Friday’s Commute

The passing glare of headlights

Is interrupted, through the side

Window flames lick the horizon

Like dragon’s breath has set alight

That perfect point where land meets sky

And it is beauty, breath-taking,

Enough to make you want to stop

And pay attention. A new day is dawning.

You should celebrate, do something

Significant, mark the moment,

But you have work to go to, so you drive

On, reluctant, take one last glance

In the rear-view mirror as the sky

Explodes in crimson colour, hues

Which seem to scream murder

As you round another corner

And flee the scene.

~The H Word~

Christmas Eve

This night, I lay worry down,
slip out of stress, let it pool
behind. The hush of sleep
from little ones, gentle breaths,
pillowed heads dream of magic,
spells weave weblike until spun
hope, silk-thin, compels belief
from all of us.

~The H Word~

Fear Not My Darling

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~

‘Waldeinsamkeit’ & ‘Jungle’ by Liam Porter

My second post this evening is two poems by Liam Porter from his pamphlet Waldeinsamkeit (2021) published by Nine Pens. You can purchase a copy of Liam’s pamphlet here. Taking its title from the German word which loosely translates as ‘the feeling of being alone in the woods’ these are poems rooted in nature and place. Liam is a writer, poet, and digital marketer who hopes his writing will provide an essence of calm and reflection in what is a very hectic world (Nine Pens n.d.). I hope you all enjoy the two poems I’ve chosen to share tonight:


translation: the feeling of being alone in the woods

There is no map to this forest yet you stand at its edge,
whisper your way past nettle-bush, hemlock, silver birch,
into a silence thick & loud, a pressure that builds like leaf-bed.

There are dens here: skeletal & rotten, all ash & cut-root,
cicatrix upon the skin of beech & oak

& yet this does not warn you off, rather, welcomes you in,
for there must have been heat here, the dancing of wildfire.

Read these clues & continue. Hear whispers slip
through the canopy, single strings of sunrise hinting
that this shadowed woodland could soon turn to glade

where for once the dark won’t draw in & the clarity of light
won’t be too much or too soon

where at your feet, the beaten path opens up into foxglove,
honeysuckle, bluebell.


think Leeds Fest                                           monday morning

think of tents ripped & shelled
of poles protruding like steel from bombed buildings
of black smoke & the embers of forgotten fires
of blackened nails & unwashed hair
of bodies covered in sweat & grime & rain

think Leeds Fest                                           monday morning

remove the pick-up points filled with cars
the queues of parents waiting to rescue weary teens
the heat on full & McDonald’s meals at the ready

think Leeds Fest                                            sunday evening

replace the flares of headline set
with flares that call for help
arms thrown up to basslines
with those thrown up in prayer

think Leeds Fest                                         monday morning

replace sunlit valley with ocean storm
with pair of gloves passed round every half hour
with screams when the boat hits a wave

it was never built to manage
with t-shirts soaked through, a body overboard,
your mother’s jeans stained red at the crotch

replace the exit to the car park
with a barbed wire fence
manned by riot shields & helmets
placed there to keep you in
but most importantly
keep you out

think Leeds Fest                                     monday morning

think of it for a year
think about how you never thought
your journey would finish here
yet you haven’t moved
& neither has the mud
& neither has the world


Nine Pens (n.d.) Liam Porter: Waldeinsamkeit [online]. Available from!/products/waldeinsamkeit—liam-porter [13 April 2022]

Porter, L. (2021) Waldeinsamkeit. North Pennines: Nine Pens, 10 & 24-25


No-one tells you how it is.
How it truly is. This
motherhood business.
It’s all sleepless nights,
terrible twos, teenage angst
and empty nest, they warn
you of. No-one mentions
the guilt. The constant
worry. The searching
of faces for signs they
are happy, or not. I do
this last one, a lot.
They think I’m annoying.
Sigh in frustration
at my maternal questioning
‘Is everything alright?’
But I cant help myself.
Petrified I’ll miss
something important,
some crestfallen moment,
some revealing expression.
How could I forgive myself?
No-one warned me of this.
So, now I warn you.

~The H Word~

Lack of Notice

I’m not sure when I lost you.
There was no defining moment,
no grand departure, just absence
apparent after you were gone.
No goodbye, no get out of my life
but you got out, regardless
and I don’t know what’s more sad,
you being gone or neither of us
noticing until now.

~The H Word~

Moonshine before bedtime…

You cast a shadow at the window.
I should be alarmed, it’s after
midnight, but I know it’s you;
round-faced, beaming,
taking a break from your
revolution just for me.
I peel back the curtain,
slow, seductive, I know
you like it. The room
steals your light, greedy,
but you don’t mind.
You give it up, generous
as always. It dances over
me like a breath blown
to tease the skin alive.
I surrender to the night,
you pull tides around
us in a tender embrace
drowning out the world.
We inhale silence,
exhale constellations
and then you’re gone
back where you belong
out of reach.

~The H Word~


Confidence, so exuberant
several hours before
sits stunned on the other side
of the room. What happened?
it wonders, rocking gently
back and forth. I wish
I had the answers to make
it feel at ease but I’m just
as confused and bewildered.
Perhaps a hug, a soothing
word might help convince
or reassure this is no-one’s
fault. It happens, too often,
there isn’t much that can
be done. One minute
there’s happiness, belief
in oneself and then it’s gone.
I sidle over, put my arm around
this most fragile of emotions
and whisper, it will be okay.
Tomorrow, is another day.

~The H Word~

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