medical cosmology

the weight of a world’s judgement in a pill
take it and betold the version they allow
mask lifter at carnival’s ball here’s yours . . .

read on

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

coma

long summers’ sleep
to wake for a harvest
gather what’s good
starts to clear rot

A. H / K. H-H (25th & 26th June 2020)

poem xxvii (2020)

and so mute swan your glide was lost
frantic in the wreckage of your nest
all nests blown anti-cyclone
storm seeded hurricane breath
flattened trees, rooves blown off
locked into a comic swim
swan tutu’d mute, another thing

A. H / K. H-H (22 & 24th June 2020)

update

thoughts on blogging and my last week of no posts after more than a month of a post per day.

lockdown i

recently the sky seems bluer
have we been stretching it too far
when its like this I look at it
and it seems more present to me
looking back with more depth
I recognise a friend I’d lost, or is it
only that the seasons are changing
or is the silence with birds
only more redolent for gazing

A. H / K. H-H (4th May 2020)

Spotlit poem . . . IV (’19)

coasted rolls turned rollercoasted
all those moles hammer broken
every day’s hall distortion
carni-valed incarnation
waltzered crowds press you on
every ride undodgemable
try them all find your fit
unique you think – become a myth
coasted rolls turn roller coasted
life’s freak show tracks
force these tricks
take your place, bearded lady,
clown
got the horror?
ghost train to another town

A. H / K. H-H (18 February 2019)

visions of insanity

i saw the whole
you saw a wound in the moon
but only when asked to think back
to a still still night
a chink nicked out of it
like a ticket by a passing railway guard
or the bite of some massive snaggle toothed rat

you feared a missile demonstration
others hypnotised could not see
though you couldn’t look again, not then
you were clear you hadn’t seen it
when you looked and on reflection
now wonder if you doubted it there
in response to the medics’ tone
of doubt to all you said
almost like they’d insisted you
question yourself into fear

but then you also wondered
if a time bomb had dropped
leaving you wild in a bubble of calm
the weather all to hell everywhere else

at night you feared Putin’s lightning missiles
were visible, bubble slowed,
from your viewpoint, by an airy treacle
honing in on a lighthouse you’d not noticed
wasn’t there by day
their tracks perfectly fitting
streetlights in perspective
how you tried to pray them backwards

but worst, you said later,
is that it didn’t matter to anyone
how the visions all came
with the medication

AKH (13/4/20)

pattern

a handful of likes
a follower
silence

AKH (10th April 2020)

be calmed

a trawler cut stillness
bisected mouth river calm
silent sleekness
shushed noise like snow
in a serene Selenic blanket

the non-witch watched moonlit
from a haven once devil craft wound
by a priest’s words so long ago
now trans, would witch-hood be suspected
by many, and many not

coming here like a bewitchment
fleeing The Holy Mountain for life
hooked by a moon driven east-easterly into,
to childhood eyes’ cream of the watch
only later a thought to dark vulnerabilities

the trawler cut stillness
under a stark moon’s revelation
and she sat, ignoring the call
to walk to the lighthouse (locked)
toward her father, whispers her heart

this not the first time
she has felt this wish
to come, sit, to go there
an expectation she’d round
it’s base and find him

echo twist perhaps
on childhood games
walking the pier, threeish,
he hip replaced
learning to walk again

always at heart
missed

none of this more
than what it is
it is

A. H / K. H-H (26th March 2020)

televisioned

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 for myself

mixed in a crowd on its narrative tracks
passing me by with their shows in their eyes
our dialogues only mine the seams
of what things meant to us already

K. H / A. H (20th March 2020)

observations

for many years
i was unable even to try
to write a cv
as this task made me so sad

i don’t think such feelings are uncommon

read on . . .

ii (2020)

humbled in soul break
pray, pray now
as i should anyway
first in thanks for life
any wordless poetry
granted there, anon.
moments’ blessings
living well
in harmony
an orchard to tend,
faithful,
apples come
when seasons bring them

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

read the whole post for some introduction

i (2020)

silent sounding
conversations of the eyes
move my heart
beyond words

a. h / k. h-h (5th March 2020)

haiku

types of poetry?
is that idea insanity?
does a net catch breath?

Spotlight on . . . Plight

Is it vulgar, to gambol, on both sides
of a sacred marriage? Not one thing or the other.
There is a smell of spring and a smell of winter,
the sound of a party and a wedding altercation.
 I’m unsure I’m invited to either.
 Small inside my puff pastry story
 I’m blowing on some ember – sometimes a flame,
sometimes cinders – dizzy oscillator.
Truth in both – true in neither.
A neuter case to curse the wedding night.
Unless, dance card spirited away, secreted
in some fold, I turn toward my song,
party of one, alone, seeking paradise.
A veil lifted, falls to outward celebration.


A. H / K. H-H (15th September 2018 & March 2019).

an eyelashed silhouette sits

an eyelashed silhouette sits
in a ward window
close comforter
not mirror
nor shadow

in a ward window
my eyelashed silhouette
sits showing
a gentle figure
awaiting colour

Poetics (again) – Again

I was going back through my last year of posts and got to this:

poetics (again)

I still agree, and may have been taking for granted, but it seems obvious, but important to add – maybe this is where ‘all the best words in the best order’ come back in, in that that is the best possible path to the revelation, if we listen to what we hear very very carefully, which may sometimes mean sitting with it and distilling very carefully, which can be a bit scary when faced with the enormity you want to catch and maybe only comes with a bit of digestion, recollected in tranquility. Maybe that and the immediate revelation are two different poetrys. Maybe this is how to move a bit between the two — and maybe some personal circumstances render that more doable now, for now. Knowing to its best.

A. H / K. H-H (7th February 2020)

Spotlight on . . . Rebecca

Rebecca
(after Alfred Hitchcock’s film)

Lost at sea

The Wars of the Narratives
bidding for control
with disinformation of the heart

Reality subtracted from reality
leaves what?

An empty tennis court?

And perhaps we tell our tales with bias
the good, the bad, the melodramatic

But how the heart has found its task
when truly made to work —
to love, to act in love

at the rock face, information’s motherlode,
free to be
constructive not constructed

A. H / K. H-H (30th October 2018)

my goodness, 200 poems and i manage to spotlight the same one i started with last november again (broken). I am not obsessed with it. Really. I think.

So, another. This one inspired by seeing Hitchcock’s film, chosen now as it’s about people living with the broken.

thinking about being an emerging poet in middle age

There was a famous observation I read somewhere (through a third person’s writing) that a poet is more like the captain in a painting of a ship than the actual captain of the ship. I’ve not found it in a quick google search, it may have been Emerson, I remember it as an American nineteenth century writer but can’t even remember where I read this now in recent years. But it may have been a painter or a philosopher as I think now that the comparison may have been to philosophers as sea captains, doing the bigger real task and the poet being in their small part in the painting.
. . .

stomach bug blues

stomach bug blues
i made it to the water’s edge
greeted by these hues
the pictures didn’t get it
the odd pane of crystal glass
totally smooth
perfectly clear
every so many waves
right to my feet

yesterday
even before I went there
it was like the sun was new

A. H / K. H-H (15th & 16th January 2020)

lightning strike sanities from the stratosphere

storm broken mission Prometheus
out of touch
alien alienated alien prey
world seller fallen to earth
strike lit conductor

“trans is a punishment” Pedro Almodovar
“how old are you now anyway” Jack White
“do not choose a coward’s explanation” Leonard Cohen
“I listen to Sarah Vaughan” Bob Dylan

struck such to tunes reliable
whilst science denies its poles have switched
horizons fallen weather broken

there is more
truth hurts
it cannot be

‘suck the air from its bubble’

‘re-spin the threads
from as high as we reach
into the roots of the sky’

A. H / K. H-H (13/14th January 2020)

Spotlight On . . . xii (’19)

as time slips i sip the hours
suntime nonsense flower
dreamer amidst woody bowers
weekend woman springing out
feeling her breathy path by breeze
toward sun stance
hip swung nonchalance
among happiness in bluebells

———

i, not quite, of the bluebells
increasingly away with the flowers
giddy, sing-song, gone wrong
gossamer rhyme blossom
coming alive

not so much singer as song
not so much goer as gone

cowslip, daff
meadow sweet
buttercup

flowering at last
a rose, as if

(A. H / K. H-H, 1st April 2019)

(with some debt to Alice Oswald’s ‘Poem’)

cold autumn morning

cold autumn morning
clearing true from dirty snow
late flake frozen thaw

K. H-H / A. H (28th November 2019)

dream healing

is there no escape
sucked into reason’s vortex
whirled by a prose world
i spit shadow stone tablets
until sense breathes tear-gasped formless
grace-fallen process
word-ditch ignorant gone

walking

cloud moulded rain dried peasant
ramblewide parishbound
leaflit gold as klimt
rich as a breeze on the meaning of seasons
pass pilgrim pass
to harmony

K. H-H / A. H (22nd November 2019)