Category Archives: poem

Sweet Blood – poem from 2017

By the numbers
Do I track my bodily betrayal
Silent sugars gnaw at me
Shorten my life, threaten my sight
My feet and so mobility
By the numbers
Media propaganda
Labels me guilty
A self inflicted pariah
Costing the state drugs, injections
By the numbers
I labour on
Researching the evidence
Counting the carbs
Pulling the weights
Five walks a week
Of thirty minutes each
Defying the numbers
My chosen path
And the numbers drop
My body may falter
But I shall not

 Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Wish me luck, I’m off  for a check up….

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High Desert — a poem by Ursula K. Le Guin

 

Out here, there is another way to be.

There is a rising brightness in the rock,

a singing in the silence of the tree.

Something is always moving, running free,

as quick and still as quail move in a flock.

The hills out here know a hard way to be.

I have to listen for it patiently:

a drumming canter slowing to a walk,

a flutter in the silence of a tree.

The owl’s call from the rimrock changes key.

What door will open to the flicker’s knock?

Out here there is another way to be,

described by the high circles of a hawk

above what hides in silence in the tree.

The cottonwoods in their simplicity

talk softly on, as hidden waters talk,

an almost silent singing in the tree

that says, here is another way to be.

— Ursula K. Le Guin

The 21st October 2018 would have been Ursula’s 89th Birthday.

Poem : Gone

When it happened, we each thought
that we were the only one.
Gradually, we realised
others were affected.
Leaves no longer gave shade,
grass revealed the many varied
colours of the soil beneath
and the fields appeared barren
although stock still grazed.
Some clothes were embarrassingly transparent.
It took a good while
for the news to spread,
Hogsbourne was the village with no green.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

At The Meat Chiller

Own up folks, we’ve all done something like this at some point. As usual Glenys captures these moments so well:

lifecameos

On a busy morning at the
supermarket meat chiller
I studied shelves of
sausages, chops, mince
and shin meat on the bone.
I tried to slide right
to see the chicken packs, lamb
knuckles, corned beef brisket
but the person to my right
simply would not move.
I sidestepped along slightly crowding
but still they did not move.

I turned to say “Excuse me !”
and found myself facing my
reflection in the mirror
on the end section wall.

Previously posted June 2016

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The world within #poem #poetry

We are the body electric
Our cells sense differences
In the electricities around us

We are multitudes
blood containing cells
from parents and children

And yes, children, we are stardust
billions of stars died three times over
to make our atoms

Poetry and wonder
is our very
existence

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The Art of Living

The art of living appears to be in accepting the inevitable
Negotiating a peace with oneself
Making a treaty with the world
And then becoming free to really live

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

First blogged in 2016.

“The art of living lies less in eliminating our troubles than in growing with them.”
― Bernard M. Baruch
From http://dailyinspiration.me/