I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.
by Frank Herbert
Today’s Friday Poem is indeed from one of my books, although not a poetry book, but the novel Dune.
Reaching out into light from nightmare
a promise of hope
skitters against the closed window
It seems as if night has eaten my bones
I lie listless, captive
time moves sideways into morning
Daylight thickens, enters my lungs
animates and quickens
Another new day……
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
She did not weep,
nothing so soft or poetic,
my grandmother sobbed long and hard
remembering war-crippled brothers, war dead father.
She had nursed soldiers, married one,
spent recent years in dread.
A few words on the Wireless,
a husband mustering with his gun,
and the nightmare returns.
As a child, thirty years later,
I saw hunger in her old eyes
a longing for security from fear
that she never lost.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
For Ethel Maude Wellsted Brown (known as Maude), orphaned by the Boer War, Pharmacist during the 1918 Flu pandemic, wife and mother to Airmen and Airwomen. My beloved maternal Grandmother who married a poor boy from Malta and, despite the attitudes of the time, danced with black GI’s in Wiltshire as they waited to fight in D-Day and the liberation of Europe.
The photo is of her and her children in the mid-1930’s. The little girl in white grew up to be my mother. The three larger children were all in the RAF or WAAF in World War 2. They and their father came through the war unscathed.
According to my mother (who was eleven at the time), Maude sobbed for hours after the declaration of war was broadcast in September 1939..
I cannot take a breath
Rigid ribcage imprisons
Eyes fixated on the depth
A glinting lake beckons below
Made small by distance
Encircled by this cliff face
Glacially ground out
A bowl caverned into the mountain
Looking down exerts a pull
Closer to the cliff edge
Inhaling, stepping back
Defying the call of the cwm.
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond