WRITER, AUTHOR, POET
Lyrical and emotive, words to evoke weather patterns
of the heart and landscapes in the mind—
if you want to feel something
when you see it, step outside lines, read
poetry.
HANNAH ELIZABETH KING
Nature-infused writing to connect us
with the wild places.
Life wants to live through us.
The expression of living is our story,
we are the poem and prose.
Upcoming Events
New video for
WE ARE WANDERERS
“WINTER BAPTISMAL”
We Are Wanderers
A debut book of poetry
spanning a decade of time, bearing witness to the journey of human experience. Through the lens of the heart, you will read through the valleys and mountaintops of love, memory, birth and death, grief and healing.
This is the evolution of becoming, from daughter to mother, and finding home in the wild places of existence: body, mind, spirit and the earth and universe surrounding.
This book is testimony of the wandering, walking the uncertainty with surrender, curiosity and expression. The sun sets into dusk and the dark night settles, dawn comes again and we rise with the light.
“As I grow, I am losing separation between worlds. I am water and sky, the soil and stone is within me. We carry it all and are carried.”
ABOUT HANNAH
Hannah King is an Oregon native, born at the feet of the Siskiyou Mountains. Raised on river water, wild grass and oak savanna, exploring the rural environments of home was her childhood nurturing. These threads are expressed through her writings, art and daily work out in the flower fields. Read more about Hannah’s story here
WE ARE WANDERERS // OUT NOW
WE ARE WANDERERS // OUT NOW
WORDS FROM
WE ARE WANDERERS
Fingers were petals,
palms, leaves,
your arms grew branches
around me.
Blades of grass
we withered,
burnt, blew away,
back to seed, back to dust.
-We Are Flowers
I take longer to dress—
for most my life I thought
I was something to hide.
Now, I linger in the softness and shadows
allowing time to touch my body
with light.
-Naked, Thirty-Six
She took me down,
brought me to my
roots and buried me,
broke the dammed-up
places and released
a rushing river.
Now the spark,
fan the flame in waiting
for heat to rise like wings,
burn back down
and carry me.
-I Dreamt of Yellow
