Foggy days in old Amsterdam
When rooftops hide in the gloom
Hoar frost sparkles tattered bushes
Tram windows mist up
Flying home to unexpected chill
House cold as a tomb
Huddling around an electric heater
Sipping tea, as the gas boiler struggles
Bright morning, glowing sunshine
Garden frosted like a Christmas cake
Hens fluffed up against the chill
We miss the warmth of good friends
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Oh, to be with friends in Amsterdam again…..sigh…….
Friend who is more than family
who is vital to you, one you cannot lose
Friend who is more like family
meaning you hardly speak to each other
Friend who is also your lover/husband/wife
Friend who is no longer a friend because
she decided to be someone else’s friend
Facebook friend who is not really a friend
Friend you have lost somewhere on the way
Friend you forgot
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
There is a ghost at your funeral today
a face so familiar, still loved
my friend, your wife
gone these twenty years
now you too have left us
we all stand stunned
grieving
missing your expansive
presence in our lives
Looking over the crowd
I see eyes, cheek bones, jawline
the image of her mother
your much loved step daughter
wiping away fond tears
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This summer we lost Martin Hoare. A great presence and a good friend. We were standing-room only at the funeral, his coffin was a TARDIS and the committal music was the Dr Who theme tune — which turned out to be quite moving. At the end, we all sang ‘Always look on the bright side’ and we all had tears running down our cheeks.
….and then as we left, I saw the ghost…..
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.
Walking back from your house,
Orion calling to me over mine,
the glow at the next street light
burst into fluid noise, birdsong at midnight
rippling through our suburb
with no one but me to hear.
I should have gone back and got you,
taken you to hear.
But I’m still uncertain of your reaction,
pragmatic as you are,
and you need to get your students marking done.
The bird was calling out unheard
or heard only by me.
Just as you call and are unheard.
The idiot man who left you,
the sisters who think you should be
over it by now,
and only me, each Wednesday night
to listen to you as we paint.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
My dearest friends do not live close
Scattered across Europe and far beyond
Yet always close to my heart
Even if I cannot see them
Or hug them
When I would want to
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Part of the daily challenge I’m following for a short while. This poem is in response to the prompt ‘Friend’.
We spin along
The great groove of change
Pushing forward through time
Stretching to our demise
We weave our lives
From friendships, loves won and lost
The weft of sorrow, the haft of joy
Riding on our spinning mass of rock
Its all spinning in the end
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Like coral
Like coral grips the rock,
I hold fast to you
Like the ocean embraces the Earth,
I embrace you
Like meat loves salt,
I love you
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Boys
Long legged boys
Filling my sofa
Controllers in hand
Deep laughs mingle with shrill cries
As Black Ops rolls
Every weekend they come to call
Filling my sofa
Littering shoes in my hall
Then are gone in a flash as dinners beckon
And the sofa is empty
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Cold
Foggy days in old Amsterdam
When rooftops hide in the gloom
Hoar frost sparkles tattered bushes
Tram windows mist up
Flying home to unexpected chill
House cold as a tomb
Huddling around an electric heater
Sipping tea, as the gas boiler struggles
Bright morning, glowing sunshine
Garden frosted like a Christmas cake
Hens fluffed up against the chill
We miss the warmth of good friends
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Thank you Edgar, for the photograph…..
