Category: HM
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Bedtime Story
There’s nothing like my bed. When the pillows are arranged and I dive under the duvet, ready for an evening of writing and reading, it’s bliss. One of those moments when it’s impossible to deny that life is wonderful. To think that it’s a habit to go to bed. Every evening ends with a quiet…
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Prima Donnas
Moaning like cats and crying like babes High-strung coloraturas and heart-wrenching bel canto, Taut necks and folded wings, The singers hold forth in the high street of fish town Gulping out sounds that stop the traffic on a weekday like all others. Inscrutable yellow eyes muster the audience While muscles support challenging lovelorn chants The…
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Untitled Aquarell
© HMH, 1976
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New Reviews from My Writing Desk
CW Hawes, A Festival of Deaths A Piano Playing PI Liked the setup. A female PI and her assistant (and brother), living in a thirty-room mansion. She’s ex-CIA and has connections with the local police. They do most of their work at home, contracting out the field work to other PI agencies. Her brother is…
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The Sea, The Sea
Pewter waves roll mercilessly Seagulls sing their mournful songs And disappear. Salt sprays glint in the pale glare. The sun is cold and The horizon curves, Keeping the secrets Of impenetrable depths. Clouds amass, Hiding the sun In their wet embrace. A lightning bolt flashes. The water springs up to meet it Halfway The wind…
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Blossoming trees
© HMH, 2014
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A New badge of Reviews
CW Hawes, A Festival of Deaths A Piano Playing PI Liked the setup. A female PI and her assistant (and brother), living in a thirty-room mansion. She’s ex-CIA and has connections with the local police. They do most of their work at home, contracting out the field work to other PI agencies. Her brother is…
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Fire
Red and silver evoked images of fire, Alarming the heart. Bloodshot and shiny, it cut a pathway through flesh and stone. Lachrymose, in shock, passers-by stopped in the streets. Glowing scaffolding couldn’t support the spire. Humans fought the inferno To save what could be saved And still the flames endured. Lead dripped into the wounds…
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Misquote — Parrot & Pussycat
This is one of my first attempts with acrylics. One can only say that it’s colourful. The reason I left out the kitten is that it seems too flat to my eyes. It isn’t in my belongings nowadays so there’s no way to improve the work. . . © HMH, 2000
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Barking Abbey
Cloistered walks rose towards the sky The cool refectory mirrored Muted voices As nuns bowed to The abbess. Only ruins are left Of walls welcoming William, victorious From Hastings… Grey shapes remain. Sharing their secrets with Those who listen: The Curfew Tower And St Margret Still hold out and guard those, Dead to the world…