Tag Archives: Life


Moorland lurks in my soul
skies that bleed rain, seep mist
slant slopes that yearn for sunlight in winter
twilight danger as sharp branched trees close in
a dance with the lowering sky
someone once said it was my altar
my shadow a church spire across bog

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Lost City

Vanished cities, drowned, razed
desolation and grief done and dusted
Atlantis gone into to myth
Carthage, Mohenjo-daro, Great Zimbabwe
all left ruins to wander and wonder
in history’s depth lie others
lost in deserts, buried in forests, slipped into oceans
more will go as sea levels rise, storms devour

There are other ways to lose a city
I have lost mine, changed and changing
beyond what I once knew
foreign in my home town
I archeologise
observing layers buried by new wealth
(transitory puffs of global capital)
visualise the people that have moved on
as I have
refugees priced out, social-cleansed
living on the fringes
looking back to better times

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Terminator Line

It is always dawn and dusk
Time moves on geographically
The terminator line marches inexorably
Round and round the planet
Smoothed across the sparkling Pacific
Cut to shreds by jagged mountains
Rippled across desert dunes
Unnoticed in the mega-cities
Each second brings a thousand tiny awakenings
A thousand tiny refugees from sleep
A thousand predatory opportunities
A thousand closings

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

First published at https://inbetweenhangovers.wordpress.com/

Father And Son

A wonderful seasonal poem from Glenys:


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 tinging 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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Been there, done that

Don’t try to name me by your names
I will not play any of your games

I’ve lived with your chaining fear
but I have always had ambition
won’t accept your conditions
I am a free, sustained idea

I am universe, scientist, mother
once you tried to cut me with wolfwhistles
now you imply I’m useless gristle
always someone you do your best to smother

Don’t try to fit me into your little world
because I rise high, little man
won’t bow to your sexist demands
this woman has her soul unfurled

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Starlorn in the Aftergloom

Adrift on infectious tides
wandering and wondering
we are in craxis

No action should be aimless now
but if only they could be
and we were free again

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem was written in response to a prompt at Dverse, where we are challenged to write poetry using one or more of ten words selected from The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, by John Koenig.  

I have used three:

Starlorn: a sense of loneliness looking up at the night sky, feeling like a castaway in the middle of the ocean, whose currents are steadily carrying off all other castaways.

Aftergloom: the pang of loneliness you feel the day after an intensely social event, as the glow of voices and laughter fades into a somber quiet.

Craxis: the unease of knowing how quickly your circumstances could change on you- that no matter how carefully you shape your life into what you want it to be, the whole thing could be overturned in an instant.

The Overwhelming Sky

The overwhelming sky enthrals me
shows me its magic, fills me with glory
layers of stratus, piles of towering cumulus
cirrus lacing glazes overtop
neon pink icy scribbling on an evening horizon
fireworks sunsets, pale sleepy dawns
reds, yellows, purples, greens overwrite the blue and black
Gauguin, Picasso, Rothko must have felt this
The Starry Night is truth, no wonder Vincent suffered so
Genghis rode under this dome that encompasses all of our lives
did its pressure drive him to the cities for refuge rather than plunder?

The overwhelming sky appears to have no end
although I know that it is but the skin on the planet apple
it bears down on me, it conquers me
filling me up with its immensity
until I spill this burden of  words
to offer them as sacrificial token
to try to explain this hold
to bid to exorcise it
to seek release
it is the master of me

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

First published at Your One Phone Call

Loom Weight

A loom weight lost these many millennia
sits proud on heavy soil
held in my hand, it speaks of loving toil
the spinning of fabric
to clothe a family
and a connection is made
she spoke ancient Greek
a colonist deep in Sicily’s heartland
I stroke the fingerprint left in once moist clay
and say Hello

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

For Dverse

This loom weight was fund in Western Sicily, whilst I was working on an archeological survey many many years ago. It came home with me and I still look at her fingerprint and say hello……

Bored Relics

Bored relics loiter at street corners
hiss sexily at passers by
wanna look at some history?
they ask

Bored relics broke out of the museum
looking for excitement
didn’t realise that there is none
in this small town

Our main excitement is the museum
with all its lovely old relics
now it’s even more fun there
we can view their smashed cases

Bored relics start walking down the road
craving life and joy
we are all in the museum
having found it

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Two poems up at the Bind Collective

Yay!! I have two poems up on the excellent Bind Collective site:


Compostable Love is all about the abundant life and wonder in a compost heap, while Meditation tells you about sowing seeds , that ‘promise to the near future‘.

Many thanks to Ella & Flo for publishing my poems!