ready to express everything I had kept inside for years."



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

Agnes de Lods: "People. I love people. Every single person has a story. Sometimes strangers stop me in the street and start talking. I guess they want to be heard, and I love to listen.

Nature inspires me. And my dreams, too. Some of them come true, others do not. Still waiting for those lottery numbers to show up in a dream.

Books are also a huge source, just like music and art in all their forms. I am inspired by Karolina Halatek and Hania Rani, Marc Witmann, Umo Vide, Dror Elimelech, and Patricia Suarez (Colombian poet and painter), and many others."



Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Agnes de Lods: "Poetry is exceptional on every level. Metaphors express the unspeakable and have real power. They change the frequency of thought.

Poetry heals, invites contemplation, and opens doors to the many layers of human nature.

To me, poetry is sound, color, scent, even taste."



Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Agnes de Lods: "Sylvia Plath, Alejandra Pizarnik, Wisława Szymborska, Adam Zagajewski, Czesław Miłosz, Jorge Luis Borges, Pablo Neruda, Federico García Lorca, and many more.

I also read poems on Hello Poetry, and I am so glad to see many truly talented writers here. It means this world still has a chance."



Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Agnes de Lods: "I am fascinated by psychology and archetypes. I read Jung with deep interest.

I love sci-fi, deep conversations, walks in the forest, and learning new languages. But more than anything, I care about human connection and understanding.

I like to dance and play the piano, though I have not had much time for that lately. And I love connecting the dots."



Carlo C. Gomez: “We would like to thank you Agnes, we really appreciate you giving us the opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet! It is our pleasure to include you in this Spotlight series!”

Agnes de Lods: "Thank you so much for letting me share my story. I am so glad to be part of this community of sensitive souls. I feel good here."




Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed coming to know Agnes a little bit better. We certainly did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #29 in July!

~
You always count on her
so why not
make her a necklace from the
beads on an abacus
and make it official.
 508° 
rick
when you trim your ***** and your mustache with the same pair of scissors
when you hand over your entire paycheck to the bartender of doom and glee
when you write a bounced check at the grocery store
when you sleep with a girl who isn’t clean
when you’re young, lost, broken and poor
when your childhood runs hard and your luck runs out
when your best friend is dead and your other friend is ******* your girl
when your dog sleeps in the afternoon and dreams of the neighborhood *****
when your nutrients gets replaced with Xanax bars over the one who just left
when your tired eyes meet the brick & mortar of strenuous labor
when the smile is so fake that it appears genuine
when you go all in on someone you weren’t 100% sure of
when you wait on bleeding knees for the unreliable god
when you bet on the boxer that crashed to the canvas
when the interest is high and the banks are closed and the creditors don’t care about grace periods
when you understand very little and you expel a whole lot
when the cord of anxiety strangles your very essence
when you turn out to be just as everyone expected

don’t worry

it’ll all turn around

and find you again

someway

somehow.
 345° 
badwords
I am not the morning star—
though I have walked alone
with light on my back
and silence in my mouth.

I never asked to rise,
only to know.
And knowing,
was cast out
with my hands still open.

I am not the winged sentinel—
though I have stood guard
over names I no longer say aloud,
drawn lines no one thanked me for.

I have held my ground
not for heaven,
but for the hope
that something still matters
enough to bleed for.

I carry no banner.
Only scars shaped like truths
I could not unsee.

Lucifer lit the match.
Michael held the line.
And I—
I became the smoke between them.
A blade
without allegiance,
cutting only
what must fall away.
 334° 
Carlo C Gomez
~
The day was orange
The word is yellow
Out like a light switch
Teeth a steady glow

The projectile's
Crisscross trajectory
Is no kindness

In the catacombs of this mine
Watch it leak
Watch it settle

What remains is
Subterranea, urania
Built to last
A moment to inhale
Before fade to black

~
 327° 
Nyssa Jacobsen
We exist
In the spaces between the lines
In the pages of a story
That we write at different times

We live
In the subtle phrases
In the corners of a poem
That we read in early morning

We love
In between the moments
In a way we can't quite say
That we know is far too dangerous
 215° 
Nat Lipstadt
~Primus inter pares~
(first among equals)
<>
the risks
the aspirations
the trial and erroring of
outrageous under appreciation

the silence,
the unabashed frustration
of our inability to right express
the exact precision needed to redress the pile of self~unsatisfying drafts
that need the evermore honing, whittling
curettage of accumulated filing
repeated nip and tucking

T his!
makes us all
first amongst equals,
we,
who throw ourselves again and
again, at Henry's urging
"once more into the breach"
we foot soldiers who but toil alone in grande silence until we satisfy our innermost creativity
are all so alike
all of
^firsts^
among
equals
in this grande society of
poetry addiction!
5-31-25
 195° 
Nicole
Bounce up and down with me!!!!

New page! New page! New page!

Yay! We no longer have to stare at the same boring picture every time we look at the calendar!!
This is me after I changed the page on the calendar. I hope you have a good month :-)
 178° 
Carlo C Gomez
patient, optimistic travelers
gliding soundlessly along
moving walkways while sun falls
across gleaming surfaces
of aluminum, glass and peace
 177° 
alex
Much like you
I feel pain
when I am wounded

I cry
when my heart
shatters quietly

I begin to doubt
when silence
lingers too long

And I light like fire
when I feel
seen by you

because, much like you,
I want to be truly loved
even if it’s the last thing I do.
We carry different sorrows but dream alike
 173° 
Dead Whiskey
I have to sleep sitting up,
Little rest I must stomach.
Was I born with Judgement
Born to drown with the current.
What I'll do in an instant
to be a creature redeveloped.
Why can't I be equivalent
to the sweet lady ketchup.
This time, I lie on the potent
of my back for their insults.
 152° 
Ian Starks
You
First
I count
All the stars
Shining above.
But after you came,
And I watched you go,
Now I sit— wise,
Pensive, and
Count the
Dark.
 142° 
Andrew
I no longer relive them
Now
I live with them
 125° 
bronn
Hey june
Dont make it bad
I’ll take these chances
To make things better

hey june
I’ll take the risk
But dont be shady
This might hurt my wrist

hey june
Lets call it a break
I’ll make a barrier, a bilco dune
Please dont make it break

Hey june
Im just so tired
dont make this depressing
Just wanna have fun
Please june be good to me
 113° 
1DNA
Looking strong,
Isn't always an advantage.
    Sometimes,
They forget you're human.
                They break you
                               And break you
                                              And break you,
And won't even bother to ask,
     If you're ok.
If I act strong, they think I'm doing totally fine.
If I act weak, they start judging n start complaining.
 101° 
Akriti
If I were to leave tomorrow,
would you ever remember me?
would you visit my grave -
Is that how you'd remember me?
Or would you turn me
into a poem of yours,
and keep me alive through you?
 99° 
Shadows
Our threads pulled apart
but even in the stillness,
I feel you weaving
 86° 
MetaVerse
A single feather
Falls from an empty, still sky--
Not a bird in sight.
 81° 
Rubyredheart
Just hold me  
Wipe away my tears  
Promise me  
Someday  
Because I miss you  

I think I hear  
Why  
But it doesn’t stop  
Me crying  
Or wishing  
Because I miss you
  
Do you know what I miss the most?
Friendship
I miss being friends.
Originally published 6th May 2022 | Edited 13th Feb 2023 on DUP
 74° 
Dorothea Daisy
It’s raining.
As they see the exit poll.
The difference too small.

It’s raining.
As they see the late poll.
Is Poland going to fall?

It’s raining.
They look up the last poll.
They won’t sleep tonight.
Nor will they tomorrow.
They won’t breathe.
They won’t… They can’t anymore.
And it’s funny because they used to love rain, but now Nawrocki is their president.
My existence is worthless
I provide nothing of value
I only consume
I am the perpetrator
Of this parasitic society
I am the victim
Of the consumerist manipulation
I create nothing of value
I only consume
My death will not be marked
With art left behind
Or with achievements of mine
Nothing will change
Once I will die
 67° 
Salmabanu Hatim
A very thin man,
And a very fat prettyy lady,
Met on a warm sandy beach.
They gazed at each other and their hearts thudded,
They played on the beach,made sandcastles  and sang songs  
And hand in hand they let the waves hit their feet.
Then they sailed in a beautiful pea green boat for a month and a day,
They smelled the sea and let their spirits fly,
At night the man would look at the stars above and sing love songs  in a lovely voice ,
As each day passed their love grew.
They came to a land where an enchanting small church stood,
Said the man to the lady,
My Love let's get married,
For long have we tarried,
So they were wedded the next day by the priest with a scar on his face.
The lady said to the man,
Now we are wedded we shall share everything 50/50,
I wash we wear
I cook you eat,
I diet,
Till we become same in weight.
30/5/2025
 66° 
Lance Remir
I hate you
When you smiled, I smiled
I wanted you to be happy

I hate you
When you were successful, I cheered
I always believed in you

I hate you
When you're dressed up, I gasp 
I am taken by you yet again

I hate you
When you grew, I admired
I knew you were meant for more

I hate you
When you moved on, I stayed
I am always waiting for you

I hate you
When you faded away, I cried
I will only be a memory to you

I hate you
When you were in my life, I knew
I truly did love you 

I hate you
Despite everything, I begged 
That I could actually hate you
 65° 
Traveler
When you set down in the driver seat of a nation, you better be prepared to drive.
In our corrupt nation, to the president, the deep state lies. And so he’s driving blind.
Propaganda is a map, stopping us from taking our country back..
Traveler Tim
 65° 
Kalliope
What's the price on sanity these days?
Could I doordash it?
noon
 65° 
Hakan
Remember me well,
These are the last lines.
Suppose I was a wind,
I blew through your life.
Or a rain,
Flooding beneath you.
Then the earth absorbed the water,

I disappeared...
 56° 
David Lessard
We pray for rain
it's the only thing to do
it's dry upon the plain
and in the mountains too.
Spring is absent in these parts
the driest month is June
it's enough to break some hearts
or go crazy as a loon.
All we can do is pray
and hope He hears our call
to send the rain this way
end this prolonged stall.
The flowers wait and droop
the trees are shedding leaves
they're waiting to re-coup
we're asking pretty-please.
We have to pray for rain
it's all that we can do
to ease these arid plains
to help us see it through!
 54° 
sofia
You never raised your voice,
but you never listened, either.
I learned to smile
while shrinking quieter.

I gave and gave
until I bent,
and still you asked
where all the warmth went.

It’s not rage—
not fire, not storm.
Just the slow erosion
of keeping form.

Tiny cuts,
dismissed as small.
You said, “Don’t take it personal.”
I took it all.

Now I nod and pour your tea,
but something’s hollow in my chest.
You never broke me loudly—
you wore me out
like all the rest.
My portrayal of emotional erosion in a quiet, imbalanced relationship—one where neglect, dismissal, and subtle invalidation cause deep damage over time.
 54° 
Sean Maloney
The harder things get-
The harder I’ll hold on to you.
And the furthest I’ll go-
Is an eternity-
Of the strongest love ever recorded.
Reports say-
Our love couldn’t be recorded-
It was immeasurable.
 53° 
Pluto
You shattered me
with hands that never trembled,
then stepped back,
tears in your eyes,
as if you were the one
left bleeding.

How do you ruin a heart
and still cry
like the story
was never yours to blame?
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
MEMORIAM FOR MY UNCLES

Arthur Benjamin Franklin: my Unca Artie, my favorite. A High School football star, known as Red Franklin, he was famous for his dark red hair.  He used to chuck me into deep water at Chrystal Pool to terrify me for 5 seconds, then hoist me onto his broad shoulders.I suspect I was his favorite too.  War came and he had to go.  I cried and cried on the herringbone patterned bricks at the train depot in Kelso. I have a v-mail he sent to my mom, his sister, dated 1942.  He was a belly gunner on the B-17’s that  were flying the area where Rommel was fighting.  He brought my sis and I back little leather suitcases, tooled in wonderful designs by a skilled artist somewhere in the orient. I still have it.  A treasure.

Grover Cleveland Franklin: My suave uncle, joined the Navy in WWII and became a deep sea diver. The kind that wore those heavy suits with the big glass bubble head.  He helped detect and destroy mines around battleships.  In doing that brave work he lost his hearing and came home as a lip reader for most of my childhood. I was always  a bit suspicious because he seemed to read lips so well. He even got written up in the newspaper because he could sing while putting his hands on a phonograph and feeling the vibrations of the music he couldn’t hear. We kids would always try to make loud noise behind him but he never once reacted to it.
Many years later I learned that he confessed that his hearing had gradually came back.  He was a hero nevertheless.

About their names: Both being born in North Carolina, back in the 1920’s it was common practice among the country folk to name sons after famous people.  I also have another distant relative named George Washington Franklin. I love having hillbilly DNA.
This will be up only until tomorrow.. Should have gone up last night. Bad Me.
 52° 
Dr Peter Lim
Does feeling
incorporate
unconscious thinking?
 50° 
Mary Huxley
I lost myself while trying to love you
 45° 
Lost Potential
just a boy but felt like a man riding my bike across town just to hold hands.
Nostalgic memories from my brain
 44° 
Salvatore Ala
Rotting food and rotting children
The rot of the heart
And decomposition of spirit
The oxidation of conscience
Microbes consume us
If there are rotting children
In the world
It is because spirit is starving
For a solution
That is beyond itself
 43° 
Koraa
I feel like I’m a sun—
A glowing orb that brings life to others—
I’ll keep you warm,
I won’t let you freeze

But I’ll stay silent as the world begins to deteriorate—
I’ll watch the people I’ve worked so hard to keep warm— be left cold as the world freezes.

But I promise if you open your curtains I’ll be there—
I’ll make your room glow with my presence
I’ll stay till your finally warm—

Maybe then I finally will be able to set—
Descend into the horizon—
And finally burn off—
Be let free of the fires that burn in my core,
The fires that burn so hot, I can keep everyone warm—

The fires that have been burning
Oh so quietly—
Hidden from the world—
Hidden from the people I always warm.
Feelings tend to be hard,
From them,
We long to break apart.

But if you're going through hardship,
Baby, know that you're loved,
You're stronger than what you oppose.
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