medded

the wave thinks of becoming itself in the swell
but looks at the moon, big as a pill, forgets

a piano pupil sits at the keys, statuesque
instants pass to settle, just moments ago, fluent

everything seems settled,
smother of self into a pillow of chemicals

AKH (10th April 2020) & edit 11/4/20

observations ii(a)

one day i folded myself into a form – trimmed my edges, or everything they didn’t want – flavoured myself to an unreal specification

then posted this and found they wanted more

which is how i was trapped year after year – commuting myself into a box – trimmed and partial of all they might abhor – unboundaried thinking and being, the poet, oh and the trans bit as well, vital fuel for this engine

of course medicine made all this worse

i knew i was doing it too, had too, and the balance tipped, harder and harder to remedy it

in part it was clear as i was – and so got totally lost, not least as it hid how so many others were doing the same, a bit, some remedying it better, finding others

all my best bits, a whole problematic, thrived elsewhere, i knew, why i fed them, though lean and hungry at home – i even bored everyone, speaking of a person they just could not see, and they might have thought it my bad faith

here’s funny – they noticed and laughed, petted my head, some poked me to see what would happen and could not understand how my mad partiality protected a heart breathing true, almost alone, with its books and a pen, unwanted, folded and crying it knew

A. H / K. H-H (15th January 2020)

a medicine dance

one way to provoke a superficial mad mimesis
– tell a person their deepest sense is nonsense
that despite degree and school they must be taught
how to think

send them on this unpleasant cruise
medicine blurring self, a smudge,
advise against spiritual succour
what priests misunderstand
watch them, lost, burst to return

so frantic, violent to their own
insides to break back out,
forget

in rare light glimpses
all past practise,
their very sense, of dance

A. H/ K. H-H (3rd January 2020)

Cairn, 2019: Paper

It is not first words.
Nor any we have spoken.
But that we may, hoping . . .

* * *

I am lost in this world,
in all the worlds within
in all the words spoken
the storm they ride,
their wind.

But at any moment
may forget the whirl,
remember silent arbour,
rooted anchorage,
quite still.

Whether in clearing
on wood path
or forest full grown.

Waking to tree sense,
breeze through my leaves,
xylem flowing
transpiration free.

I hear the birds singing,
a tune to the day.
Their songs my book of hours,
months, years, nights, days.

Sound waves at sea
on the sonic sound-all.
I sway to their themes,
in the wind of my fall,
silent and knowing
there is no need for more.

Until I come to, share this,
trail golden leaves
for a few breaths spoken,
before they’re scattered,
guttered, senseless, blown.

* * *

For what am I hoping
with these, my tokens . . . 

A. H / K. H-H (17th October 2016)

Goal Drought

just a reflection
of your lack of confidence
in me

respectful of responsibility
instead of following gut
listening to your threat of failure

the Gray advice
to always shoot across
orthodox, no matter how hard, true

at eager stoppers
knowers of that tune
hitting myself until cross

estranged from self
a hard line effectiveness reborn
not quite my best

but more than you expected
having accidentally realised
all we never meant

and this despite the odd corker
and truth
‘I was glad you never squared that one to me’

A. H / K. H-H (30th March 2019)

After

hooked on the affirmation, qpproval
needing what was never needed
is it really the praise the glow the status
or is it not a desperation to rekindle
flaming vision, chaos coherent

A. H/ K. H-H (21 January 2019)

how can i ever write a poem again

drowning in the polyglottal polyphony cacophony of symphonies multi faceted media representations demanding their attention relax this is just the way of it there’s just way more of it turn off the tv / radio / blue lit screen move the hair ever so little tilt your balance back to your own channel/s A. H…

end of the line

you’ve done your best yet
still the poison bite lingers
end of the line

(c) A. H / K. H-H (21/5/18)