a lockdown brexit yule

book read and exercised
all the means at my disposal
cannot out-turn the turning year
the coming to a close
in darkness
hoping

A. H (14th December 2020)

still, life

leaden december leaf loss lit
a heavy sunday afternoon
stuck in a hope of it

dawn risen to a coloured week
truth unwanted
but for the smile of it

A.H (14th December 2020)

Lost Highway

still don’t know the depth of it
their narrative shift
identity switch
all’s buttoned down
who knows the half of it
would have to be their half-wit

A.H (14th December 2020)

despite the season’s darkness

today the sea is blue
the sky’s gates lie open onto heaven
Angels are amongst us
riding horses in the waves
dancing with every grain of sand

A. H (15th December 2020)

to boot

he brogued my ballet slipper reverie
how my tongue lolled
hot hot hot
that mocassin fall summer . . .

history repeating

in childhood i was often quiet
they told me i was patient – good
as gold, teacher’s pet, the prof, swat
honestly i didn’t know my standards
like Ginger Rogers equipped for going back
i had to take the lead, Miss without her heels
but is it even this, . . .

comparative history

my patient temple crashed to the ground
around the time we swam at Areopolis
and further south then flew back
bloodhound sick to Athens . . .

orienteer

come, pass with me
toward true direction
pick up my pace
understand my measure

A.H (6th October 2020)

xxviii (’20)

she’s arrived bent at this snapshot of her golden hour
her flame still whispering to the loves she flowers
captured for a moment as only what she represents
not the meanings she carries gold in heart
another grandmother from the fringes
. . .

Poem included ‘We are the Change-Makers’ anthology

Another of my poems has been published. It’s called ‘They Think’. It’s published in We are the Change-Makers: Poems Supporting Drop the Disorder edited by Jo Watson in PCCS books, an anthology.
. . . read on here . . .

Poems Published in Poetry Express

Survivors’ Poetry’s newsletter Poetry Express has published three more of my poems in the latest issue (#61). The poems have been published here previously and are:

(read on here)

lost love song

i hadn’t really reached you yet
i wasn’t up to you
even though i’d passed myself
to burn a summit sun
distant from myself you see
distant from the world
i didn’t have the faith you know
to share with you my poem
to say the gentle words of love
to still the thunder of our blood
to let us be our own

A. H (2nd August 2020)

grey summer day

there are days the sky just weeps
north by north west prevailing
Manchester, lakes, Portland, Seattle

clouds weep their bodies out to nothing
to be reborn on the word of the sun
tickled into a new shape of pain

to rain a world’s tears and water hope
zero sum non zero sum give and take
vapour of vapours alembic distilled

whisper on the breath of a sun aethereal
they know the golden light unsustainable
and fall towards the garden of their shadows

around the grain of imperfection

A. H / K. H-H (27th July 2020)

terms

they’re not bothered with
instead just insist you dance
to their call of the tune

A. H / K. H-H (27th July 2020)

rose

thorn bush needle tree bare
air spiked striker at the year
dying back head deaded pruned
your sap gathers toward growth
a summation of all your points
all it’s left to you to be
delicate, silk petal fragrant flesh
concentrate of beauty’s hope
the natural conclusion
to your briar scratch upon the world

A. H / K. H-H (20th July 2020)

try two of my other poems about roses –

albertine

and more recently:

some tide has moved the season of a heart

Spotlight on . . . Pause

Pause

her doors all shored, swan sanctuary sought,
simultaneously shut out
she’s been beating them down to let herself back
in to herself

all because
– all? –
stranger guards
denied her temple’s sanctity

distraught a vision pauses her
all too human task

of so many temple intruders past
wild ones in need of a Holy of Holies
doors broken down broken in
to stand, sit, kneel, lie with it, in it,
on it, by it, at it, from it, of it, to have it

how deep even in unknowing
the temple lay, in every way,
all around anyway

so she stops
to behold —
held in it

doors open

A. H/ K.H-H (19th September 2019)

growing

what is this dry season
fed, watered
hesitant

A. H / K. H-H (14th July 2020)

i don’t usually say anything about poems, sometimes think they explain themselves, and i guess they don’t always. the dry season here has been a very long one, unsure where to go, maybe it is a trans thing in a cis world, or that is a part of it — it also may relate back to a poem like observations – a bit of a poet thing, or a holistic view thing, in a world that offers compartments, or even a world that i picture as offering them and a need to fit to them, or else little idea of how to make a world in which i have made my own infinitely flexible one

i’ve been attending the wonderful webinars with poet David Whyte in April May and now July that look at this journey we’re on in ourselves this year — relevant to me now through lockdown and yet broader, like this, in my life – i keep setting out on roads already made, a source of so much trouble – and we all need maybe to be flexible between fitting in and our own vision . . . maybe it could be an exciting time, but sometimes of a morning with a meds hangover it just seems barren, where do i start, no matter where i got to yesterday . . .

maybe its my own craziness too . . . and maybe is a lot more material than this short poem gets at . . .

it’s like one view – another may be verdant in fact – close my eyes and try and open them on that – but part of this view comes from how i measure where i am — i think of that writer’s tip when writing do not write all of what you have on your mind, leave the writing for the day and the next day it’s easier to pick up at that point, you already have more to say . . . maybe its the meds, maybe i’ve often done it, started as though at the very beginning again, or counted it as such as the end is not reached . . . but should just keep playing, i’m not nowhere just because no one else sees where i am . . . i know this , i forget it, writing this discovers it again . . . and of course in the world of jobs and product or direction it can suddenly seem like this again, be it maybe that world of jobs is particularly regimented it seems to say what has value has to be certain ways . . . or maybe that is just how some have made it . . . or maybe this is in a time of change

spotlight on . . . stream song (v. ii)

a weeping heart sinks toward water
in low levelling finds her kin
a stream she dreams sat by singing
rill harmonies of tears gush seaward
from all her dripping siblings, trampled

A. H / K.H-H (17th April & 29th June 2019)

This version is a slight rewrite that I published just over a year ago — maybe a trans poem, but it goes far beyond that, a human poem. I enjoy writing these short, as it turns out kind of square in shape poems that I’ve tried to make coherent in imagery – there are a few I’ve written now. I was glad to read I think Auden thought writing such small verses was a good training, he related them to a Welsh form.

There are quite a number of my spotlit poems now, you can find them listed here:

https://ablindcatchinthesun.com/?s=spot

for another

my heart is locked
by such a combination
until you dial it true

A. H / K. H-H (6th July 2020)

girlhood, politics

getting her hair done
highlighted liberation
another prison

A. H / K. H-H (6th July 2020)

spotlight on . . . xxv (’19)

something startling, to stay in one place
gentle gift, found seated on a grassy mound
half hour’s dying day, late spring
or early summer blurs, cloud drift cool
you start to feel that strange healing
present to yourself, hawthorn blossom full . . .