Deep

January 16, 2019PoetryThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

Deep into the dark we go
driven by a pathos of ignoble sparking
insouciant forces in contrast to surrounding glory

Across wastes of dust, particles, patterned space time
sling-shotted through and past entire star systems
we lie shrouded, gelidly sleeping away centuries

Awakening to the beginning of history
the firsts that will be honoured
landing, harvest, children.

We tarnished heroes.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

So what would be the motives of those travelling far to colonise another planet?

First published in the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Associations print journal Star*Line 41.3

What is a poem?

January 12, 2019PoetryHenri Cole, philosophy, poem, poetryThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

Small snapshot of the soul
a moment of being
no monetary gain
yet profit
something that wasn’t there before
now illuminates
is alive

Inspiration from Henri Cole and my various readers and poetry blogging friends. Lets make 2019 a good one for poetry.

Friday poem: How like a winter

January 11, 2019Friday Poem, love, poem, Poetry, Shakespeare, winterlove, poem, poetry, Shakespeare, sonnet, sonnet 97, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

How like a winter hath my absence been

From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

What old December’s bareness everywhere!

And yet this time remov’d was summer’s time,

The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,

Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,

Like widow’d wombs after their lords’ decease:

Yet this abundant issue seem’d to me

But hope of orphans and unfather’d fruit;

For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,

And thou away, the very birds are mute;

Or if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer

That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.

by William Shakespeare

The Shape of Rain

January 9, 2019poem, Poetry, Science, science poetrypoem, poetry, science, science poetryThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

I am a rain drop.
Imagine raindrops
you see tears
but clouds do not cry.
Over England they excrete
ice crystals that melt
drop and tumble
balling, falling.
Surface tension
marries colliding drops
yet divorce is common.
Plummeting, flattening
rain discs hit the London pavement
lose their identity
in puddles and pools.

Published at Fourth and Sycamore in July 2018.

Hope

January 5, 2019philosophy, poem, Poetryhope, philosophy, poem, poetryThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

The grounds for hope?
Simply that we don’t know
what will happen next
the unlikely and unimaginable
transpire quite regularly.
Whether this happens?
Is up to you and me.

Friday poem: Harp Song of the Dane Women

January 4, 2019Friday Poem, poem, PoetryFriday Poem, Guest poem, history, Kipling, poem, poetry, vikingsThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

What is a woman that you forsake her,

And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,

To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in—

But one chill bed for all to rest in,

That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,

But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you—

Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,

And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,

Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken—

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters.

You steal away to the lapping waters,

And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,

The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables—

To pitch her sides and go over her cables.

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,

And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow,

Is all we have left through the months to follow.

Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,

And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,

To go with the old grey Widow-maker ?

Cross country skiing

January 2, 2019poem, Poetry, wintercross country ski, Norway, oslo, poem, poetry, Ski, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

Glad voices ring out in the chill air from the sledding slope
As we circle unsteadily on a frozen lake, finding our feet
Long new six foot wooden feet
Then we begin to glide, relaxing into the flow
Betrayed by speed on the first slope
The ground crashes up to us
We kiss hard snow several times as we ski through the forest
Mainly laughing at our woes
Eschewing the tracks, our (mostly) parallel woods slice into fresh powdered snow
Until the next topple

Written after we had just tried to (cross country) ski for the very first time — in the middle of a Norwegian forest.

Evening in Norwegian mountains

December 29, 2018poem, Poetry, winterfamily, Life, mountains, Norway, poem, poetry, snow, winterThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

White cold sun slides down
The arc of brief afternoon
Dips behind a shattered peak
And snow and air turn vivid blue
Colouring all in dimness
Silence becomes more so
It is the time for trolls

My sons laughter fills the sledding slope
As I cajole them to the cabin
A long walk away
Across deep snow
During the time for trolls

Re-blogged from 2017

Friday Poem: Auld lang syne

December 28, 2018poem, Poetryauld lang syne, Friday Poem, Guest poem, lyrics, New Year, poem, poetry, Robert BurnsThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
Sin’ auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidl’d in the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin’ auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

By Robert Burns (1759 – 1796)

Merry Christmas Everybody (lyrics)

December 25, 2018Christmas, poem, PoetryChristmas, humour, lyrics, Noddy Holder, poem, poetry, Slade, Song, XmasThe Cheesesellers Wife aka Kim Whysall-Hammond

The ultimate song about a British Christmas:

Are you hanging up a stocking on your wall?
It’s the time that every Santa has a ball
Does he ride a red nosed reindeer?
Does a ton-up on his sleigh?
Do the fairies keep him sober for a day?

So here it is Merry Christmas
Everybody’s having fun
Look to the future now
It’s only just begun.

Are you waiting for the family to arrive?
Are you sure you got the room to spare inside?
Does your granny always tell ya
That the old songs are the best
Then she’s up and rock and rollin’ with the rest?

So here it is Merry Christmas
Everybody’s having fun
Look to the future now
It’s only just begun.

What will your daddy do when he sees
Your mama kissin’ Santa Claus
Ah ah

Are you hanging up a stocking on your wall?
Are you hoping that the snow will start to fall
Do you ride on down the hillside
In a buggy you have made?
When you land upon your head
Then you bin slayed.

So here it is Merry Christmas
Everybody’s having fun
Look to the future now
It’s only just begun.

IT’S CHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITSMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!!!!!!!

With love to Noddy Holder and Slade, for my favourite Christmas song (although for my sons, The Beach Boys Christmas Album reigns supreme, and we always play it when decorating the tree).