~The H Word~ by Hazel Urquhart
"Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood" ~ T.S. Eliot
This sunrise will not be the last.
See its dragon-breath set afire
the horizon and morning sky.
Pull back the curtains. Don’t leave
this room in endless shade, lacking air.
Swallow the coffee. Feel its slow burn
bring you back to life. Don’t let this
be the last thing you remember.
Feel the dog’s satin-soft ear
against your cheek, his gentle
breath of sleep reminding you
to inhale inhale inhale
for one more day.
~The H Word~
We wait together, you and I
as night falls, light dies, extinguished
day’s death never grieves us
illuminated in moon’s torchlight
we navigate night’s crippling darkness
find shelter in its blank canvas
and feast on fear, you and I
swallow bitter disappointment until
satisfied enough to try again.
~The H Word~
It looked like a road
to nowhere. Even
the warped paving
appeared to have given
up resembling anything
worth walking on.
There were no neat
white lines, no bright
streetlights. Only darkness,
foreboding, twisted vines
creeping over collapsed walls
and rusted railings.
It was not a place designed
for moving on, yet turning
back felt impossible. Finding
yourself there seemed
inevitable. It was the road
you had to take.
~The H Word~
#NaPoWriMo
Springtime sunshine warms my skin
garden explodes with green potential
laughter hitches a ride on the gentle breeze
rumbles of traffic groan in the distance
otherwise, it is silent. A perfect time to think
of all the things I should be doing
if I only had the energy. Instead, I sit,
sensing the day slip away
closer and closer to that final exhale.
~The H Word~
#NaPoWriMo2021 #DayThree
Our streetlights used to be orange
as was the case in most places
but a few years ago they changed
to stark white and now cast an eerie
glow on the road and pavements.
The council must have had their reasons,
one would hope, but I miss the warmth
of the old ones. Now, when I look outside
the street has a sinister feel that wasn’t there
before. Highlighted even more by the lack
of people. Lockdown has cut down
the flow of neighbours
and dog walkers
to a minimum.
Now our ghostly street is a shadow
of its former self and I wonder
if other streets are the same
if other people feel the same
or is it just me?
~The H Word~
Like a prima pirouetting,
tip-toed en-point perfection,
each step revealing devastation
caused by her damned hand.
Feather-footed she performs
dancing deep in crimson pools
hate-spilled blood reflecting piles
of corpses scattered, far and wide.
Devil’s muse, she most desires
chaos raining down on earth
declaring time on numbered days
announcing they are gone.
Eyes like twins from Hades seed
cast around before she leaves
a trail of red, a signature
to show that she was here.
One last breath of hell-fire heat
and finally, she disappears.
Destruction is her calling card
and death her parting gift.
In the dead of night
when most are sleeping
her deadly harmonies
drift on evil winds.
Haunting melodies urge
wickedness forward
to claim the souls
of any left stranded.
They appear, demented,
by her satanic tune
sin crazed creatures
controlled by music.
Their bodies contort
in misshapen movement
jacked-up on hunger
desperate to feed.
If you find yourself
caught in the dark
keep your head low,
breath held tight
wait for dawn to come
when they crawl below
to the cursed depths
of hell they call home
until the moon returns
and she sings once more
then they’ll rise again
seeking souls to devour.
~The H Word~
#NaPoWriMo2020 Day24
#NaPoWriMo2020 #Day19
~The H Word~ by Hazel Urquhart 