It was a difficult road
and lost became
my only way

out of the realms
where I touched
grass and my feet

bore no sin,
my heart could
hear truth that

reigned as the stars
light up the sky
but my way was dark

and harm happened
to me and from me
and of me; I cried. 

I crumbled and died
more times than
felt right, felt wrong

I vied for a song
but no birds did land,
the red one could not

see me, I commanded
to the gods and
to the men I made god

was always in the flowers,
the bees that bit them,
how could I of known?

How could I of known
my wayward days
would end and cycles

would be worth
bowing to—with
one. 

Life’s journey often takes us through dark and uncharted realms. This poem reflects on the pain and growth that come from wandering and the unexpected wisdom that can emerge from the cycles we endure. It’s a reminder that even in the moments we feel lost, the flowers, the bees, and the universe hold truths that guide us back to ourselves.

Let this serve as a reflection on how every twist in the path, no matter how challenging, is part of the greater unfolding of our story.

This is real
as the fur of minks
and opossums play
dead
is a thing of before

we got here
and new life
chirps—
hear it?
I saw yellow

birds on a line
and Dad says
watch out for the hawks.
For the hawks,
I must watch

out for what comes
up because I do
surely know
what comes up,
comes down

but the medicine
helps.
Medicine of forest
and field and
sky so real

I tear because
beauty teaches me
to love.
I am able
to love. 

My wish for you today and every day in this new crisp year is to allow the things of before to meet their death. Arrive, and welcome the new life. Create the new living.

Happy New Year, loves. Happy happy new year <3

Hunni Bloom

I am 
the Mother
of these mountains

when the birds
sing
loudly for my soul

knows which way
is up
keep going

to the stream
sparkles in union
with morning light

up we go
again
to the etched peak

where the sky
asks us to sit,
staringly

at all we’ve become
in the journey
to these mountains

I mother. 

I wrote this poem early last spring, right when I had moved back home to Appalachia—to the mountains, the mountains I grew up in.

I’m putting together my fourth poetry book right now, Relational Relics: The Entire Point, and it’s about the ebbs and flows, the highs and lows, of relationships. All the relationships of our lives. Relationships with lovers, friends, sisters and brothers, mothers, fathers, and the lands. I’m humbled, in awe, and just happy as I look over the poems I wrote in the past year to see all I endured, all I’ve overcome, and all the life I chose to live. For it is through relationship that we come to know ourselves most deeply.

Several weeks ago, I learned some news about a new relationship in my life—a relationship with a child.

I never wanted to be a mother. I never wanted it in the way some mothers want it.

But I have felt a tug for some years now, as if there was a being, a soul, a universal Source energy, that wanted me to mother—as mother.

I’m only 35, but I’ve lived a lot of life so far. And I’ve learned one thing that is universal and matters probably more than anything. It’s this: nothing in life can be forced, only allowed.

Only allowed.

And so, here I am, mother, allowing.

And I realize something. I realize that as this new light of life literally grows in my womb, I have already been a mother. Perhaps, I have always been a mother.

A mother to the women in my life, to the sisters. A mother to the animals. A mother to the mountains.

And with this knowing, I know too that I shall be okay. My daughter, Violet, will have me as mother.

Meanwhile, I will sit, staringly, at all I’ve become in the journey to these mountains I mother.

The way the water moves
out and close
enough to know
those ripples
are kin

and the flow
among the stones
surely kneeling
as if Goddess
Herself chose

this as Her well
to dip
to submerge
to wash Her hair
and understand

the waves moving
close to home
towards the expanse,
the calling
pull of vast.

I’ve been taught that water is the most symbolic and representative element of femininity—its movement, its adaptability, and its power to nourish and transform. There’s something about the way water gives itself—flowing into the smallest spaces, holding the stillness of a pond, or surging into waves that reshape the earth itself. It reminds me of what it means to be a woman: to hold both softness and strength, to flow where we are called yet remain deeply connected to the source.

This poem feels like a quiet meditation on that truth: how water mirrors the Goddess Herself—moving out and close, both a gentle ripple and a vast calling. It speaks to the sacred act of submerging into life, letting the waves pull us toward home, even as we answer the call of something greater.

I invite you to take a moment with this piece. See where it flows within you—what it stirs, what it soothes, what it calls you to remember.

Love you,

Hunni

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I cry
because the birds are singing
because the red one
showed Herself to me
thrice in this day.

I cry
because my sister,
my sister is here
and the wind is softer
when she is near.

I cry
because I have lost
I have lost a sea
of love
under a sky artists cannot paint.

I cry
because what grows here
keeps me forever
a young girl who believes
berries ripen free.

I cry
because you’re not
here, not with me
forsaken and poisonous 
I cannot plea.

I cry
under a sky who
holds me tight
in a swaddle
of tree tops
talking about my tomorrow.

I cry
in a way
I never have
I never, always wanted to—
sanctification
is found in my tears.

Through vivid imagery and raw honesty, the poem captures moments of beauty intertwined with deep sorrow, reminding us that grief and joy often coexist. It speaks to the bonds we share with loved ones and the solace we find in nature, even amidst loss. As you read, I invite you to reflect on your own moments of vulnerability and strength, and to honor the tears that cleanse and heal us. Let this poem be a reminder that our emotions are sacred, shaping who we are and how we connect with the world around us.

Love to you,

Hunni

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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Alive feels like
this stirring up
under my skin

rising to the surface
is my soul
seeking song

sung so bright
so loud
in flight

I beg and twirl
for more
for a pour

of bold giving
foretold receiving
and a molding

where two
become one
as it was sung. 

This poem captures the essence of vitality—the kind that stirs within us, just under the surface, seeking release. It’s about that deep yearning to connect, to give and receive with boldness, and to transcend separateness. The imagery of twirling, singing, and merging into oneness reminds me of how creativity and love can feel like a dance, a shared rhythm where souls meet and transform.

In writing this, I reflected on moments of deep connection and the beauty in letting ourselves be fully seen and heard. "Alive feels like" isn't just a phrase—it's an invitation to embrace the flow of life, to give of ourselves boldly and receive just as wholeheartedly.

I hope these words stir something within you, as they did for me while writing them.

Blessings,

Hunni B

The moon is loud
as broken glass
and screams
might not
echo

more is our word,
as is the word
of God
listens in the night

shining bright
there is seeing
here,
through glass
and worms rise up

to see, too. 

What does this one mean to you?

Let me know, please :)

Leave a comment

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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It was a difficult road
and lost became
my only way

out of the realms
where I touched
grass and my feet

bore no sin,
my heart could
hear truth that

reigned as the stars
light up the sky
but my way was dark

and harm happened
to me and from me
and of me; I cried. 

I crumbled and died
more times than
felt right, felt wrong

I vied for a song
but no birds did land,
the red one could not

see me, I commanded
to the gods and
to the men I made god

was always in the flowers,
the bees that bit them,
how could I of known?

How could I of known
my wayward days
would end and cycles

would be worth
bowing to—with
one. 

This poem emerged from a space of deep introspection, tracing the winding paths of loss and rediscovery. I wrote it as

Read more

An ending of time
is never real
can’t you feel
the loop?

The circle is widening
and those sorrows
are dying
and I’ll lend you

a strong shovel
for this dig
of the gone,
my allowing is on

and choice lifts me
from the grave again,
miracles begin
to show the face

of God
who’s never left,
this isn’t a test;
it’s a breath.

Take your breath
and be.
Choose
your free.

This poem invites us to confront the illusion of endings. How often do we face what feels like the “end of time” in our lives? A breakup, a loss, a shift that seems to sever us from the familiar. Yet, within the poem’s widening circle, there’s a reminder: time doesn’t end; it loops, offering us another breath, another choice, another chance to dig deep and uncover the layers of what’s truly gone—and what remains.

Sorrow, though heavy, is not eternal. It too can be shoveled, dug up, and transformed. With each choice to rise, we meet miracles, the divine, the inexplicable grace that reminds us of the freedom always available to us. The poem whispers that freedom isn’t just a circumstance; it’s a state of being.

So, I ask you today: Where are you in the loop? What miracles are showing their face in your life, even in moments that feel like tests? Can you breathe into the widening circle and allow yourself to simply be?

Take your breath. Feel your freedom. The face of God is here, in this moment, as you choose.

Love you,

Hunni

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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This must be
serenity
in a way
I’ve yet to know

the birds sing
and fly
instinctual know
of this land

this Earth
this song and flight
for many a ‘moons
I enthralled in blight

ways and days
come and gone
on a journey
never win

just allow
find your kin
your way
your wish

upon a star,
darling,
and I’ll never
be yours

I’ll rest
and test
these still days
of peace. 

If it does not bring you calm or clarity, it is not for you.

This is a teaching from a wise Priestess I have learned much from the past few years. And it’s a mantra I’m holding close to myself lately.

Sometimes, things happen in life that we can’t control and that have great impact on us— on our emotional state, our well being, our sense of security and safety.

But even if something outside of our control happens, there’s always a choice point in it for us. There is always, no matter what, still a choice that we get to make.

I’m facing a lot of choices lately. I got some big news recently, which I will share when I feel the time is right.

But the news is prompting choices. So many choices.

Amidst the upheaval, I tune into myself. I find my choice points. What are the choices that are mine to make here? What is in my control?

And most importantly, among these choices, which bring me comfort and which bring me clarity? The rest, I get to discard. For chaos and disorientation, I will not choose it.

This is my time to choose peace.

The teachings of the Priestess remind me that clarity and calm are my guiding stars. If a path, a thought, or an action does not serve those qualities, it is not mine to walk, hold, or carry.

Life will always present its storms—unexpected twists that shake our foundation. But within those storms, there’s still a space where we stand. That space is ours. That space is choice.

Right now, I stand in my space, firmly rooted, breathing deeply into the choices that are mine. The choices that bring stillness to my heart, that illuminate my way forward.

The rest—confusion, chaos, and what I cannot control—must fall away.

Because this, too, is serenity. This moment, this choice. This practice of releasing what does not align with the life I am building, the peace I am holding, and the clarity I am embracing.

May you find your space of choice today. May you choose clarity and calm. And may your heart rest in the knowing that you are always free to let go of what isn’t for you.

Blessed Be,

Hunni

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In the mountains
I can see heaven
and rivers take me
to the place I am

home, there
in the hollers
of a time passed
and glass becomes

full once more,
store—
store me
in a case and

I will be still
unto this land
of soil under
my soul sings

and a red bird
did show me
Her nest
is grand—

I am allowed
to stand
still and ready
as the deep

open well.
I say drink,
drink full
and free

and be
home,
be peace
in home. 

In this fast-moving world, we often seek a sense of home—not just in the places we live but in the quiet spaces within ourselves. A Home Being is my way of reminding myself, and perhaps you too, of the stillness and belonging that exists when we pause, breathe, and reconnect with the earth beneath us and the heavens above.

For me, the mountains have always been a sanctuary. There, rivers carve paths that feel ancient and sacred, and the soil underfoot carries whispers of stories long past. Writing this poem, I found myself imagining the hollers of my youth, places where time slows, where the red bird’s nest becomes a symbol of safety, resilience, and renewal.

In those moments, the well within me feels open and full. It's a deep, soulful well of peace and belonging—a home I can carry wherever I go. This poem is an invitation: to drink deeply from your own well, to find stillness, and to allow yourself the grace to stand as you are, unshaken and free.

May you find home within yourself today—a place of peace, readiness, and fullness.

Blessed Be,

Hunni

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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I pray
you feel
your two steady
feet hard on Earth

and Mother wind
whisps you
of fairy speak and
twilight rays 

of light ignite
your bright smile
and your soul
remembers how

to come up
for a full inhale
of the air
as crisp and sweet

as emerald green
grass thumping
to the beat
of your moving hands

and again, remember
to stand,
to call out,
to cry

to the sky,
so blue
and true
and ripe

of change
anew.

I see you
and you are not alone.
And you are here.
And it will all become clear. 

I wrote this poem as a prayer—a tender offering for those moments when we feel unsteady or uncertain. It’s a reminder to root ourselves in the Earth beneath us, to open our senses to the gifts around us, and to trust that clarity will come, even in the midst of change.

Life is full of transitions, and sometimes, all we can do is pause, breathe, and call out to the vast, open sky. It’s in these small, sacred acts that we remember we are connected to something greater, and that we are never truly alone.

Wherever this finds you today, I hope you feel the grounding presence of your steady feet, the embrace of the wind, and the sweetness of life’s small, miraculous moments. You are here. You are seen. And I believe in the beauty that awaits you on the other side of this moment.

With love,

Hunni

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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I touch fear
me not, love,
I’ll hold up

and when falling
bribes me,
we’ll survive free

reign, sovereign
is a promise
I make

to you,
but to me,
first

for fear sneaks
and peaks
and leaks

and are there enough
ways, days,
don’t take away

your love;
I’m scared—
I feel the fear.

Please hold me.
Please, have you told me
it’s all okay. 

It’s okay to feel the fear.

I’m with you.

-H.B.

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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The forest sheds it’s leaves
and crunchy steps
do healing work
among the fray

days shortened,
we’ve more time
for love 
me as the wind

takes from the trees
and we witness
sembiance
and care

as the Mother
teaches cycles
with serene
participation. 

Autumn is my favorite season. I think it’s something about transition. I think fall time is when we can most vividly see and experience transitions in nature. It’s an in-between state. It’s not yet the death of everything that winter is, or the full bloom of summer. It’s about movement and change.

It’s a reminder that change is

Read more

A bee makes love
to flowers
bloom or wilt
matter not to

the sun of God
sees us
bare and open
wide as whores

and new shores
show us,
show us—
am I ever going

to sea 
with eyes
of a flower
taking a bee. 

This poem can be read in so many different ways. It’s one of my favorites. At it’s core, it’s about receiving.

It’s not about the bee, but rather, the flower receiving the bee.

I admit, receiving is something I monumentally struggle with. It’s hard for me. I know at the very root of this sits struggle with self worth. It’s a journey.

But lately, I have been praying a lot. For help to receive. To be willing and able to open.

Receiving is not passive. It’s an active choice. And it’s often made through the subtle senses. We open when we receive the wind brushing against our skin. When we feel the sun piercing into us. When we are fully present with our food and taste and savor each bite. There is always a choice point when it comes to receiving.

How are you with receiving? Is this something you struggle with? What helps?

I’ve love to hear from you.

Leave a comment

In the meantime, I will keep praying. I will learning. And I will trust that eventually receiving will be just as easy for me as giving is.

Blessings to us all. May we open and gladly receive.

Hunni B

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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My sister is calling and
we got taller

like two trees
with roots down

into that middle squishy
hole of Earth

holds and guides us,
together

in the ways those sisters
go with forests

on their soul
and hands hold

as sweet as honeysuckle, 
I say to you—

gifts be held
and thank you’s are fierce

in this way
we are old

nice and pretty
we grow,

nice and pretty
we grow. 

My sister and I have always called ourselves the “Blooming Hunnies.” With "Hunni" in our last name, we’d often remind each other to “bloom” as a way of encouraging one another to grow—especially through tough times.

That’s how my pen name, Hunni Bloom, came to be.

For those who don’t know, my sister is my best friend. We’re incredibly close, and one of my biggest motivations for moving back to Appalachia last spring was to be near her again. It’s been the greatest blessing of this year.

Recently, we’ve been on our own unique but parallel paths, both following our dreams—me with poetry, her with content creation. We keep reminding each other, “bloom, bloom, bloom.”

I wrote this poem shortly after moving back, and it feels more relevant today than ever.

We’re blooming. I’m blooming.

Are you blooming?

With love,

Hunni

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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Trust, dear one
in the essence
of your star—

sit firmly back
and plow unto
the rocks that you are,

Queen unto Her own
in holy
are your bones

up against
the world
who knows you not.

A bride of want. 

In my new poetry collection I’m writing, I’ve got an entire section dedicated to longing and desire— the ache that stirs within us when we yearn for closeness, connection, and understanding. Desire is an invitation, a space where hope and vulnerability blend, where hearts reach out even in the absence of certainty. These poems explore the intensity of wanting to be seen, held, and known, capturing the raw and unfiltered essence of human need.

I’m currently having an intentional time of being uncoupled. I am choosing time alone, without the sometimes disorienting push and pull of lovers, to restore something within.

And during this time, I’m exploring this universal human experience of longing and desire. If not in romantic and sexual union, where are the ripe and fruitful places in our lives to be so thoroughly met and seen? Lately, I find myself turning more and more towards nature, towards my animals, and ever so slowly and cautiously, towards family members.

The thing about being seen, sweet friends, is that it requires us to be seeable.

Thinking of you,

Hunni

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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For all of you,
under the red, white, and blue,
who feel broken
and true
under the rule
of power, domination, and oppression.
I breathe you hope, light, and resistance.
Courage,
to adapt and overcome
the pain of a disparate self.
My wish for you,
is union
and
love.

Many of you may not know this about me, especially because it’s so antithetical to my Hunni Bloom work and brand, but I’m a military Veteran.

I served in the Army National Guard for six years as an enlisted soldier. And it completely changed my life.

Aside from Hunni Bloom, which the work of my soul, I’ve dedicated my career to working with Veterans. I own and run a Veteran research consulting firm and every single day, I get to do work that helps Veterans heal. It’s the true work of my heart.

If you’ve read my books, you might have noticed a poem here and there that relates to or is about the military. My transition out of military service is deeply woven into my healing journey.

Veterans Day is one of my most favorite days of the year, because it’s a day we get to celebrate and honor military service.

I’m proud of my time in the military, despite the inequities and hardship I’ve witnessed and experienced as a consequence. My time in the service is the greatest contributor to my resiliency and my ability to adapt.

For those of you who have served, I love you and I see you.

For those who haven’t, tell someone who has that you love them and see them today.

Hooah,

Hunni Bloom

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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A turning
rings about
like this sweet
tune the quick
bird plays

and joy infused
today
as the sky
painted a truth
my heart opened for.

Beauty overtakes me
and you fill in the air
and something turns—
a blending occurs
then abruptly,

the hurt,
the wet cheeks,
the anguish in my gut,
all took place and
bowed before me

in a melancholic ride
we all knew would end,
but never saw the edges,
never knew when
but now.

Now we see,
now we are free
and love unfurls,
drape me with pleasure pearls,
for this circle is anew.

There are always pleasure pearls to be found in pain.

Love always unfurls if we allow it.

Please, allow it.

Love ya, mean it <3

Hunni B

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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To the women
who carry the stones—
I sea you
in this water,
on this bank of pebbled sand.
In the bundles of kelp,
the sounds of jumping goats.

I sea you
as the sky fades and
brilliance consumes,
in these ancient tombs,
holding names
we never knew.

I sea you
in worn hands
and Gaelic tunes,
in power revered
of the storm ruins—
in the fairy doors.

I sea you
in the temples—
on the alters
bare and right
where we’ve always
supposed to of been—
defiant again.

I see you
as this world heals,
in slowed ways
and prayer days
in how you raise
the young,
Her spoken tongue.

I sea you
here in the wind
of gentle gives
and holden tight
my soul deep lives
with the women
who carry the stones.

I spent several weeks in Ireland last fall. On a small island off the western cost of Galway, called Inishmór. Allegedly, this is the most Irish place in all of Ireland.

It’s an island of stones. The Celtic (and ahem, pagan) history here is evident in every nook and cranny of the 12 square mile island. Gah, even thinking about it makes my bones ache with anticipation of my next travel-soothes-my-soul adventure.

But on this mystical, ancient island, I learned a lot about the women.

I witnessed women in circles at pubs, singing Gaelic tunes as if the songs belonged to their very bones.

I sat with crone elders and heard stories about the women on the island who fished, who built, who led.

And the children— I saw the women raising the children with creativity and tenacity.

And today, world, I am thinking of theses women who carry the stones.

I am left with a taste of resentment in my mouth after the U.S. presidential election results. I am angry at the men.

I am angry at the men. I am angry at the men. I am ANGRY AT THE MEN.

And I wonder when. When will it be our time. When will the men learn to listen.

When will women be valued by the men.

I don’t know when. But until then, I know we will continue.

We will continue to be the women who carry the stones.

Sending you the strengths of ancient Celtic stones today,

Hunni Bloom

Thank you for being here and making this space so vibrant and alive. Every word, every share, and every bit of support means the world to me. If you enjoy what you find here but aren’t ready to become a subscriber, feel free to leave a little one-time tip on Buy Me A Coffee. Your presence and support have truly helped create this beautiful, magical community. Thank you for being part of it.

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