— the narratives of life
with which the dead can’t live
A. H (10th July 2021)
— the narratives of life
with which the dead can’t live
A. H (10th July 2021)
a change of life changing life
step into the blue
the range of life opens closed
little would-be woman
Lil Eyes lies lilied
low lied bloom of a li-lo
Lil Eyes lies closed eyed
not in denial of light
somehow photosynthesised
A.H (29th May 2021)
a shower of polluted rationalities
become a steady rain
then flood
washing away those not upon high ground
the honoured heights
from which they call it down
A. H (10th May 2021)
Last month started as an experiment in reposting some of my poems daily, not just one a week spotlighted. I enjoyed it, great fun. There are plenty more. I have made a few private but still about 280 originals back through the blog. But I’ve tired of it a bit. I may post them occasionally…
sometimes i feel i’ve the depth of a screen
and the best it gets is a script with depth
or an actor who’s learnt what background means
something i wonder if i’ve done myself
. . .
is all reading love
all writing too – search for it –
now my heart’s alight
A. H (7th May 2020 & 29th April 2021)
what is poetry?
a playful word game of the soul
sparkling spirit’s hum
A. H (19th April 2021)
my honeybee path
this hive entranced waggle-dance
bee friends may follow
A. H (27th April 2020 & v2 18th April 2021)
Originally posted on a blind catch in the sun:
all this time stealing poetry from myselfbecause because debt’s interest makes senseall those fields’ haydreams ever unrolledbutterfly butterfly meadowsweet blownall those souls loved-so love could not bewallflower wallflower now you may breathe A. H / K. H-H (17th November 2019)
readers read and their eyes write
write writers back
tributaries to the rivers
of their own dreams
AKH (31st March 2020 & 1st April 2021
asked to forgive what you didn’t understand
no one does no one gets it
the black land of grief . . .
it all seems so false
as if to insist it’s real
narrative refreshed
A. H (20th March 2021)
a double tap triple tragedy on repeat
dance peasant dance to the bullets at your feet
el diablo plays the world of men
laughing from the clouds the day you face him
dreams ridden true for your contempt
he’s mixed-up sex, power, gender, sin
now fetch his feast, my pleasant wench
A. H (1st February 2021)
the book of me is found
inside a bookless room
within a bookless house
reading breath by breath
what can and can’t be said
pupil to the iris silence
enscribing every moment
recorder of presence
that special collection
hardly ever read
upon which all rests
but never can be leant
A. H (late August 2020 & 25th February 2021)
the smell of baking bread in a loved one’s farmhouse kitchen
welcome – rich – holding promise
perhaps a rusk as when we’re small
it sounds a silent gong like the sun at dawn
watches patient – speaks in light
it will always be
waiting to be found
A. H (20th February 2021)
poem about a search
a short review and new year’s wishes
a short appreciation of the wonderful film
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)
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)
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)
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)
he brogued my ballet slipper reverie
how my tongue lolled
hot hot hot
that mocassin fall summer . . .
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, . . .
my patient temple crashed to the ground
around the time we swam at Areopolis
and further south then flew back
bloodhound sick to Athens . . .
come, pass with me
toward true direction
pick up my pace
understand my measure
A.H (6th October 2020)
experimental doodle / sketch
haiku about being stuck unnecessarily
don’t forget faces are flowers . . .
(a poem and a few words of introduction)
Welcome to my writing life.
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The study of history, life, & art on screen & in visual arts.
a resource for moving poetry
Shakespeare's sonnet reimagined.
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challenging the system to its core
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the zine for unpublished poets.
the everlasting gospel
Just breathe...And trust that you are right where you need to be.
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