Tag Archives: love

My sons tower over me

My sons tower over me
making me feel like I have shrunk
the eldest shares stories  of University
some I’d rather not hear

Spontaneous hugs envelop  me
protective and loving
we smile over stories of their boyhood
adventures while walking to school
playing at Orcs  in the woods
chasing waves on a North Sea beach
then travelling home soaked through
that time in the fountain…

I  am grateful for the gifts of love and joy
that they bring me
many times unknowingly
am happy when the house
fills with the deep laughter of young men

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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Dad

Dad was a twin, so identical
they were still mistaken for each other
into late middle age.
Which was always funny.

Dad was a runner,
running for sheer joy
so gracefully.
Keeping that joy into old age.

Dad was an artist,
an art school graduate who
gave it up to feed his family.
Only after his stroke did he paint once more.

Dad was a gardener,
after work  checking his beloved tomatoes
before he saw his wife and children.
“But they’re my tomatoes.” he would say – and we forgave him.

Dad loved the outdoors,
walking children and grandchildren across fields
to watch rabbits and deer.

Dad was a friend to all,
and interested in everything
“Who is Dad talking to now” we would cry.

We lost him at at a stately home,
found him and Lord Bath discussing crockery
in the formal dining room.

Dad was a family man,
He loved his wife, children, grandchildren so much.
Everyone who met him found a new friend.

We will watch his grandchildren grow
Who is the runner? Who the artist? Who is the friend?
May they all be as kind.

And we will all remember his smile.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

For Trevor William Whysall, 1930 – 2005

This was my eulogy at Dad’s funeral in 2005. His grandchildren are all mostly grown up now. Art, sports, love and kindness feature largely in each of their lives. I am proud of them all. He would be too.

The teenage years

All bets are off in the teenage years
You still share your child’s hopes and fears
But they are a child no more –Can you hear that slammed door?
It’s a bumpy ride–Sometimes Jekyll, sometimes Hyde
You love them to bits, you can’t stand them any more
And there again is that slamming door
You glimpse a young woman, you glimpse a young man –Try to catch them if you can
Sometimes it seems they’re a toddler again –Needing to share some of the pain
Do you remember when this was you?
Now you know what your parents went through……

  Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Re-blogged from 2015….This is our second time round with teenage moods and contradictions. And he leaves us for University soon, after which time I’m sure we will long for the thumping around and those “I cant believe my parents are so thick” looks once more!

 

Friday poem: Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

 

by Edna St. Vincent Millay (February 22, 1892 – October 19, 1950)

Friday Poem: When you wake tomorrow

I will give you a poem when you wake tomorrow.
It will be a peaceful poem.
It won’t make you sad.
It won’t make you miserable.
It will simply be a poem to give you
When you wake tomorrow.

It was not written by myself alone.
I cannot lay claim to it.
I found it in your body.
In your smile I found it.
Will you recognise it?

You will find it under your pillow.
When you open the cupboard it will be there.
You will blink in astonishment,
Shout out, ‘How it trembles!
Its nakedness is startling! How fresh it tastes!’

We will have it for breakfast;
On a table lit by loving,
At a place reserved for wonder.
We will give the world a kissing open
When we wake tomorrow.

We will offer it to the sad landlord out on the balcony.
To the dreamers at the window.
To the hand waving for no particular reason
We will offer it.
An amazing and most remarkable thing,
We will offer it to the whole human race
Which walks in us
When we wake tomorrow.

By Brian Patten