Tag Archives: family

It’s all geek to you

Sixty six thousand miles an hour she spins us around her
yet a layer of grey moistness
stops the Sun’s nuclear furnace from warming my bones
as I lie here on the garden deck
wrapped old lady like in fleece blanket
and suburban birdsong

Five hundred thousand miles an hour we all turn around
the black maw at galactic central
that swallows worlds and never enough
lunching on stellar archipelagoes
leading me to think of  Schwartzchild radii
and equations I once manipulated.

Faster than both, you fall through the front door
laughing over the factorisation error you made
in today’s school test.
Functionally innumerate, mathematically gifted,
golden, green eyed geek son of mine.

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

For my youngest son, 19 today, still a geek, soon to be an aerospace engineer.

This poem was written when he was still at school.

Father And Son

Another wonderful poem from Glenys about family life. Do go and check out her poetry, she tells such great stories so well….

lifecameos

On Christmas Day after
the excitement of presents
Dad lies on the living room floor
on his side, head on hand as
baby brother leans backwards
and forwards rocking to and fro
on his chubby bottom against
Dad’s stomach, absorbed in his
new playskool toy with a
rolling barrel, levers to push.

He thumps on one lever, laughs
at its loud ringing noise, stares
in fascination as the barrel rolls
and rings, thumps the lever again,
murmurs excitedly to himself.

Dad watches as baby brother
plays, grinning broadly at this
intent little fellow, so engrossed
in his fabulous new toy.

Previously posted March 2017

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Going to school

We are all three children
ready for school at last.
But who can go this morning?
Mum sits on the stairs crying
railing against our tardy ways.
She complains of our constant
losing of gloves and hats
not to mention sports kit
and of how hard it is to get us all ready.
My little brothers stand open-mouthed
frightened by this collapse of motherhood.
Older, I am far more worried about not
getting to school on time.
I’m still not allowed to walk there on my own
although the neighbour’s girl my age can,
and I’m wary of shepherding two
wayward little boys across the road to the school.
But, as Mum raises her voice in yet another wailing moan
I decide this must be done.

I pat her on the hand, and tell her
that I’ll do it today, then
I open the door.
Suddenly, I’m slapped, shouted at
called a little madam.
Suddenly, it’s fine for Mum to take us.
Crying, I hop from foot to foot
impatiently as she gets ready,
her ‘face’ needs to be put on which
always takes forever.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Rain on the Roof

He sleeps on while I awake
to hear rain on the roof
lie snug listening to a
long familiar sound
pattering, gathering strength
and force until
it pounds
and the roof resounds.

Gasping with sudden
shattering realisation
I grab for the breathers,
the suits,
scream for the children.
It does not rain
here on Mars.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem was published as ‘Rain’  Star*Line Volume 42, Issue 2 –the in-house print  journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association.

http://sfpoetry.com/sl/issues/starline42.2.html

My sons tower over me

My sons tower over me
making me feel like I have shrunk
the eldest shares stories  of University
some I’d rather not hear

Spontaneous hugs envelop  me
protective and loving
we smile over stories of their boyhood
adventures while walking to school
playing at Orcs  in the woods
chasing waves on a North Sea beach
then travelling home soaked through
that time in the fountain…

I  am grateful for the gifts of love and joy
that they bring me
many times unknowingly
am happy when the house
fills with the deep laughter of young men

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Forefathers

One walked into shellfire for a mile
and a half
to check if a barbed wire barrier
was now holed

One fought Ottomans in Salonika
and fought again in the next war that burnt Europe

One built underground factories,
and stood at the end of a
bombed and burning street
mourning

We tell their great grandchildren,
watch them weep,
while grateful that
in most of Europe
war is distant

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Each of our Grandfathers survived their wars, but my Aunt lost an fiancé — one of the many American GI’s killed on D-Day.

Forefathers

One walked into shellfire for a mile
and a half
to check if a barbed wire barrier
was now holed

One built underground factories,
and stood at the end of a
bombed and burning street
mourning

One fought Ottomans in Salonika
and fought again in the next war that burnt Europe

We tell their great grandchildren,
watch them weep,
while grateful that
in most of Europe
war is distant

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Each of our Grandfathers survived their wars, but my Aunt lost an fiancé — one of the many American GI’s killed on D-Day.

Dad

Dad was a twin, so identical
they were still mistaken for each other
into late middle age.
Which was always funny.

Dad was a runner,
running for sheer joy
so gracefully.
Keeping that joy into old age.

Dad was an artist,
an art school graduate who
gave it up to feed his family.
Only after his stroke did he paint once more.

Dad was a gardener,
after work  checking his beloved tomatoes
before he saw his wife and children.
“But they’re my tomatoes.” he would say – and we forgave him.

Dad loved the outdoors,
walking children and grandchildren across fields
to watch rabbits and deer.

Dad was a friend to all,
and interested in everything
“Who is Dad talking to now” we would cry.

We lost him at at a stately home,
found him and Lord Bath discussing crockery
in the formal dining room.

Dad was a family man,
He loved his wife, children, grandchildren so much.
Everyone who met him found a new friend.

We will watch his grandchildren grow
Who is the runner? Who the artist? Who is the friend?
May they all be as kind.

And we will all remember his smile.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

For Trevor William Whysall, 1930 – 2005

This was my eulogy at Dad’s funeral in 2005. His grandchildren are all mostly grown up now. Art, sports, love and kindness feature largely in each of their lives. I am proud of them all. He would be too.