All posts by The Cheesesellers Wife

About The Cheesesellers Wife

I write poetry and paint in watercolours and acrylics. My Cheesesellers Wife blog is mostly about poetry and, yes, my husband sells cheese. Sometimes I help…….

Sun Queen

Our Lady the Sun
source of heat and fuel for life
beautiful at the horizon
painting clouds and sky

We bask and burn in her glory
as she sits supreme at system centre
girdled by planets, visited by stray comets
Regally burning

Interior electrons impede her light
render her glowing orb opaque
not that you can see this
it would burn your eyes out

Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Science and Science Fiction poetry: We are the Robots

Wetware software hardware
how hard do we have to be?
Programmed by the stochastic chatter of evolution
form fitting function,

Self replicating semi-autonomous robots.
purposed by deoxyribonucleic acid,
the software exists to
protect itself
not us.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Today is Science and SF Monday — A poem each week which either has a science theme or is Science Fiction…..


Tidying the study, a place
where all books and memories come to rest,
I find a brightly painted rough paper bowl,
red and blue, used as a hat in dressing up games.
It has a brim, just like a hat.
Something for the patient to hold I guess
while bringing up what the stomach can no longer bear.

Your Grandsons saw a pile of them
waiting ready for use at your hospital bedside,
used them for play in the ward,
took several home over those long months,
painted them, called them “Grandad’s hats”,
thought them a great amenity.

Of course the younger one was hardly complicit,
he was busy learning to crawl,
up and down the long row of beds he would travel
bringing smiles to all as he wavered,
mimicking the siren call of the ambulances
that rush to hospital with a precious cargo
full of dread and pain.

We almost lived in the ward that autumn
grew to know the other inhabitants,
the nurses who made sure the floors were safe for crawling,
the Physio who delighted in having a ex-athlete to train.
You were called their miracle,
recovering so well from a disabling stroke that pinioned you in the car
that changed all our lives in a tearing moment.
Then you survived a sudden heart failure
and a night when we were told you would not see dawn.

I sit, holding this bowl-hat relic,
turning it through my hands
this link to your eventual recovery,
although we have lost you since.

I kiss it tenderly and smile.

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Friday Poem: What is this life

It seems that  I’ve always known this poem, so I imagine that it was one of the many that my mother would declaim, often loudly, as she either did the housework, or alternatively, if she decided her children needed a bit of entertainment/ embarrassment/ education  (delete as appropriate).  Other  poems  Mum used included “The boy stood on the burning Deck”  and “Gunga Din”. However, this is the one that has become part of my personal philosophy of life….

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

by WH Davies

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

All we are is memories and echoes
all we can do is fracture the silence

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This was one of the first poems I ever posted, back in 2015. I’ve tidied it up a bit.

Science and Science Fiction poetry: Alien Evening

Moonlight  has banished an ocean of stars,
pouring  molten bronze across the ocean
where limpid waves stroke a pebbled shore.
A harsh breeze crashes across our equipment
as if breaking on a reef
Distant creatures call evenings end,
sharp disembodied sentinels of the night.
We lock ourselves in and wait.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

‘Alien evening’ was first published by Frozen Wavelets December 2019 issue 1  :

Mondays are Science and SF Mondays!

A poem each week which either has a science theme or is Science Fiction…..


English summers, often damp, can invoke long stifling twilights
nothing landbound needlessly moves
contrails crayon across the sky
so many, this close to London’s hub.
Distantly, the buzz of a low plane, pleasure rider reaching up
into the realm of the starlings as they susurrate
a car comes past in the lane droning away round the curves
here the runway cross remains
the old tower still stands intact
as ponies munch and cattle chew
larks lurk in the grass where bombers once turned
occasional ironwork testament to hydrants and gun emplacements
war and weapons layered over by Nature and time.
But, as the dark deepens, the lost come home
tearing blazing incandescent screams rustle up drowsy birds
look up and the dazzling burning blurs past
metal screeches as it tears apart, each time the same
one last attempt at landing whole, at bringing the crate home
so wanting to see sweethearts and Blighty again
then gone, back to oblivion.
The burning pilot saluted you as he passed.

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem first appeared in Peacock Journal .

England July 2022

Humid air, popped with energy
soaks empty sky where
clouds breed like
virus in a host
darken, roil, and
infect the evening
with thunder

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem was inspired by the quote from Breakfast at Tiffanys : “It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes.”

It was compsed and posted ii response to a prompt over at Dverse.