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Only One Is True

Posted on 31 July 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by Darwin Laganzon illustrating poem titled Only One Is True by H. Hennenburg
Image by Darwin Laganzon

Only One Is True

I cannot single-handedly dismantle this illusion we have built together
None of us can
We try to make it on our own
But of course
None of us is ever truly alone
Every time I lift my hand
It is your hand I’m lifting
Every time I see my god
It is your face I’m seeing
Every time I raise my voice
It is your name on the tip of my tongue
So why am I so fused with this notion of separation?
So confused by how the I AM
And the WE ARE
So seldom agree with one another
When only one is true
But until I embrace the me in you
We are stranded

© H. Hennenburg, 16 April 2019

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Mercy

Posted on 3 July 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by Tim Foster illustrating poem titled Mercy by H. Hennenburg
Image by Tim Foster

Mercy

Mercy
You have arrested my tongue to ply it with honey
To coat my throat with sweet balm
You have named this day
The ever after
And I am after
Ever increasing bouts of you

Mercy
You are my secret sorceress conjuring relief
Release from the warrior’s way
I will not fight for love
Love would never have it
Love is in our habits of grace
Not in the way we face our demons

Mercy
You have stayed my sword
And my shield of armour undone
Tonight
I am a babe upon the altar for you
For love will not falter
And hope will abide

© H. Hennenburg, 14 July 2019

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Dear Dr. Angelou

Posted on 31 May 202021 June 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by Vince Fleming illustrating poem titled Dear Dr. Angelou by H. Hennenburg
Image by Vince Fleming

It is a frustrating irony that my heart finds nothing worth writing about other than the painful, bloody fight for equality (still) raging in the US; and at the same time, my heart is too filled with anger, grief and tension to find words to write.

Here is one attempt. Just a few words that could not find completion written in the days following the release of the video of Ahmaud Arbery’s murder. I was born and raised in Georgia, and I think this is a sort of proclamation that we do not have to become what our social environment and our history might dictate.

Dear Dr. Angelou

Somehow
a global pandemic
and the war against “other”
have become bedfellows
And the place of my birth
is synonymous with murder…again…

And yet, I love

15 May 2020

For too long, it has been the challenge of people of colour to rise in spite of a system rigged against them. White people, please, we must learn to love humanity more than we love privilege.

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The Shape of Water

Posted on 14 May 202017 May 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by Christina Winter illustrating poem titled The Shape of Water by H. Hennenburg
Image by Christina Winter

Life brings challenges beyond our control, and these challenges can sometimes be great burdens. But when we use our voices and express our truth, we can turn those burdens into new light and fresh growth for ourselves and for the world. I wrote this poem for a friend 22 years ago. I thought I would give it some new light today.

The Shape of Water

All this weather
In a woman’s voice, it is matter of fact
Prophetic and profound
Because it is commonplace
That itchy little annoyance that turns up the dis-ease
That makes you or breaks you

All this weather
That never quite settles a person in one place or another
Just continual change
Until there is no particular sensation drawing the mark
Between rain and shine
No particular sensation
Bleeding into the flood waters – the runoff from the world
And blending so that one can no longer claim: “those tears are mine!”
…Even if one wants to

Defiance…submission…victory…weather
Do you know that the shape of water is round?
Like earth, like sun, like moon
Like life and death
Like submission and victory
There is no beginning or end – only weather

But do you know
That a woman’s voice will change the world slowly?
Light will creep in where she unburdens her heart
And leave the yellow-pink glow of sunset
Looming over the yield of years and years of weather:
Little green sensations.

© H. Hennenburg, 1 February 1998

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Where Shall We Ramble

Posted on 12 April 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by David Mark illustrating poem titled Where Shall We Ramble by H. Hennenburg
Image by David Mark

Where Shall We Ramble?

River, where do you ramble?
In deep woods we meet
Inside a secret
That floats softly
From my tongue
Into your current

When I was a child
I plunged to your depths
And mingled with the watery spirits there
I rolled frantically like a pinwheel
Seeking purchase
Until invisible hands
Planted my feet in your muddied bed

I rose like a crooked cannon
Doubled over and ready to launch the remains of my burning breath
In violent exchange for a greedy gasp of the remains of my days
Which have led me here
Banking on your shoulder
Coming up short for time
Leaning in for invisible hands
And finding none

Here, I am the sacred one
I am become my own saviour
So pray you, River
Where shall we ramble?

© H. Hennenburg, 18 August 2019

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Love Ingrained

Posted on 21 March 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by Tom Hauk illustrating poem by H. Hennenburg
Image by Tom Hauk

Love Ingrained

Under what weather
Do we seed our assurances
That love is ingrained?
A crop sown with forthright intention
And raised up of its own accord
To feed the masses
As if by rote

Under what weather
Do we seek shelter
In a sworn harvest
Bent on life
And suffused with the joy of being?
A graceless teeming
Of love ingrained

© H. Hennenburg, 9 March 2019

To R & H who love fiercely. ❤️

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Insides Out

Posted on 21 February 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by Marc Szeglat illustrating poem titled Insides Out by H. Hennenburg
Image by Marc Szeglat

Consciousness seeks to nurture a deeper truth of being while the world wrestles confusion, tedium and opposing extremes.

Insides Out

From a precipice of reversals
I envisage realities stained by a confusion of tedium
I know only this: I am extant
Belly exposed – gnawed open by hunger for the interior
For a collusion of continuum that sees insides out
I am stable in my rudimentary way, but I reach…
I reach for the magma of understanding
Singeing my extremities
Vapourizing foundations
Reducing me to sediment
My core extracted
Gravitational lore exacted
On light of becoming

© H. Hennenburg, 11 January 2020

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Power

Posted on 31 January 202020 February 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by Annie Spratt illustrating poem titled Power by H. Hennenburg
Cropped image by Annie Spratt

For me, this poem explores the relationship between language and the balance of power…how we use words to limit and oppress and the potential for something different. How much do we over-rely on words (even in our private thoughts) to the exclusion of a direct sensory experience of our world? If we rely more on our senses to process the world around us, might we begin to see something new? Can we begin to imagine a way of being human that does not encompass a sense of entitlement to power or a deficiency of power for anyone?

Power

When the wind
Takes the power
Of these words
And sweeps them away
Then, power will have elevated

Losing the burden of control –
Of naming
Of characterizing
Of categorizing –
Then, power will be ubiquitous

And unowned
And un-owed

© H. Hennenburg, 20 June 2019

One thing I love about poetry is that any given poem has a different meaning for every reader. After I first published this poem, comments from readers reflected quite varied interpretations, none of which were similar to what the poem means to me as the writer. That is as it should be. In this case, however, I felt compelled to share the above process note about my own interpretation of “Power”.

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Accord

Posted on 21 January 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by Joel Filipe illustrating poem titled Accord by H. Hennenburg
Image by Joel Filipe

Accord

I find the centre path
My eyes smouldering with exhaustion
I tell you I am here of my own accord
Then pluck my eyes out and retire
I am no more bound to the maelstrom
No more a rat in the labyrinth proving my worth
I have scattered my pennies
For their rat-tat-tat
On the glistening white floors
And danced to their rhythm
Until my soles bled
My red fortune spattered and spilt
I hand you the hilt
And plunge myself thus to eternity
If I pierce the fabric
We have staged a coup
And I am bound with you
Into the margins

© H. Hennenburg, 19 January 2020

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Rendered

Posted on 18 January 2020 by H. Hennenburg
Image by John Moeses Bauan illustrating poem titled Rendered by H. Hennenburg
Image by John Moeses Bauan

When we open ourselves to the truth and power of nature and light, we are resolved to the same truth and power within ourselves.

Rendered

A sylvan dream requites our arrival
Permeating gold ablution washes over giants
Reaching us in strands
Vestiges of brilliance painting our skin
We are but miscreants and maladies
An opus dissonant and wistful
Resolved and replete by respiring light
We are sublimating, reintegrating
Syncopated selves dissipating fleet
Into amorphic jubilance rendered

© H. Hennenburg, 20 December 2019

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E-Books by H. Hennenburg

E-Books By H. Hennenburg

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Riders of the Tempest: The Story of WE
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About H. Hennenburg

Poet and author, H. Hennenburg

Hi, I’m H. Thanks for stopping by my site. I created Hennenburg.com to be a home for truth, joy & wonder as I experience and explore them in my writing. I have a sense of these three phenomena as both producing and encapsulating many themes that have recurred in my writing for as long as I can remember. Themes such as: [read more]

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Riders of the Tempest: The Story of WE
by H. Hennenburg

Riders of the Storm by H. Hennenburg ebook cover art
Cover painting by Autumn Chiu @ArtChiu

There is no “I”. There is no “you.” There is only WE. “Reality is in the possibilities,” and Riders of the Tempest is a quest for the heart of what can be.

This collection of poems by H. Hennenburg tells the story of WE. Born from Supernova, we bear the imprint of the universe: the mandate to expand. Gripped by a deep yearning, we march into a tempest…a great storm…a war between our desire to expand as individuals and our desire to expand into the truth of our oneness. We believe we are mere “echoes to the sea and gathering storm,” but there is more to the universe than what we see. We are “more than the caged experience of sight.” Endowed with an infinite stream of choices, what happens in our story if we reach for more?

Download for free at: iBooks, Kobo & most Amazon stores

If you don’t use a tablet or e-reader and would like a copy, please contact me for the PDF version.