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Tag Archives: love

At Home in Their Own Skin

Before the world can tell them
what they ought to be,
let our children find a welcome
in the way we choose to see.

Let them wear their laughter loudly,
let them cry without disguise,
never searching for permission
to be lovely in our eyes.

For a careless word at breakfast
can outlive the morning rain,
and the names we give their bodies
may become their private pain.

Let us notice when they falter,
when they tug upon a sleeve,
when they ask, “Do I look funny?”
and need love they can believe.

Let us listen past the question,
put the busy day aside,
make a place beside the washing
where no part of them must hide.

And when our own days break us,
when our patience comes apart,
let us find the words, “I’m sorry,”
without asking for their heart

to carry all our burdens,
or explain our hurt away.
They deserve to see us learning
how to love them every day.

They will know we are not perfect.
They will hear it when we shout.
Let them also hear us knocking,
coming back to work things out.

May they see the care in action:
how we listen, how we stay,
how we change the things that hurt them,
even when change takes all day.

Then perhaps, when they are older,
with uncertain hearts of their own,
they will face a bathroom mirror
and feel less afraid, less alone.

They will see a face worth knowing,
touch the skin that holds them in,
and remember being cherished
before they knew where to begin.

JH

 
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Posted by on October 28, 2026 in Uncategorized

 

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Greed

Some people want the whole damn pie,
Then steal your fork and ask you why.
They’ve filled their pockets, filled their plates,
And bought the locks upon our gates.


They con you with a charming grin,
Then tell you that you’ve got to fit in.
They twist the truth, they move the goal,
Then sell you back your own poor soul.


They want control of what you say,
What you believe, and how you pray.
They’d bottle freedom, brand the air,
Then charge you extra for a share.


They’ll preach of kindness, peace and light,
Then rob you blind before the night.
They’ll shake your hand, then pick your pocket,
And call it business, put it in the budget.


Oh, what a clever bunch we’ve grown,
With hearts of ice and egos overblown.
They count their money, worship gold,
And wonder why the world’s grown cold.


They build their empires on our backs,
Then blame the poor for what they lack.
They hoard the land, the food, the sea,
Then sell us dreams of being free.


Well, here’s a thought, you greedy lot,
The planet isn’t yours to squat
Upon like some entitled king,
Who thinks the world owes him everything.


You cannot eat your piles of cash,
Or hug your gold when forests crash.
You cannot buy a world reborn,
When every field lies stripped and worn.


We don’t need more who cheat and rule,
Or polished sharks who play the fool.
We don’t need bullies dressed in ties,
Or con artists selling paradise.


We need more people who give a damn,
Who help their neighbour, share the jam.
Who speak the truth, who stand up tall,
Who know there’s room enough for all.


Less taking, more giving, less ego, more grace,
Less winning at someone else’s expense in this race.
Less “Look what I’ve got!” and more “What can I do?”
Less “Me against them,” and more “Me and you.”


For no one gets out with a mansion in tow,
No golden parachute wherever we go.
We’re all just visitors, passing on through,
So perhaps we should leave something decent to do.


Let’s plant a few trees, let compassion take root,
Stop worshipping money as life’s sacred fruit.
Let’s teach our children that kindness is clever,
And being a decent human matters forever.


Because the world’s not short of wealth or power,
It’s short of a conscience in the darkest hour.
And if we want a planet worth passing along,
We need fewer people convinced they can’t be wrong.


So here’s to the kind ones, the brave and the true,
The ones who make space for somebody new.
The ones who choose love when hatred seems cheaper,
Who lift others up instead of climbing steeper.


The future won’t shine because someone got richer,
Or because some con artist became a bit slicker.
It starts when we choose to be better, together,
And stop treating our planet like disposable weather.


So, greedy little kings, here’s a thought for your throne,
You might own a fortune, but you don’t own this home.
This Earth belongs to no tyrant, no clan, no elite,
It’s the home of us all, with one shared heartbeat.


And if we want tomorrow to be greener and fairer,
Let’s be kinder, less selfish, more honest, more caring.
Because we don’t need a world full of people who take.
We need better people for the world’s own sake.
JH

 
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Posted by on October 17, 2026 in poetry, Ranting

 

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A Strange Idea

There is a strange idea

that to rise,
someone else must fall.

That kindness is weakness.
That compassion costs too much.
That difference is something
to fear.

But look closer.

The world has never been changed
by those who built higher walls.

It changes
every time someone says,
“Come in.”

Do more.

Not for applause,
not for likes,
not because your name will be remembered.

Do more because somewhere
a tired soul is carrying
far more than you can see.

Be kinder.

Everyone is fighting battles
behind careful smiles
and ordinary conversations.

Respect everyone.

The cleaner.
The stranger.
The refugee.
The neighbour.
The person who disagrees with you.
The person who looks nothing like you.

Human dignity
should never be selective.

We are all temporary travellers,
brief sparks beneath the same sky.

So leave gentleness in your wake.

Hold doors.
Share laughter.
Speak softly.
Stand firmly against cruelty.

And when history asks
what we did with our little piece of time,

let the answer be:

We made it kinder.

JH

 
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Posted by on June 25, 2026 in Uncategorized

 

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The Quiet Good Rarely Trends

he Quiet Good Rarely Trends

In the bright bazaar of noise
where every shout grows wings,
the loud climb ladders made of echoes
and applause rains like summer hail.

But somewhere, just outside the glare,
a hand steadies another hand.
No camera lingers there.
No headline leans in close.

A woman carries groceries
for a man whose bones remember storms.
A boy kneels beside a fallen bird
and cups the trembling air around it.
A stranger lets another stranger go first
in a world that loves to rush.

No fireworks announce these moments.
No algorithm lifts them high
like glitter tossed into the sky.

The quiet good moves softly
like moss over old stone,
like dawn laying gold on rooftops
while the city still dreams.

It asks for nothing.
No medals, no trending tag,
no bright parade of praise.

It simply happens,
again and again,
in kitchens, in doorways,
in the hush between heartbeats.

And though the world scrolls past
in search of louder miracles,
the quiet good keeps growing
under the surface of things,

a forest of small mercies
rooted deep in ordinary days. 🌿

JH

 
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Posted by on March 4, 2026 in poetry

 

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peace is not a whisper

Peace is not a whisper;
it is a door left open.

It is the light that stays on
when the street goes dark,
the quiet cup of tea
set down between two shaking hands.

Peace is not weak.
It does not bow its head.
It stands in the centre of the storm
and says, enough.

It is the courage
to lower your voice
when you could raise it,
to unclench your fist
and find a pulse instead.

Peace grows in small places.
In school halls.
On crowded buses.
At kitchen tables where words once burned
and now begin to soften.

It is the brave art
of listening past your own echo.
The steady work
of seeing a stranger
and choosing not fear,
but wonder.

Peace builds bridges
from the thinnest thread of hope.
It stitches torn flags
into blankets.
It turns battlefields
into gardens where children run.

Do not mistake its silence
for absence.
Peace is a deep river,
moving under the noise of the world,
patient, certain, strong.

And when enough of us
step into that river,
the current shifts.
The shouting thins.
The ground remembers
how to bloom.

Peace is power,
not loud,
not cruel,
but enduring.

It is the future
walking towards us
with open hands.

JH

 
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Posted by on March 2, 2026 in poetry

 

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Lantern Heart

Lantern Heart

Some days
the world feels like a siren
that never quite switches off.

Headlines flicker
like distant fires
and I stand in my kitchen
holding a cup of tea
wondering

how can we do this
to each other

How can hands built for holding
learn to strike
How can mouths shaped for lullabies
learn to spit stones

Children sleep under broken skies
while men in suits argue over maps
as if lines were worth more than lives

And my chest
small and human
tries to contain it all

I was not built
to carry continents of grief
yet I feel them
pressing against my ribs

Still

there is a woman
feeding birds in the morning rain
there is a stranger
who kneels to tie a child’s loose lace
there is a nurse
who smooths a blanket
as if it were sacred cloth

The news does not linger there
but I do

Because I have seen
how kindness moves
not as thunder
but as a ripple
touching one shore
then another

Respect is quiet
Equality is patient
They grow like roots
in the dark
before anyone notices the tree

I cannot command the powerful
I cannot silence the cruel

But I can refuse
to become hard

I can speak gently
when sharpness would be easier
I can listen
when turning away would be simpler
I can write
so that someone somewhere
feels less alone

Perhaps the world is not saved
by one great blaze of goodness

Perhaps it is saved
by lantern hearts
that choose
again and again
not to go out

And so
when the siren rises

I place my palm against my chest
and whisper

be the ripple
be the root
be the light you are waiting for.

JH

 
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Posted by on February 25, 2026 in Uncategorized

 

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The Tattered Soul

The soul learns early
how to fray
Time does not shout
it brushes past
soft as a sleeve in a crowded room
and still it leaves threads behind
Once
the soul was a clean page
bright with belief
stitched tight with first mornings
and reckless hope
Then came the years
quiet thieves
lifting colour
loosening seams
teaching the heart the slow grammar of loss
Time tugs
not cruelly
just often
It pulls at laughter until it thins
at dreams until they feather
at love until it aches with memory
instead of promise
The soul grows tattered
but not empty
Look closer
every tear is a doorway
every loose thread remembers warmth
every worn edge has held on
longer than it thought it could
Time thinks it wins
because it leaves marks
But the soul
oh the soul
keeps breathing through the rips
keeps light caught in its tatters
like dawn through torn curtains
And if it is ragged now
it is because it stayed
because it felt
because it dared to keep going
while the hours kept passing
A tattered soul is not broken
it is proof
Proof that you lived
and loved
and let time touch you
without ever giving it the final word

JH

 
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Posted by on February 1, 2026 in poetry

 

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We must remember

Not as stone remembers rain
but as skin remembers fire,
the way a name once spoken can still bruise the air
History is not a museum with clean glass,
it breathes, it waits,
it hums in the wires above our streets
and in the silence after a door shuts too hard
Hands have built hospitals and cages,
the same hands,
fingers that can cradle a child
or sign a list that turns people into numbers
Do not look away,
forgetting is a luxury paid for by the broken
memory is the candle we keep lit
even when the room wants darkness
We remember the trains that did not ask questions,
the ships that mistook profit for prayer,
the borders drawn like scars
across living, speaking hearts
This is not about guilt alone,
it is about vigilance,
about love standing guard through the night
with tired eyes and an unyielding spine
Because the past is patient,
it will repeat itself softly at first,
a joke, a shrug, a rule,
until cruelty feels normal and silence feels safe
So we remember, loudly and tenderly,
we say the names, we tell the stories,
we teach our children that dignity is not divisible
and humanity is not a trend
Memory is an act of hope,
a refusal to let tomorrow be built
with the same old knives
We remember,
so that kindness stays awake
and the world, bruised but breathing,
gets another chance to choose better
JH

 
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Posted by on January 27, 2026 in Uncategorized

 

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No Right No Left

There should not be a left
or a right
Only a circle
where we sit close enough
to feel each other breathe
Politics learned the language of corners
sharp words
pointing fingers
maps drawn with rulers instead of hands
But the heart has no party
it votes every morning
for warmth
for safety
for the simple miracle of being seen
A border is just a sentence
written by fear
it says stop
it says yours not mine
it forgets the grammar of kindness
We are made of shared weather
shared grief
shared laughter spilling over pavements
like rain that refuses to choose a country
Imagine power that listens
laws that kneel to humanity
flags lowered just enough
to wrap the cold
Respect is not radical
Care is not naïve
They are ancient
older than slogans
older than walls
There should not be a left
or a right
only forward
together
hands open
voices softer
eyes brave enough to recognise themselves
in everyone else
A future where we do not win over each other
but with each other
where the loudest statement
is how gently
we choose to live
JH

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2026 in poetry

 

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Choose a path

Choose the path that lets your spirit breathe,

Stand with your friends where honesty is kind,

What serves your heart will gently serve them too,

In caring for yourself, you leave light behind.

JH

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2026 in poetry

 

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