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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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  • A Bullet in the Hourglass (New Graphic Art Version)

    This Poem talks about depression, and suicidal thoughts and ideation. It comes with a trigger warning. If you or a loved one are struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts know that you are not alone, you are loved, and you are stronger than you think. Better days are ahead. Here are some resources from around the world:

    https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/suicide/suicide-prevention-hotlines-resources-worldwide

  • An Open Door (New Graphic Art Version)

  • Moses

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    Moses,
    
    The babe born into slavery, hidden at his mother’s breast until his cries could be muffled no longer, took a journey in the Nile that claimed so many Hebrew baby boy lives before it gently delivered him into the hands of pharaoh’s daughter to be adopted as a prince of Egypt, and back into the hands of his birth mother as a wet nurse.
    
    I wonder, did your adopted mother and your biological mother know that you were her precious child? How did your mother know that Pharaoh’s daughter would save you from the river rather than drown you herself? The Nile was blood soaked long before the 10 plagues started, but you survived, and you were raised by looking out and over your people being whipped and beaten and used as hard labor to build wondrous structures that we still marvel over today.
    
    Tell me, did you know you were Hebrew? Did you always know? Growing up in a palace full of riches, was there a pit in your stomach as you thought of your biological mother slaving away for your adopted grandfather? That you were supposed to die in that river; and even if you survived, your back was supposed to be whipped until the weight of tyranny broke it, and your spine was supposed to be crumbled and mixed into the brick. Is that why the pyramids still endure today? They were made from the slaves’ backs. Is that what ran through your head when you killed the Egyptian man beating the Hebrew slave?
    
    Tell me, were you so successful leading your people in the desert because you first wandered in the desert yourself? What was it like? Your lost years in the desert? With your wife and your father-in-law as you quietly tried to find yourself! It seemed God found you first. Was it hard learning to do for yourself what you so easily commanded others to do for you in the palace? Were the sheep better company than the courtiers in the palace?
    
    Tell me, what possesses a man to run toward a burning bush? When God spoke to you with fire and told you to free your people, what made you think you could negotiate your way out of going to Egypt? Did you find relief when God said that He would be with you? Do you know how rare that is to have verbal confirmation of God’s presence in your life? His support? Some days I would kill for that. Other days, I think I hear his voice in my head, but it competes with the devil’s, and I am ashamed to say that I don’t always know which one to listen to.
    
    When you asked who sent you, had you lost faith? Did you not know who you were talking to? I Am sent you the Great I Am! The one and only supreme over everything holy and unholy tasked you with a mission to save your people that you always knew of but never really knew.
    
    Tell me, did you regret fighting with God about your speaking abilities? God was championing you! He believed you could do it, and He gave that part to Aaron! I wonder how many times that I have done the same thing. What would your life had been like? What would my life have been like? The paths not taken because we were too scared to take the opportunity God gave us, and God gave us the choice of cowardice, but He believed in you so much to support you in every way possible to lead your people out of slavery. What does God believe in me to do?
    
    Tell me, what was it like to choose God’s will over your family? To forsake everything that you knew for God? Everything you loved?  Were you prepared for pharaoh’s brutality? To stand up for a people you did not know against the family that raised you, even though you ran as far away from both families all because God said so? Little did you know that you were river delivered into the hands of the enemy, raised in their palace, learned their customs, their speech, earned their trust, their love, their affection just so you could get a seat at the negotiation table.
    
    You were worried about your stutter and your sputter, and Aaron your biological brother had to step in and speak for you, but it did not matter because Pharaoh’s heart was hard, not by his own will, though I’m sure he had plenty of reasons, but because God made it so.
    
    For too long, God had seen his people enslaved, listened to his people cry, watched as they suffered, and He could stand it no longer! It was time for justice, time for might. You were worried about speaking; God did not intend for words to move pharaoh’s heart. God devised in his infinite might and wisdom…plagues. God made pharaoh’s heart hard to show his power through your hand with ten plagues. Each more gruesome and miraculous then the last to assert authority and exact justice. 
    
    Tell me, with each plague that hit the Egyptians did you beg Pharaoh to let your people go not just for the Hebrews to be free, but to show mercy to the land and people that adopted you? Did you beg at all or were you resolute and confident as leaders should be when you stood toe to toe with pharaoh, shifting wooden staffs to snakes that eat shifty magicians’ snakes for breakfast?
    
    By the time hail fell even though pharaoh’s heart was hard, the Egyptians started to listen to you. They heeded your warnings; they saw what their drunk with power ruler could not see that Pharaoh was merely a man on the throne, not god or demi-god or god incarnate. Pharaoh had no authority over the Hebrew God, and his hard heart was going to be the death of them.
    
    The tension had to be brewing as each plague grew in intensity. Terror befell Egypt. Pandemonium ran ramped in the streets as well as the Hebrew slave camps. Pharaoh cavalierly toyed back and forth with how many slaves he could keep, but you persisted, God persisted, culminating in the tenth and final plague; the death of the firstborn sons, a blood debt owed, and blood debt received, blood freed your people.
    
    Tell me, what was the moment like when Pharaoh said you and your people are free after his son, and all the firstborn sons were ripped away from them? Joy? Relief? Bitterness? Deep sorrow? How do you turn around, and lead your people after that? Thousands now depended on you to lead them.
    
    The parting of the Red Sea must have been such a pivotal moment for you,
     Pharaoh at your back, chomping at the bit to destroy you, and to recapture the Hebrews, to be able to be a conduit for God’s power, His might all day and all night, hands prostrated upwards, staff out, how did you find the strength?
    
    Physically it was demanding. Your muscles must have been trembling, and your lungs must have been burning. When did the aha moment come, where you decided you could lead your people? That you could be God’s prophet, his spokesperson on Earth?
    
    The power, the might, the energy that it took from you, the faith in God that grew inside you to perform that miracle is a miracle in itself from where you started stuttering and sputtering, pleading with god to send someone else to hold the waters at bay so that your people could cross safely, I am not sure that I have found that confident Godly leader in myself, so how did you come so far?
    
    You are free, your people are free and you have nothing but the clothes on your backs, and the few provisions you could carry, and you are wandering in the desert, it’s hot, it’s desolate, and all of a sudden everyone is coming to you, needing your help, your advice, complaining.
    
    God is leading with clouds and by pillars of fire, and letting manna from heaven and quail rain down, and the moment you retreat to be with yourself and commune with the Lord, they turn their backs, and worship a golden calf! Of course, you are angry, of course, you are bitter, you got betrayed by a people that you risked everything for. How do you forgive them? How did you plead for God to have mercy on them? How did you continue to lead them?
    
    What was it like to view God’s glory? To not even see God’s face, and your body still radiate His holy luminance? What was it like to chisel out the Ten Commandments? Was it extra hard to chisel thou shall not murder? Did you feel convicted with every rock pounding letter you made? And, you had to do it twice because your anger got the best of you! 
    
    In the end, your anger was your downfall, you could have spoken to the rock, and let the water flow like God wanted, but you got frustrated and struck it instead, and after years of wandering in the desert, you got to the edge of the promised land and weren’t allowed to go in, how did you accept that punishment? Were you sad? Bitter? Did you think it fitting?
    
    What was death like? I know that sounds so macabre, but you had such an interesting death. What was it like to be shown the promised land, the land of milk and honey, everything that you worked so hard for, your legacy on Earth, and be buried by the LORD in an unmarked grave? Did the Angel of Death greet you like an old friend? Were you ready to die? Were you relieved, a long life, a job well done, despite all your shortcomings and sin? It feels impossible to be satisfied with this life. When you transitioned into your own version of the promised land in Heaven, is it everything we were promised? Is it more?
    
    I have questions! I fear they will never be answered. I study and dissect your life looking for clues, looking for anything to bring significance to my insignificance, just hoping that your hallowed iridescence will rub off on me, that I too may learn the Lord through your eyes, and do His will.
    
    *This poem is inspired by the books of Exodus and Deuteronomy in the NIV version of the Bible
    
  • Blade of Grass

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    Sat down on the ground,
    Crisscross applesauce,
    Put my hands in the dirt,
    Trying to make sense of life without you,
    No nuggets of wisdom gleaned,
    Came up with a blade of grass as fragile,
    And precious as your life was,
    It blew away just like you did,
    
    I laid flat on my back,
    Searched the clouds for your face,
    To see if you were peaking
    Through the floor of Heaven,
    But I couldn’t find you,
    The clouds were shapeless
    Without you pointing to a specific cloud
    To provide meaning,
    
    I am looking for the meaning
    Without you in my life,
    But how can you quantify the loss of someone
     Who kisses me at sunrise, and kisses me at sunset
     Because the sun made me look more radiant 
    In those golden hours, 
    But your golden hours were every hour, 
    Every moment I spent with you in between, 
    Even when we were in an argument, 
    And there were some times that I hated you, 
    But I always always loved you!
    
    You were plucked from this earth too soon,
    Your golden radiance extinguished,
    But your love will last in my heart, 
    And those you loved as long as we shall live,
    Until we meet again my beloved blade of grass!
    
    By Hyacinth Hale
    
  • Unrequited Love

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    The most depressing thing is to look at someone who loves you dearly, and realize you could never love them the same way back.
  • Modern Day Philosopher

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    I wish I could just sit around and ponder the great mysteries of life. Unfortunately, that does not pay very much.
    
    ~ By Hyacinth Hale
  • A Bullet in The Hourglass

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    Mental Illness and depression are difficult topics to discuss. Poetry has always been a safe space to explore deep emotions and thoughts. I understand these topic can be triggering for some, so this poem does come with a trigger warning because I do talk about suicidal thoughts and ideations. It is my hope that if you continue to read the poem and you or a loved one struggle with depression that you know you are not alone, you are loved, and it does get better. The most important thing is to seek help. Here are some resources from around the world:

    https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/suicide/suicide-prevention-hotlines-resources-worldwide

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    A bullet pierced the hourglass,
    It melted the sand into tears of molten lava
    And slowly hardened,
    entrapping the ruptured metal inside an explosion,
    perfectly contained,
    as if time stood still before hell broke loose,
    
    I eye the metal jacket,
    smoke still coming from the gun in hand,
    hoping for sand to bleed out,
    for something in my life to go to plan,
    Instead, I tap the edges of the hourglass,
    fused by the heat of the bullet with the gun,
    I took my finger off the trigger,
    and touched it in disbelief,
    it was hard as a rock with the bullet encased
    in a singular glassy tear inside,
    
    I took a deep breath, and raised my arm,
    cocked the revolver back,
    one eye on the glass, one in the chamber,
    point blank range, no screw ups this time,
    this one’s going to stick,
    I inhale and then exhale,
    one last breath before… the gun jams,
    
    I go to unclog the revolver,
    and the bullets dissolve into sand,
    defeated, tormented, comically divinely mocked,
    I fall to my knees and raise my hands to the heavens,
    and yell, “God what do you want from me?”
    
    The heavens break open,
    and the sun shines a singular ray down on me,
    The wind rustles and my heart heaves,
    I hear a still quiet voice, almost a whisper,
    which vanished as quickly as the morning vapor,
    it told me to live to tell the tale,
    so I own a bullet that pierced my hourglass figure,
    it still lives wedged in my chest
    
    There was no rhyme or reason just a hair trigger,
    well actually there were a million reasons,
    some justified, some that would make your toes curl,
    all tragic, all if I told you, would garner your sympathy,
    make you shake your head, and say what a shame,
    but I’m not ashamed because
    I chose to live that day until the sands run out naturally,
    I don’t need your sympathy,
    I only need to live to tell the tale
    
    ~ By Hyacinth Hale
    	
    
    
  • Unfounded Fears

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    The moment you start to believe your unfounded fears is when you start to lose all control.
    
    ~ By Hyacinth Hale
  • An Open Door

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    An open door is almost impossible not to look in to. The question is whether you should walk through it?
    
    ~ By Hyacinth Hale
  • Medical Adventure

    “We are going on an adventure” I try to tell myself.
    An adventure no one wanted,
    An adventure filled with loud strange sounds,
    Loneliness, and painful procedures,
    Medications that relieve one symptom,
    Only to have a thousand other side effects,
    But you will take it for the one symptom that ails you,
    The one symptom that kills you,
    The one symptom that drags you into the Emergency Room
    In the middle of the night,
    
    Veteran chronically ill patients, they know the drill,
    They make calculated decisions based on the day of the week,
    Time of day, condition needed to be treated, previous medical rapport,
    They pack sweaters, change of clothes (always loose fitting), chargers, a book, snacks, 
    In fact, if it’s a non-emergency “emergency”, 
    They eat before they go
    Because the ER does not provide food,
    And many of us have waited twelve plus hours before,
    Stomachs gurgling, tired, weary, sick, wishing we were anywhere else,
    They pack a hospital bag like a mountaineer pack their backpack
    Because to many of them, the hospital is Everest,
    Many go in not all come out,
    
    There are battle wounds and scars,
    Stories to be told,
    Some stories too gruesome to tell in polite company,
    When the body oozes pus and blood,
    No one wants to hear it over the dinner table,
    Not with lumpy mash potatoes and sloppy gravy,
    Not with knives carving into roast beef like a scalpel in flesh,
    To remind them of what some bodies endure,
    And others are fortunate to escape,
    
    It is hard to explain what it is like to be hooked up to an IV,
    Writhing in pain, bed ridden, wishing you were on an adventure,
    Somewhere exotic like the jungles of the Amazon,
    Or the Sand dunes of Egypt exploring the pyramids,
    Or stargazing on top of a volcano in Iceland,
    
    These mental escapisms are sometimes the only thing
    That get me through my own medical journey,
    I can be anywhere, do anything, be anyone,
    I am invincible, and it gives me hope to fight a little harder,
    Because somewhere in make believe
    Where the medical adventure
    And the pretend adventure cross paths,
    I find truth and inner strength to fight,
    To keep pushing my body a little further,
    To keep going on the adventure, 
    
    I take a deep breath in,
    And I take a deep breath out,
    As the syringe sinks in my skin
    “We are going on an adventure…”
    	
    
    ~ By Hyacinth Hale
    

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