Hole In The Hedgerow

Poetry, Stories, and Other Musings With Spilt Ink

  • Welcome to This Hole in the Hedgerow

    Welcome travelers. The purposefully lost, the jaded anarchists, and the bloodied knuckled pacifists. Welcome friends, new and old, the usuals, the newcomers, the frequenters, and the casually late. Welcome to the travelers, the runaways, vagabonds, commuters, and the lost. The strangers, the outsiders, locals, and passerbys. Welcome to the ones life dealt a bad hand,… Continue reading

  • Pit Ponies

    I found myself learning about these pit ponies, How they worked down in these coal mines. How they were born down there, In the dark. Continue reading

  • The Bats of Senegal

    Every morning, I wake up and sweep the bat shit- or guano to be more technical- out of my hut. This process has become something of an art form for me, an art form that I have perfected. I know where the bats like to hang out (I mean hang out in a very literal… Continue reading

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  • What am I Supposed to Be?

    You aren’t supposed to be anything. You’re supposed to be an upright ape, Foraging for berries somewhere in the Sahel. Continue reading

  • Eclipsed

    Isn’t it funny, How the sun makes my day Everyday? Continue reading

  • Joanies Café

    No wonder the place went out of business, Never saw anyone that came pay. Even the cats got free room and board, Joanie had a love for any stray, Continue reading

  • The Destiny of My Poems

    I hide them by mistake, In pages of journals, and in the margins of books, Or I leave them etched into walls or tree trunks, Continue reading

  • Crepitus

    A poem from my time working as a paramedic- I’m not supposed to know the word crepitus, Let alone the sound, Or the grating feeling of it in my hands. Continue reading

  • Back to Basics

    With ears that listen, To sounds that are more than just funny vibrations in the air. Raindrops pattering cascading through leaves. Continue reading

  • An Ode to The Dandelion

    The dandelion reaching for the sun, Doesn’t know it’s millions of miles away. I like to think it thinks it will touch it someday. Continue reading

  • The Word Just

    I just hate the word “just” That I just so stubbornly say To just belittle my words Just before I send them away Continue reading