Crystals of intent

Crystals of intent

Full, filling my hand
Carved to mould into a palm
This one is left handed,  another fits the right
Killer edges, fatal intent
A hand axe from a million years ago haunts my eyes

Small symmetrical perfect arrowhead
To be thrust by a bow through a torso
Rests on my fingertips
Tiny chips creating the edges
Beauty and death

Both objects of beauty
Stones selected for a purpose
Worked on for many hours
Made to please in many ways
Crystals of intent

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

Sprawling vistas and visitational rights by Camille…

What a wonderful poem……. I found it at https://aestheticallyintrigued.com/2017/03/22/sprawling-vistas-and-visitational-rights/

Of course the astronomical metaphors are right up my street!

aestheticallyintrigued

Your horizons, my dear,
are plainly far too vast for mine own eyes to ever
comprehend
Contemplating the beginnings and the ends of shooting stars and
where I might pivot to be thrown almost tragically amongst your orbit
Perhaps I can see
our galaxies intermingling at some point on that dazzling horizon
Blue flashes bursting frivolously
signalling crossed paths
Nueral pathways do not matter here
here in the depths of our very own spacetime,
My dear,
my cosmic laden, star studded, dear,
this dimension could be ours
So,
extend to me your gravitational pull
and I would encircle the planet of your heart
without falter

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Toddler

Toddler

You cuddle up to me in your sleep, comforted by mother warmth
What do you dream little man, my child full of wonder
You exhaust  me by day and then enthral me at your time of sleeping
Always asking for more, lifting my soul and life
Every day is an  adventure for us
As I discover the world in and through your eyes

  Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

I wrote this poem when my sons were much much younger….

Broken Doll

Broken Doll

I broke the doll almost on purpose
Trying to fit her into the toy tank

Determined to play my way
My own game not theirs

Broken dolls littered the playroom
Symbols of a girl who wasn’t

Broken dolls litter the promenade
Broken bodies strew the road

He broke them all on purpose
Because they do not play his game

 

  Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

Royal Edinburgh Observatory

Royal Edinburgh Observatory

Poor lost instrument, trapped in your tower
Where the dome never opens from year to year.
They no longer use you to search the heavens
Battered and bruised, missing parts, you lurk in the darkness of your cage
If only I could find glass plates, unwrap them in the dark, open the dome and set you free

  Copyright © 2015  Kim Whysall-Hammond

Re-blogged from 2015.