It is always dawn and dusk
Time moves on geographically
The terminator line marches inexorably
Round and round the planet
Smoothed across the sparkling Pacific
Cut to shreds by jagged mountains
Rippled across desert dunes
Unnoticed in the mega-cities
Each second brings a thousand tiny awakenings
A thousand tiny refugees from sleep
A thousand predatory opportunities
A thousand closings
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Previously published on In Between Hangovers
Him: I have no idea what I’m doing
Me: Welcome to life.
Him: I was in a cave and now I’m not.
Me: Welcome to life. Just go and hug a hen, it often helps.
Him: I wish I could navigate by Crocodile
Me: Don’t we all?
Him: Mum, why are you talking nonsense?
Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Re-blogged from 2015. This conversation really happened— and going to speak to or hug one of our hens is a proven family remedy for most of lifes burdens.
Crunching down the shingle
Drinking the sea breeze
Listening to your chatter
As you throw pebbles into the sea
Heat is no longer the enemy
Its relaxing powers repaired
Breathing salt essence
In gloriously cool sea air
Brothers gently bickering
Who threw the greatest distance
Your deep voices lift in humour
And how we love to listen
Chilling on the shingle
Hanging out with the family
Talking about almost nothing
Companionably
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
…we went to the beach with our sons to escape the heat, and I broke out in rhyme once more….
The unease of an empty house
The loneliness of children gone
The sadness of a lover away
The concentration of a painting class
The contemplation of piece of art
Busy baking, waiting for family to return
Tramping on a long country walk
Song birds in the garden
Hens around my feet
Quiet to read the difficult book
Peace to find the space where I am me
Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Re-blogged from 2015….
It is so very hot
That my thoughts are shot
Poetry has fled
From my overheated head
So for better or worse
You get this doggerel verse
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Its been very hot in Southern England for the last three days. And more to come!
Deep in the time of eclipse
As birds bed down and dusk creeps up
We see the Suns halo and crown
Reaching out to her children
Light in the darkness
Sunlight scatters from escaping electrons
Bounces off minute dust particles
While stripped atoms glow as crown jewels
Incandescently hot
Ethereal furnace
The act of seeing makes real
The fact of knowing sees beauty
The inner joyousness of the Universe
Lifts me
Up to the light
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This is very apt:
Management say “Lessons will be learnt”
Folk have already warned bosses.
Management say “Our sympathies are with the families”
Death toll expected to rise.
Management say “Lessons will be learnt.
Austerity costs must be met.”
Great men die, and so they lie
In their tombs and graves
Glorified, magnified
By their followers and slaves
Quiet mounds on the Downs
Lasting through the many ages
May cover cruel tyrants
Rather than wise sages
All men must die, all tombs will lie
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Clouds gape and roar, thundering their pain
Fetid air blows from an oven door hot against faces
Heat dries eyeballs ears ring skin crawls
Hindbrain processes new and unknown into old fears
Crowded and herded by noise we look up
At the thing that is bursting through the atmosphere
Monstrous geometries writhing
Forcing and burning its path to us
Pushing our breath away
Blinding and deafening
Pushing us down until we prostrate on the mud
Afraid to look up as they look down
Death is upon us
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
(A Science Fiction poem first blogged in October 2015, now re-written)
Here’s an interesting poem well worth sharing.
a man is seated at the table
in a small house
behind the sun
he is old
fingers gnarled
but he grasps tight the cogs
in his stiff bony hands
and adjusts the links
in a length of chain
sings
underneath his breath
to a time-piece rhythm
ah-yay ah-yay ah-yay ah
ah-yay ah-yay ye-ah
mutters to the woman beside him
old lady
can you get a working man
his cup of tea
for if the sun’s to rise
I’ll be freeing-up these cogs
all night
it’s going to be a long slow time
until morning
© Frank Prem, 2010
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