~The H Word~ by Hazel Urquhart
"Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood" ~ T.S. Eliot
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~
How much more can we possibly take?
Before this life we have built will come
tumbling down. Our homes made with love,
gentle hands, how can they withstand
all that’s expected of us? Our collective
stress evident on every street, in the faces
of strangers and those that we love. The
crumbling has already begun. Dust clouds
around our feet as we trudge through the rubble
of collapsing society. Trying to pretend everything
is okay. When nothing is okay or ever will be again
any time soon, or so it feels. Yet, we hope.
For hope is all we have, that kindness and
compassion will win through in the end.
I hope for you now. For me, for all of us
existing day by day, week by week, wondering
How much worse can things possibly get?
Knowing only too well what the answer could be
and gripped by fear of what comes next.
~The H Word~
The gatekeepers are working overtime,
again. They’ve polished their swords
with blood, sweat and tears collected
from those they deem less than themselves.
They’ve upgraded the locks, see how
they capture the light. Let them stand
for attention, guard all they can.
No-one wants to gain entry
to a poisoned domain.
~The H Word~
Each morning arrives like clockwork
lightened with love the sky opens up
offers new hope like candy take a handful
stuff pockets with endless possibility
it’s no-one’s fault we tend to waste it
fail to embrace its blankness insist
on carrying forward yesterday’s garbage
such a waste of a new beginning
maybe tomorrow will be different
maybe tomorrow we’ll take that sweet
potential and decorate our day with fresh
perspective hope that others do the same
welcome this gift we are given each morning
regardless of whether or not we feel
we deserve it.
~The H Word~
I have been impatiently waiting to share poems from The Water Engine (2021), Ankh Spice’s debut collection published by Femme Salve Books, but I was struggling to pick only one or two and kept changing my mind about which ones to share. This is one of those collections that immediately takes up residency in your chest, it snuggles beside your heart and let’s you know it is always there for you whenever you might need it. And the poet is pretty darn special too. I first encountered Ankh’s poetry on Twitter and was, for want of a better phrase, blown away. His ability to capture a single moment alongside the entirety of the universe and everything in-between is outstanding. He gets to the heart of what it means to be human; how we treat one another, and this wondrous earth we call home. How our relationship with both can be flawed and joyous and more often than not breathtakingly beautiful. I highly recommend purchasing a copy of this collection for yourselves, you will not be disappointed, and you can purchase a copy via the publishers website by following this link – Femme Salve Books.
Ankh is a poet from Aotearoa New Zealand and is obsessed with the sea and believes our natural environment along with those old stories we don’t even know we know, mingle in magical ways to shape the human beings we become, and that sometimes we’re allowed to notice it happening. His poetry has been widely published with nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. He is also co-editor at IceFloe Press and a poetry contributing editor at Barren Magazine (Spice n.d.). Ankh is also one of the most genuine, humble and kindest people you will ever meet and whilst I have not even met him, or know him personally, I had the privilege of attending the launch of The Water Engine and it is one of those experiences that will stay with me forever. Alongside the other poets and writers in attendance, the love and respect and care for one another radiated from the screen despite us all being scattered around the globe. I am delighted to be able to share a couple of his poems tonight for those who have not come across his work before. I hope you enjoy!
Who told this calm day
it had any right
to reel delicate and radiant
when I am dissolving hard
Who said
that when a person falls
to pieces, there must be noise –
screaming, sharp edges
The only sounds here are distant:
the quiet, ordinary tide
and a long, soft keening –
the wounded ape in me
calling, calling
At centre you carry the weight / I don’t mean
a heart but yes chambers liquid
with iron / I don’t mean blood I mean
restless and betrayed only by being
magnetic / your core invisible
to something on the surface
otherwise / I mean a heart is a constant kind
of collision / I mean momentum
dizzies us / sure as a slow leak
in the moon. I mean we tide.
I mean our being off-
balance has flow-
on effects. I don’t mean
to be dense / I mean if your heart
was different this whole life thing
would collapse. I mean fragile.
I mean, it is.
Spice, A. (2021) ‘No (thing is) right’ & ‘I mean how do we balance it all’ from The Water Engine. Vermont: Femme Salve Books, 49 & 55
Spice, A. (n.d.) Ankh Spice – SeaGoatScreams Poetry: About [online]. Available from https://www.ankhspice-seagoatscreamspoetry.com/contact [22 April 2022]
I wish I’d listened when they told me
memories fade, even the good ones.
When young it seems impossible
you could ever forget things like
how my gran’s skin felt, feather-soft,
to touch seemed like nothing at all.
Nivea-scented, only beauty product
she’d ever use. Or, my papa’s shaving
brush on the bathroom shelf beside
the bottle of Old Spice. Playing
bingo with cards for two-pence pieces,
doing handstands in the living room,
Gran shouting, Sam! Watch your heart!
I wish I’d done more to protect them.
Precious moments. So much already
lost and soon, these too will be gone.
For days I’ve felt your presence lurking
just out of sight hidden in shadows
growing in strength as my mood darkens
tentacles of torment twitch aching
to touch a low hiss escapes cruel slit
of a mouth back arches skin stretches
shivering with need ready to pounce any
minute now my melancholy state
the nourishment you crave and for a moment
I’m not sure I’ve got what it takes lungs
freeze inflated space between us closes
nothing I can do to stop this until
you’re interrupted a hopeful sound somewhere
in the house seems to travel through time
to where we are now is it music or laughter
or both who can tell you flail on the floor
lips curl back in pain there is joy in this home
you cannot control like a slug bathed in salt
you fold in on yourself this will not be the night
your misery prevails the shadows devour
what remains of you now I go to the source
of that magical sound who has managed to save
my life once again without knowing how close
their mum came to the end.
~The H Word~
#NaPoWriMo
There are days, you know the ones,
when no matter how hard you try
the words just won’t come. All you
see is blank page, white empty space,
blinking curser awaits, untouched
keys yearn for fingertips until it seems
like the blankness expands–the room
where you sit starts to slowly disappear
and you will too, if you let it, if you don’t
find something to say. You’ll understand
if you’ve been there, if you’ve felt
how it feels to have one of those days
when the words just won’t come.
~The H Word~
#NaPoWriMo
If I could bottle this moment,
this belief in myself, more powerful
than any doubt I could ever feel
I would keep it there on the dressing
table beside perfumes and sparkling
jewels knowing its worth exceeds
anything I could ever own and on days
when doubt pins me in place, under
duvet, under grief, under darkness
so dense I fear I will never escape,
I would open that beautiful bottle,
inhale its strength and determination
remembering that no matter how hard
some days can feel, they are fleeting,
merely a moment and that the next one
could just be the best of them yet.
~The H Word~
#NaPoWriMo
~The H Word~ by Hazel Urquhart 