Cellular Malfunction (with audio)

My grey matter is like chewing gum
that’s lost its flavour. Useless.
I want to pluck it out and stick it
to the underside of my desk
in defiance. Not that I ever
did that, you understand,
that’s disgusting behaviour
(don’t think badly of me,
I do enough of that). This brain
that is no brain is driving me
crazy. It won’t work like it’s
supposed to. It won’t think
like I need it to. Maybe that’s
the problem. I’m expecting
too much from this tired brain
of mine. I’ve never been an over-achiever,
a Brainiac, a high-flyer, what right
do I have expecting it to perform
for me now? Performance.
That’s what this is. I’m playing
a part that was never mine
to have. A fraudster. That’s
what I am. Pretending to be
something I’m not. Just give up.
Oh, so now you have something
to say? Pipe down brain.
Not today.

~The H Word~


It’s not what you say, it’s the way that you say it… (with audio)

I’m like cracked vinyl, apparently
broken repetition at high volume
yet never heard, allegedly
or so I’m told, so they say.

I’d love nothing more than to be a continuous symphony played digitally, never skipping, never repeating, only ever bringing enjoyment and satisfaction to all who listen

but nobody listens,
my needle-scratched surface
catches on everyone’s last nerve
including my own.

I’m considering a vow
of silence: no instruction,
no reminder, no words
of encouragement

just endless, soundless,
mindless, silence like one
of those tracks you get
at the end of albums

I’ll wait until they reach
peak comfort before blasting
them with my final swan song,
Who left the dirty clothes in the bathroom!?!

~The H Word~


Depression Interrupted

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~


Writer’s Lament

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~


Bottling It All Up

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~


Confessions of a Late Sleeper

I rarely see dawn,
her rosy blush bringing
warmth to my corner
of the world.

My days start late,
too late for some
but just right for me.
Yet, I do miss dawn.

I miss the quickening
of the sky, the change
of shade from black
to inky-blue and those

mornings when she sets
the horizon on fire,
spreading flame through
atmosphere, my world

appears to burn bright
with hope and light.
I should make more
of an effort to see her.

It’s not intentional,
I hope she knows that.

Perhaps one day, soon
I’ll make a special change,
rise while the sky still says
night and wait for her

to call day into being,
let myself be showered
in her dawning. It is the
least I can do. After all,

she shows up every day
even for those who do not.

~The H Word~


To prompt or not to prompt – That is the question?

If you’re taking part in NaPoWriMo but find it challenging to come up with fresh ideas each day for your poetry creations, napowrimo.net provide daily prompts that you can use, or not, depending on your preference.

In the few years I have been taking part I’ve never used them, but over the past day or so I’ve seen some fabulous and varied creations shared online by people who do. So, who knows, this year maybe I’ll give some of them a try.

Why not check out their site and see if any of the suggested prompts inspire you in any way? Today’s prompt is to write a poem in the form of a poetry prompt!

Whether you prefer to mine the depths of your own creative well, or find inspiration in a prompt or picture, there is no wrong way to have fun and create poetry.

Happy writing everyone!

~The H Word~


NaPoWriMo.net (2022) Day Four [online]. Available from https://www.napowrimo.net/day-four-10/ [4 April 2022]

‘Grief’ by Raymond Carver

Another favourite writer and poet of mine is Raymond Carver. He manages to convey so much by saying so little. I hope you enjoy and I highly recommend his collection All of Us: The Collected Poems where you can lose yourself for hours at a time.


Woke up early this morning and from my bed
looked far across the Strait to see
a small boat moving through the choppy water,
a single running light on. Remembered
my friend who used to shout
his dead wife’s name from hilltops
around Perugia. Who set a plate
for her at his simple table long after
she was gone. And opened the windows
so she could have fresh air. Such display
I found embarrassing. So did his other
friends. I couldn’t see it.
Not until this morning.

(From All of Us: The Collected Poems (2003) published by the Harvill Press (Penguin Random House)

Dead End

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~


Things I Have Never Seen

I have never seen, first-hand,
a murmuration in flight;
those oscillating patterns
shape-shifting overhead.

I’ve seen footage from
onlookers but it’s never
the same as I imagine
standing, slack-jawed,

neck bent backwards
staring at denim-blue
backdrop while those
feathered-gods turn

inside-out, understanding
more than we could
ever, turning atmosphere
to free-flowing liquid,

sky into sea, what
a sight it must be
to see a murmuration
in flight, overhead.

~The H Word~


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