Category Archives: art

At Stratford with William

From above I watch the story unfold
Bask in dense poetry
The pleasure of  words and phrasing
So pertinent to the action
To the people laying out their very lives in front of us
I laugh uproariously then
Gasp as the knife plunges
Hold my breath
Knowing from schooldays the inevitable end
But hoping this time, here, now
That tragedy can somehow not play out on this stage
That all must come right even for this poor foolish reprobate
Sit shaken, still, grieving
Then
Stand and  roar my appreciation
My hands clap fast and hard  above my head
I grin in sheer pleasure at the craft and art
That has been spun out this evening
As the story concludes and the players bow

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

We will be seeing Macbeth at Stratford this week!

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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 2016

Listening

Walking back from your house,
Orion calling to me over mine,
the glow at the next street light
burst into fluid noise, birdsong at midnight
rippling through our suburb
with no one but me to hear.
I should have gone back and got you,
taken you to hear.
But I’m still uncertain of your reaction,
pragmatic as you are,
and you need to get your students marking done.

The bird was calling out unheard
or heard only by me.
Just as you call and are unheard.
The idiot man who left you,
the sisters who think you should be
over it by now,
and only me, each Wednesday night
to listen to you as we paint.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The things you have said

At seventeen you said,
You know I really think a lot of you
Well, you haven’t hit me yet
Dear Miss Whysall, but we’ll soon out a stop to that
Do you know how to call a waiter to the table?

At twenty one you said,
I sleep with a woman who sleepwalks Mars
Will you marry me?
I think you should go away to Oxford to realise your dream
Can we see the poverty stricken student line of engagement rings?

And so it has continued
and so I love you

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

A soppy love poem for my Cheese seller. It’s his birthday today!