She calls it Moo-juice
in a trying-hard-to-be-cute way.
He winces, wonders why she does this
then is lost once more in her eyes.
I watch, hopefully furtive, observing
the locals in their native habitat
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Tag Archives: love
Friday Poem: How do I love thee?
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
I want to see you dance
I want to see you dance again my love
although you mainly did the pogo
There are no crowds anymore
no Mosh to negotiate
I would always be further out
dancing in circles, arms outstretched
watching for your head
to pop up in random places
as you rose and fell
full of the joy of dance
until that day you pulled me in and
I found the sway and push of pressed bodies
breathing as one, living the music together
as ecstatic as loving you
Let’s do it all again…..
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Happy Birthday my dancer!
Daydream
I drowse in heavy sun, dream of snow on mountains, ocean breezes
and the riverside where I read one whole day in the shade
of an oak, while you were cycling across Wiltshire
with the old friend that eventually deserted
and hurt you. We were all untamed by
life then, pushing boundaries
feeling awful and wonderful
at each the same time. I
loved you so much that
it hurt, sometimes
still does.
Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Friday Poem: Dover Beach
The sea is calm tonight.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the Ægean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Friday Poem: Delight in Disorder
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribands to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.
Yesterday Afternoon
Stretched out on the lawn
bathed in warm sun
we idle with you, our traveling son
and spend time on important things
laughter, love and
space to simply be
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Friday Poem: They flee from me
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themself in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small;
Therewithall sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, “Dear heart, how like you this?”
It was no dream: I lay broad waking.
But all is turned thorough my gentleness
Into a strange fashion of forsaking;
And I have leave to go of her goodness,
And she also, to use newfangleness.
But since that I so kindly am served
I would fain know what she hath deserved.
By Thomas Wyatt
Friday Poem: O Western Wind
O Western Wind when wilt thou blow
The small rain down can rain
Christ! my love were in my arms
and I in my bed again.
By Anonymous
This scrap of old poetry is so urgent, and heartfelt.
An excellent poem to re-start the Friday Poems!
We have made a Palace
We have made a palace just for you and I
Of all our days loving under an overarching sky.
Where we stop to see a hare leap and take our joint delight
in bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This little poem was inspired by I Will Make You Brooches by Robert Louis Stevenson
For Earthweal https://earthweal.com/2022/01/28/earthweal-open-link-weekend-103/
The Cheesesellers Wife 