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About the Artist:

Hi everyone, welcome to Hyacinth Hale Poetry! I am a poet who focuses on freeform and narrative poetry. I encourage you to read my poetry aloud to your friends, your family, your lovers, and even yourself. Poetry is meant to be experienced through sight, sound, emotion, through yours and the author’s imagination. Please, browse through my collections of poetry at the top of the page, and scroll down the home page for feature poems. Feel free to discuss the poetry in the comment section. Thank you for coming on my journey and experiencing my poetry with me. Don’t forget to subscribe to the newsletter for the latest posts, poems and content below!

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The Hyacinth Fields

The wind billows through the hyacinth fields as the bees make their rounds pollinating each and every bud. I arch my back stretching and taking in the view as I sit under a tree, and I feel the wind wisp my hair. I am most alive here. I am most myself. Life flows from the gentle tendrils of the hyacinth as the fog clears and the sun breaks ever so gently through the clouds. The hyacinth mothers nature caressing the hummingbird as it drinks the morning dew.

I am amused by the sheer magnetism of the hyacinth; it attracts, it repels, it dances in the wind, a many colored dervish almost as if in prayerful and careful worship. The wind carries the sweet fragrance of the hyacinth, and it envelopes me. It reminds me of reading books in the shady hyacinth fields, reminds me that even the sweetest most sensuous of life’s bounties can also be poisonous.

When I live, let me live with a hyacinth tucked behind my ear bold and delicate with unabashed beauty. When I love, let me love with hyacinth kisses soft and supple kissed over and over again like the bursting of its blooms in spring. May I never forget that love when winter comes. And when I am laid to waste, let me hold a singular hyacinth in my hands. A reminder that I am not of this world. That my decaying corpse is not the end. Let me live in the hyacinth fields where the wind billows and the fragrance flows and the hyacinth are a plenty!

*1 This poem is inspired in part by T.S. Eliot's poem "The Wasteland" from The poetryfoundation.org, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47311/the-waste-land.
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  • As My Body Heals

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    My illness is the worst and best thing to ever happen to me. As my body heals, it allows my heart and soul to heal as well.
  • The Secrets We Keep

    The secrets we keep,
    Both juicy and sweet,
    The poison we hold inside,
    Not to infect the naïve and unassuming,
    Some for personal gain,
    Some for others protection,
    We all pay a price,
    Some of worth,
    And others for no reason
    Because the stakes are
    So low if only to keep some
    Small part of your life to yourself,
    Secrets, some were born into them,
     A family filled with skeletons in the closet,
     And webs of lies swaddling innocence,
    Others grow into their secrets as
    They grow ashamed of their true flawed self,
    Some are secret keepers, sin eaters,
    Sharing the burden and lightening the load,
    One thing we know for sure,
    There is a version of ourselves
    That not even our closest friends and family know,
    Sshhhhh! Careful the secrets you keep,
    And those you let loose,
    One wreaks havoc on your insides,
    The other effects those around us,
    And the perception they have of us,
     Though the older I get,
     The more important truth is,
    And the less I care what people think of me,
    Life is funny that way, 
    Still, I will take secrets to the grave,
    Leave my loved ones wondering,
    Spare them the pain I bore for them,
    A painful kindness,
    That I never understood
    In my elder loved ones,
    Until I got older,
    Until life weathered me,
    Until life carved me,
    And gutted me,
    And I had to protect
    Those who could not
    Protect themselves
    Including myself,
    Let my lips curl,
    And my jaw clench,
    And my heart heave,
    Let the knowing smile
    Make people wonder,
    I will take the bile,
    And churn a secret pearl,
    Collect them in a
    Roaring stomach ocean,
    Too many, and they will claw my insides,
    Too many, and some our bound to climb up,
    And spew out my mouth,
    Out of preservation, out of survival,
    Some words, some bile, some pearls,
    All secrets, all secrets I have kept
    And paid the price,
    Some I even swallow again
    The price too great not to keep it under wraps
    To the grave, to the grave, to the grave I say!
    ~ By Hyacinth Hale
  • Free Will

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    The more you pray to see the world as God does. The more you see the joy and pain of free will.
  • Your Touch

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    I crave your touch even when you are not around,
    Your strength, your security, your warmth at night,
    The teasing tandem of gentle roughness
    As you vacillate back and forth, pushing and pulling,
    Swaying my body to the primal rhythm of attraction,
    Feeling for anything plump and pleasing to hold onto,

    When you are away from me,
    I want to feel your finger pads
    Brush against my skin one more time,
    You give me goose pimples on my flesh,
    Each touch a delightful surprise,
    Each second you stare at me waiting is torturous anticipation
    Of the velvety softness that are your lips,
    Wondering what body part they will kiss next,

    I daydream of your touch in the silliest of places,
    At work, as I’m doing dishes, in the grocery line,
    Staring out a window, anywhere banal and lonely,
    But the thought of your touch excites me, unnerves me,
    Makes me flush pink, and curl my toes in my shoes,

    I think of how your fingers trace the outline of my face,
    And how they stimulate my nipples,
    And dig into my waist as you pull me in close,
    Thrusting your hips onto mine, thrusting deep inside me, slow and angled,
    Letting your fingers take a stroll in my secret garden
    As they twirl around with childlike enthusiasm,
    Letting the intensity build, until there is no choice, it is too intense,
    And you have to come to my rescue,

    I want to feel your naked body pressed against mine,
    Spooning me, caressing my curves with your muscles,
    I want to feel your belly rise, and your belly fall,
    To know you are near, to be so intertwined,
    To not know where you start and I begin,
    To feel something else of yours rise, and for my mouth to fall open,
    First, in surprise and then, to move into position,
    To show you just how special your touch is to me,

    I am lost in your touch, and I am found in your touch,
    You will never know what a reassuring squeeze means to me,
    To be held in your arms, to nuzzle into your neck,
    To know that you will hold me together
    When everything else falls apart,
    I only hope my touch does the same

    ~ By Hyacinth Hale
  • Blade of Grass (New Graphic Art Version)

  • Pink Slip (New Graphic Art Version)

  • Unrequited Love (New Graphic Art Version)

  • Moses (New Graphic Art Version)

  • ET Phone Home (New Graphic Art Version)

  • Modern Day Philosopher (New Graphic Art Version)

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