Category Archives: poem

Amstelveen

Finally there, filling your sofa
raiding your freezer for ice.
Walking out to the river
its banks a storey higher
than the fields.

Taking the tram to the Dam
to the museum quarter
drifting through the Van Goghs
eating pancakes and poffertjes
in the shadow of windmills.

Finally with you, together at last
after years of hurt.
Finally the large barbeque
your Mums Pork Satay
and so many old friends.

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

We finally got to visit a dear friend in the Netherlands over the last two weeks. It was bliss……

Making Cheese

Put some water in a pan
easy when from a tap
yet children carry water along
hot dry roads every day

With 1 litre of whole milk
maybe you get up early to feed the goats
or buy it in a plastic carton on
the way home from the office

bring to the boil and stir
Is that music stirring
Or just too loud?

then boil again
The desert boils, is a
days death to walk

Add the juice of two lemons
Oh to walk the citrus groves
Of old Mdina once more

It will spilt
A transformation of form and substance
The very heart of magic, cooking, poetry

Drain the solids in a cheesecloth
I would drink the whey
others waste it

Press them to firmness
Either that of a ripe peach or
of your lovers kisses

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Friday Poem: High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air….
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark, or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
– Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.


by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr, RCAF, 1941

Leonid

There
Amsterdam and Leonid turns up at a friends house
with a case of ikons and art
new identity papers
no longer a Russian
but a proud Ukrainian
selling treasure for hard currency
to build a country
 
When
we traipsed with him around dealers and auction houses
awkward in an unfamiliar world
waiting for bona fides to be checked
deals to be made
 
Now
I wonder where you are my friend
cannot understand how it came to this
how dreams shatter
conceptions of nationhood crack
peace shatters into sharp fatal shards

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

A poem for Fake Flamencos June challenge

This poem is in the form of a naani poem. Naani means: expressing one and all in theTelugu language. This form originated in India from the Telugu poet, Dr. N. Gopi. A naani has four lines with a total of 20-25 syllables and no title. It was written for Rebecca over at Fake Flamenco as part of her June Poetry Challenge :

Grey dawn is a stranger
Yet I remember
Gulls on a clay flat beach
Frost sparkling a forbidden lawn

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Silbury Hill

As your world changed
As strangers came with magic melting rocks
With swords that came from stone
With the bright and shiny
You built your last

Piled sacred river stones
Mounding on midsummers day
Dug deep into hard chalk with antler picks
Growing the mound higher and higher
Hollowing a great winter moat

Mist wreathed Silbury sits tall and green
In winter
White with frost and snow
Reflected in a sacred pool

And Silbury Hill still shocks
Still looms ahead of the unwary traveller
And even those that come to seek it
Are awed by what you did with bone and stone

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond