Category Archives: Poetry

Poem: The Present

Time’s linear line
always onward

when did this future
become my present?

a gift I didn’t want
but cannot

ever
return

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The second of three…………

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Friday poem: Eel Grass

No matter what I say,
All that I really love
Is the rain that flattens on the bay,
And the eel-grass in the cove;
The jingle-shells that lie and bleach
At the tide-line, and the trace
Of higher tides along the beach:
Nothing in this place.

 

Snowfall

Constable mirrors move
continually from light to dark
ever modulating apparent form
as the sun beyond
tries to pierce their hazy layer
parting it from the cool beauty
of the rolling opalescence below.

But the white motes now thin and slow their descent
becoming weary of motion
seeking quiet and rest
among their forerunners who now
lie on the cold earth
waiting for warmth to free them
for yet further journeys.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Friday poem: Though you are in your shining days

Though you are in your shining days
Voices among the crowd
And new friends busy with your praise
Be not unkind or proud
But think about old friends the most:
Time’s bitter flood will rise
Your beauty perish and be lost
For all eyes but these eyes.

by William Butler Yeats

Driving Home

The road is bejewelled with the lights of traffic
Red ribbon, white ribbon, snaking over the hills
Dark fields lie beside us as we wend our way
The villages we bypass shine stray lights to our eyes
I turn off the radio and drive in silence
Motoring into the dark, climbing and swooping
As the moon illuminates us all
I slide off at my junction taking the tight French style curve
And home beckons

Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Reblogged from 2015

Friday Poem: Love among the Roses

While weaving a garland
One fine day
I found that midst
The roses lay
The god of Love
I picked him up
And dipped him in
The wine-filled cup
I took and drank him;
Now he clings
Inside me, tickling
With his wings

by Julianus, Prefect of Eygpt (6th Century)

From  ‘Great Short Poems’, Ed. Dorothy Pollack, Dover Books.

Crafty eyes see the deer

Crafty eyes see the deer
Sunlit spotted still as death
An inward breath, a soft thanksgiving
And the arrow flies true
The sudden crash to the ground
Startles birds and woman
The berrying children cry out in joy
At the treat to come

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

I am fascinated by the lives of those who lived here in the Mesolithic –the early Stone Age. Here I describe a mother hunting meat for her children. Bows would have been a female weapon as well as a male one.

The Picture is a drawing from a cave in Spain.

Reblogged from 2016