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Herepath

Herepath

Wide as ten men abreast
The old military road
Cuts between farms
Dips down to the river
Rises up over the moor
Rabbits lollop along it
Lambs bleat in fields beside it
Rosebay glows at sunset
Where were the wars that you marched to?
What were the victories that you won?
Here on the old Herepath
The road truly goes ever on

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

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Epithalamion

Epithalamion

Moon dust pervades our lives
Giant steps were what we took
When we started aged seventeen
We have spent happy times on this moon
Half walking half bouncing
Across the years
On or under, we are gleeful lunatics
Still glorious in our love

Copyright © 2016  Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

reblogged from last year….

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Watercolour time

Watercolour time

Wet brush blurs, lets colours bleed into the next
Time is a wet brush, bleeding memories, blurring grief
Until the pain of loss is subdued
Not single primary colour
But smoothed, mixed, melted
Not quite there, but never lost
Still in the picture but not the focus
Only the truly obsessed, vengeful, bereft
Or those whose culture encourages vendetta
Can support impasto grief over the years
Most of us accept the damp brush of time
As a comfort
Of sorts

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

“Time works like a damp brush on water color. The sharp edges blur, the ache goes out of it, the colors melt together”  –John Steinbeck, East of Eden.

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Road to Nowhere

Road to Nowhere

We stumble along, believing we hold the map
Believing we guide our path or someone does somewhere
From the darkness to the light and back
The bird flies through the drinking hall and is gone
Leaving memories, echoes and silence
All we are is memories and echoes
All we can do is try to fracture the silence.

Copyright © 2016  Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

Re-blogged from a year ago…..

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Open Sky

Infall
      Protons
          Particles
                        Masses
      Bathed
          Photons
                        Neutrinos

Light is lifegiver and deathbringer
The open sky pretends to shield
But cannot fully

The vagaries of the universe
Plague our houses, peck out our DNA

Ozone and magnetosphere have allowed us to live
To evolve and think
Think ourselves safe

Knowledge is perhaps power
But it reveals destiny

Infalling rock
Or the next local supernova
And we are gone

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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Sweet Blood

Sweet Blood

By the numbers
Do I track my bodily betrayal
Silent sugars gnaw at me
Shorten my life, threaten my sight
My feet and so mobility
By the numbers
Media propaganda
Labels me guilty
A self inflicted pariah
Costing the state drugs, injections
By the numbers
I labour on
Researching the evidence
Counting the carbs
Pulling the weights
Five walks a week
Of thirty minutes each
Defying the numbers
My chosen path
And the numbers drop
My body may falter
But I shall not

 Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Dawn Creeps Across The Land by Kim Whysall-Hammond

I have another poem on ‘In Between Hangovers’

In Between Hangovers

Dawn creeps across the land
Shining her pale light into nests
Causing baby birds to call for food
Dormice to rub their eyes and blink
Ants to speed up their hurrying and scurrying
She reaches up to wash the sky with pale blue
And a hint of rose at the east
And , as a special treat today, the west
Smiling  to herself as the world awakes
She feels a certain self satisfaction as the Sun
With a near audible plop
Detaches itself from the horizon
Then like any other woman
Readies herself for a busy day

kim-whysall-hammond Kim Whysall-Hammond is a scientist and a poet. She has found that she finds beauty and wonder in places that others find a tad strange. She shares her poems at https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com

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