Tag Archives: Friends

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……

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

Old friends

You cannot make new old friends

So take care to keep them to the end

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem is written in response to Rebeccas February poetry challenge.

This month the poetic form is a pareado (from two, like pair). The pareado comes from traditional Spanish poetry for sayings and advice.

To a Distant Friend

Winter has brought new fears
new covids, colds, and flu
will our jabs hold up?
can I hug at Christmas?
Will I get to see you?

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This little poem is a Flamenca poem.

The form comes from the Flamenco songs of the Roma people. The structure is a quintain; five lines. The number of syllables; 6-6-5-6-6. Challenging bit: The second and fifth verses share assonance; the rhyming of stressed vowels (equinox; thought) or words with the same consonant and a different vowel (night; naught).

It was written in response to Rebecca’s December Poetry Challenge at Fake Flamenco. She is asking for poems about winter — I’m afraid mine is a bit gloomy though…..

Go an give it a try!

Rose Bower

for Gita, wherever you are

Enchantment beckoned at the end of your garden
many climbing roses intertwined into a
a concealing bower where

we spied on hidden lovers
hunted magic deer that leapt
skywards and away from
our orbital arrows that encircled the world

we swapped shoes and dresses
each handmade by our mothers
each smelling so different
you said all my people smelled of milk
I thought all yours were spice scented
and beautiful

we kissed each others palms
held our breath as pirate raiders crept by
evaded an amorous Sultan
sucked the tart sweetness of pomegranates
taken from your mothers kitchen

we found brambles amid the blooms
you did not know blackberries at all
then loved them more than pomegranate
because they grew in our magic place
you mother thought they were dirty
like me

we thought this would go on forever
that we would grow up together
then, you were suddenly gone
moved away to where
a school would accept an Ugandan Asian girl

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Full Moon

I wave at the man
Smiling in his immensity
Sketched out by mountains and lava flows
And call him friend
He has lit my way home
Coloured my evenings
Lit up my childhood
With dreams of space travel
How many others see him this way
The Man in the Moon?

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

For Nesa, who loved this poem of mine, but didn’t see a man in the moon. As she told me in 2016:

“You see a man in the moon. I see a rabbit, crouched down, ears sticking up. Have seen him since I was a child and still watch for him to follow me home.”

We all miss you Nesa, so much……

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

Oh, to be with friends in Amsterdam again…..sigh…….