Category Archives: art

Bosworth Field

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A gentle breeze billows the green barley
Sending waves shimmering from hedge to hedge
Elder and Herb Robert sparkle the field edge
Above the oak leaves do not stir

Near here a crown once hung on a thorn bush
Men struggled for cause, battle cries rang out
A King died alone fighting amid the foe
Violated in death, lost
Naked and broken the victors took him to town for display
Traitor they called him, an anointed King of England
Hunchback, wicked, perfidious
Name calling by the new regime
Murderer of children they whispered into the stream of history

A gentle breeze billows the green barley
Above the oak leaves do not stir

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Caught

I am caught in the grip of wonder
The balance and symmetry of mathematics
The glints and sparkles of a spiders many eyes
The shimmering dance of subatomic particles
The everyday  terrible beauty of our Earth
Look at the way a chickens feathers catch the light
Look at the reflections on that puddle
Look at how the road undulates ahead
How car headlights reveal different things
In the depth of the darkness
How light reflects to give
A rainbow in that roadside oil spill

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Avebury Stone

One of my interests (my sons may term it an obsession) is prehistory – which was born from childhood visits to ancient sites in or near the Vale of Pewsey in Wiltshire. Not so far from the end of the Vale is Avebury stone circle, arguably more spectacular than Stonehenge.  Here is a sketch of one particular stone in the Avebury circle, and a rather colourful watercolour interpretation.

 

 

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At Stratford with William

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

For William Shakespeare’s Birthday…

Sleep takes you

Sleep takes you

Sleep takes you and whirls you around,
Swirling you along over the ground.
Then the ground looms and you veer away, desperately climbing up towards day.
Head over heels you tumble and fall,
Speeding down like a plane caught in a stall.
Loud ringing sounds out and you wake with a start,
Lying in bed with a hammering heart.

Copyright © 2015  Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

….re-blogged from 2015….