Between the Sleeves (Poem)

I heard a voice between the sleeves,

Where coats and hats were hung;

I moved in close to hear the voice

And listened as it sung:

“The key is not the past, my friend;

The key is every breath;

The key is not the future, friend;

The key is every step.”


Returning to my desk, I smiled,

And then I filled my lungs;

A joy began to lift my heart

And this is what I sung:

“I know the key is not the past;

There’s peace in every step;

I know the key’s not yet to come;

There’s peace in every breath.”


By Harry Husbands


Walk to Work (Poem)

The skies broke while we slept,

And covered streets a blackened sheen;

The wind is pushing silent walls

Of rain that soaks my shoes and jeans.

The parents hold their children’s hands

With hoods up and heads down;

They force their way into school

With sopping, frowning, wisened brows.

I carry on, despite it all,

With my umbrella tightened cold

Against the mundane chill of wind;

The metal arms, that shield me, bend.


By Harry Husbands


Nature is an Old Friend of Children (Poem)

Nature is an old friend of children;

The tree–that hid them

From a pelting rain–



Nature is an old friend of children;

The grass–that held them

When falling, laughing–



Nature is an old friend of children;

The dirt–that gave them

Castles, cake, and clay–



Nature is an old friend of children,

And friends are lost and made,

But how costly it is to forget

The clay, the laughter, the rain.


By Harry Husbands


Here’s To You, 2017 (Blog Post)

IMAG0240The end of the holiday season is nigh. The food has been eaten, drink has been drunk, presents have been opened, and already the idea of returning to my office job is looming like a freaking vulture in a three-piece suit. It seems as good a time as any to reflect on this year, and to share some news of exciting things to come next year.

The first post I made on this here blog was in March. The title is ‘Grappling With All This’, and while I’m still grappling (good lord, I’m grappling), it’s gotten a lot easier with thanks to a few awesome people. My family, friends, and especially my wife, have all been hugely supportive throughout, offering kind words and advice when needed.

I want to thank anyone who has read my blog posts, or who continues to follow my pages, tweets, posts, and all those outlets on which I occasionally make an appearance. I am still no good at social media, or the business of selling myself, and so if you’ve stuck with me, despite this, you’re cool. If I had any chocolate left from Christmas, I would give you some, but I don’t, so stop asking.

I have spent a good part of the end of 2017 working on a new collection of songs that is nearing completion. It’s called ‘An Ant’s Dream’—a concept album detailing the hopes, fears, and unrequited love of an ordinary worker ant—and I am incredibly excited about how it’s coming together. I hope to be uploading it in the early part of 2018, and would really appreciate it if you could listen to even one song.

I received some great news recently. Fluky Fiction—a publisher intent on showcasing unconventional authors—will be bringing out a new anthology next year (with hope, in February) titled ‘The Muse & The Flame’. I’m extremely proud to say that it will include a short story I wrote called ‘Encounter in a Garden Shed’.

Also, thanks to my part in the Next Great Horror Writer Contest, I will be featuring in two ebooks that are publishing in 2018. One that has all of the editor’s favourite pieces that didn’t win—for me this was ‘The Victim Lounge’ audio script—and another of campfire stories that will have my tale of midnight ritual, ‘Goose Meadows’, included.

So, yeah, 2017 was pretty dang sweet, and 2018 will be just as great, if not more so. I will keep going, that much I do know, and I have plenty of new stories that need writing, and plenty more dumb ideas for music that need penning and playing.

Cheers to you all. It’s been a hoot.

The End? (Blog Post)

Photo on 05-10-2017 at 18.34My part in the Next Great Horror Writer contest came to an end last week after it was announced, in the most recent podcast, that I finished in 5th place. Only the semi-finalists, Naching T. Kassa, Daphne Strasert, and Jonathan Fortin, will have their horror novels pitched to Crystal Lake Publishing, and only one of them will emerge victor (following a nail-biting wait, I’m sure), with a nice shining book contract to show for it. I wish them all the best, and say so with no bitterness at all. Honest.

When I first sent my bio, entry form, and micro-fiction to HorrorAddicts, I had only just begun to take my writing seriously. I did not expect to be among the selected few; I entered purely on a kind of ‘why not?’ basis. I received news of my place in the contest just before heading to the pub, and blame HorrorAddicts entirely for how drunk I ended up that night.

Upon seeing the talent I was to face, I did not anticipate finishing anywhere near the top 3. To end up 5th feels like a great achievement; though undeniably something of a disappointment too.

In the final podcast, I received cheek-reddening comments from the resident judges, H.E Roulo and Emerian Rich, as a kind of sending off. They gave me plenty to think about. This contest has showed me that I shouldn’t concentrate on horror as my primary output. Aside from the fortnightly challenges assigned to me, I have been crafting fiction that is often surreal, occasionally grim, and sometimes creepy, but you’d be hard pushed to call it horror. I’m still in the process of finding my voice, and it’s becoming clearer that I shouldn’t limit myself to any specific genre.

It’s been an awesome experience, and through it I’ve discovered plenty of horror writers keeping the genre alive whose careers I will follow with great interest. The folks over at HorrorAddicts have done their utmost to make me feel welcome, and I can’t thank them enough for that.

So what’s next? Well, fuck knows. I didn’t expect this whole thing to happen, but here we are. I’ll be in my room, writing, and playing music too. Where that leads me–if indeed it leads me anywhere–is anyone’s guess. I can say, however, that I hope to be doing some more non-fiction in the future. I’m also currently working on a new album after neglecting music creation in favour of my writing pursuits. And of course I will continue to pen unsavoury stories and poems for whoever will read them.

Thank you, as always, for being here.

For John Clare (Poem)

I am a wiser, better man for reading you;

For words that showed me all the beauty brought

In summer’s light and autumn’s quiet gloom;

For meaning, I’ve so often wrongly sought

In fancy things that flicker out

And leave me grasping, holding on to nought.


Your loneliness is shared through time

And passed through words I’ve soaked into my pores

And through your pain, you’ve softened mine;

My self-consuming woes and aching sores,

Eased by rhymes and soothed by stanzas sweet,

From those you wrote to others incomplete.


I hope you passed in gentle thoughts and prayers;

I hope you rest below the vaulted sky in death;

I hope your skin can feel the summer air

And nose can smell the meadow’s sighing breath.

And though you’re gone, I do not feel deprived;

You’re on my shelves and still alive.


By Harry Husbands


Eating Payslips (Poem)

In years that slipped with passing change,

I would have ploughed the field to eat;

I would have kneeled to dirt and scraped my life with mucky hands.

The empty greens, I pass them all;

With not a sign to what they hold;

Of what the rain or sun would mean against a gut that growled.


I harvest paper full of nothing;

I keep supplies of coloured clips,

To please a faceless name in numbing, dulling email chains

That say to keep on typing swift

And leave distracting dreams at home,

So families can be fed their warming soup on shining spoons.


I keep my payslips close to hand;

They’re all I have to live on now.

I haven’t seeds to sow,

Or sun-soaked brow,

Or crops to grow,

Or fields to plough.


By Harry Husbands