When I was fifteen I went to speak to her. The teachers at school were concerned that I was depressed, concerned by the intensity of my poetry. This in turn concerned my mother and so I found myself on a bright red leather couch facing a woman with matching hair (I imagined that sitting on that couch she would appear headless) – asking me how I feel.

She did not have to prod too much, I was completely in touch with my emotions, carefully taking her to the places I was stuck, the ones I kept as a recurring theme in my poetry. Loss. Death. Feeling out of place. I even quoted some lines from Leo Buscaglia. I had been studying his work religiously, highlighting passages, reciting my favourite lines. I found comfort in that, a sense of peace. I could tell that she was taken aback with me leading the conversation. She furiously wrote on her notepad, every now and then taking a sip of coffee. When I had finished my monologue, she began telling me that problems were like hamburgers and if we do not deal with them, have coping mechanisms, we will eat too many and become sick. Next she spoke about chemical imbalances in the brain and how there is a delicate balance to maintain. I lost interest in the conversation and instead found my senses lost in the artwork behind her desk, a beautiful portrait of a girl and boy standing in the waves at sunset. My mind formulated words to capture the scene, my soul lyrically recited lines.

“How was it,” my mom asked. “Fine,” I mumbled and sank down in the seat. That night I wrote a poem about Hamburgers. It won a poetry contest and the school awarded me with a prize for excellence in arts.

I never wrote about hamburgers again.

Copyright Hiraeth 2015


Day 10

I don’t know how
to write today,
with little feeling,
nothing to say.
Words not growing in intent,
I am empty, poured out,
and my soul, quiet
and at peace.
Ten days of writing,
absolute, pure

Copyright Hiraeth 2015
PAD Challenge 2015 Day 10:
For today’s prompt, take the phrase “How (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles include: “How to Write a Poem,” “How Mechanical Pencils Work,” and “Howling at the Moon After Midnight in the Middle of a Thunderstorm.”

I painted it white

I reach now to the past
To the simplicity of what
Once was
The safety of the known
No surprises
A picket fence home
I forget the spaces, voids
Left unfulfilled
I pick the memories scrapbook
Them to reflect then
Is better than now
The heart is deceitful in its
It serves itself, partial lies
Obscuring obvious truth.
Bruce Springsteen did not
Save us, nor our love of dogs
I instead dreamt of beaches
And sunsets
And innocence long lost.
Here then is the truth,
A picture of grey:
black and white blended
In a collage of what once was
And is stored in my heart
In white
(to the detriment of my soul)

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth

The mundane

I’m scared of settling into a rut;
The every day;
The no longer really seeing each
Instead through each other:
The mundane,
The I know you are here
And mine when I need you,
Is an easy temptation
A comfortable place
But one I know can very
Quickly become a place
Of permanent stay
And one day
It might be far from now
(or nearer than we think )
We will look at each other
And wonder how we became
How we let us go.
How sad that would be;
But sadder still:
Only one of
Us is noticing it.

Little by little

Little by little
You tear down
What I thought
Love is
What growth is,
What is
Sacred ground
And little by little
I question if my notion
Of love exists or is
A figment of a fairytale
Long told, out sold
Perhaps if I convince
Little by little
You will see love
As I do,
Or not and
That will break me
Little by little
Little by little.
Just a little.

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth

And so I cried

And so I cried
Because some things
Are worth changing
And some not
Because friends die
And true friends are so few,
Because people divorce
And hang themselves
While we take care of
Our children next door
Because we leave one
Life believing in another
Only to find it does not
And so I cried
Because here is my choice
And it is made
Because people lose themselves
And find themselves
And wake up realising
They lost so so much
And so I cried because
Bruce Springsteen wasn’t enough
And I wanted it to be
And so I cried because
I was born to run

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth

I am Yours

You should know
You have captured my heart
Every cell, every chamber
Every ventricle:
Filled with you.
(I believe again in love,
It’s promise, it’s hope
It’s childlike innocence)
Here then is my heart,
Scarred but intact
With your name etched
Forever in the memory
Fabric of my soul
I love you now
And forevermore
Until this heart
No longer beats:

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth

The One

I know not what to do
This insepid fear
Hopelessness clinging
Onto me
I could surrender and let
It devour what is left,
A slow process love lost
Arrogance the theft
Here then I stand
Before you
Naked to your soul
Are you the one I thought
You are
Dreamed you are
(please be that for me
a safe place from this storm
If not – resentment will flourish
A beautiful love left in scorn)

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth


If I witness you
In the spaces of what is here
Silently treading fear
Silently drawing near
If I forgive you
In the crevices of what is past
Silently treading fear
Silently drawing near
If I remind you
In the moments of what is now
Silently treading fear
Silently drawing near
If I love you
In the seconds of what is time
And stands still here:
Silently treading fear
Forever drawing near.

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth