Hannah Moore
Bio
Achievements (8)
Stories (168/0)
I'll get the next round.
Sometimes in life, things happen which are staggeringly undramatic. So numbingly mundane that it becomes hard to describe them without undue fanfare. Words like “absent” or “attend” seem a little too ornate, and phrases like “had to” or “did not” pack too much punch for the occasion. And so it is hard to begin this little indulgence in a sufficiently understated way. “I have done it again” I started, before Plath echoed down the decades and into my delete key. One year in every ten. Too dire by far. “Oops, I did it again”. Too snake wearingly flash. “I wasn’t here?” Not too hot, not too cold. Just right?
By Hannah Moorea day ago in Writers
Discriminate
Authors note: I originally published this with no explanatory note, after a conversation with my partner in which we both agreed that no one would think these were my views, it was sufficiently over the top for it to be evidently a caricatured collection of some of the "microaggressive" things that can be said by people of one race to those of another. And lets be clear, I had in mind a white man talking to a black man in a country in which white is the majority. I wrote this after a conversation I had at work about the idea of microaggressions, in which we thought about who they were micro for - for the speaker, each of these comments may feel "micro", for the receiver, maybe not. I chose some of these lines carefully and deliberately, most of them are things I have heard said. But I wanted to come back and make absolutely clear that this is not a poem representing my views. We thought I didn't need to, but perhaps its not actually so very over the top as a caricature. Perhaps its a little too close to the bone. Perhaps that I would assume otherwise is in itself an illustration of my privilege.
By Hannah Moore9 days ago in Poets
- Top Story - April 2024
Invitation to Renga With MeTop Story - April 2024
Ladies and Gentlemen, I am returned. I am envisaging a grand entrance here, a footman perhaps, announcing my arrival, or a both doors flung wide attention grab. That I actually slipped in quietly with an itsy bitsy haiku seems far more in keeping with my actual style. Either way, I am back after an absence of a couple of weeks in which I dedicated myself fully to a family holiday. I could do no different, it has been a very full trip, and a wonderful trip for it. But though I read most of a novel, I took no time to read on Vocal, and no time to write either.
By Hannah Moore15 days ago in Writers
Yūgen
Rain sounds on hard ground. Cherry blooms and falls at once. We half-turn to home. Author's note: On our penultimate night in Japan, we stayed in a small house near Hakone. We arrived after dark, exhausted and hungry, but come the morning, I pulled open the paper shoji doors to find the small office space pictured above. I was called, as I am sure anyone here would have been, to take five minutes to write a little haiku. There I am, above, writing it.
By Hannah Moore16 days ago in Poets
Harmony Lost
There was a time when one thousand languages were spoken and understood between this soil and this sky. There was a time honour was everyone’s, and fights were fought to live, not to kill. There was a time rebirth rode on the thorny jagged spines of death and the fallen were mourned as we mourn the close of each day, with the lowering of the light, and a ceding to the stars and the rhythms of the moon.
By Hannah Mooreabout a month ago in Fiction
- Top Story - March 2024