Friday Poem: Atlas

There is a kind of love called maintenance
Which stores the WD40 and knows when to use it;

Which checks the insurance, and doesn’t forget
The milkman; which remembers to plant bulbs;

Which answers letters; which knows the way
The money goes; which deals with dentists

And Road Fund Tax and meeting trains,
And postcards to the lonely; which upholds

The permanently rickety elaborate
Structures of living, which is Atlas.

And maintenance is the sensible side of love,
Which knows what time and weather are doing
To my brickwork; insulates my faulty wiring;
Laughs at my dryrotten jokes; remembers
My need for gloss and grouting; which keeps
My suspect edifice upright in air,
As Atlas did the sky.

By UA Fanthorpe (Ursula Fanthorpe)

Friday Poem: First Love

Falling in love was like falling down the stairs
Each stair had her name on it
And he went bouncing down each one like a tongue-tied
lunatic
One day of loving her was an ordinary year
He transformed her into what he wanted
And the scent from her
Was the best scent in the world
Fifteen he was fifteen
Each night he dreamed of her
Each day he telephoned her
Each day was unfamiliar
Scary even
And the fear of her going weighed on him like a stone
And when he could not see her for two nights running
It seemed a century had passed
And meeting her and staring at her face
He knew he would feel as he did forever
Hopelessly in love
Sick with it
And not even knowing her second name yet
It was the first time
The best time
A time that would last forever
Because it was new
Because he was ignorant it could ever end
It was endless

by Brian Patten

Mask

You unmasked me
With your honesty and affection
At seventeen, I knew loneliness
Until you unmasked me
Showed me the world made new by you

You unmasked me
I no longer needed to hide away
Lost in my own family
You gave me your life, our life
We have made a new family
Unmasked

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Changeling

Once we climbed hills in a breath
contemplated clouds as
fantastic ruins on the horizon

Now you are silent, I don’t know
what light your eyes see

Wind and sea both murmur
the poetry of things insinuates
into our hearts.

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Friday Poem: Love Song

If I could write words
Like leaves on an Autumn Forest floor
What a bonfire my letters would make.
If I could speak words  of water
You would drown when I said
'I love you'.

By Spike Milligan

Note: This post was typed directly into the verse block as advised by various WP Happiness Engineers. However, the poem is STILL in Courier, which is an awful font, especially for poetry.  My apologies, but it's not my fault.

Standing on Dunkery

Any hill will do
They all are sacred, but
Dunkery at twilight
As mist seeps up from
Purple heather
Horizons broaden out
And valleys settle into shadow

Sheep bleat, asking for their land back
But we walk the broad path
To a scattered mound of stone
Skirting nervous wild ponies
As the sun paints them golden

Ponies never ask, it is always theirs
As it belonged to the mound builders
Five thousand years ago
As it belongs
And doesn’t belong
To us all
But especially tonight
To me and mine

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

Written in response to this weeks EarthWeal challenge “Sacred Landscapes“. Exmoor is very special and it’s highest point, Dunkery Beacon, even more so.

Sky

The sky seduces me
fills my eyes.
Staring out at grey rains today
blessedly cooling
remembering white noons
brick red sunsets, lemon dawns
whales breaching, jellyfish jellying
wind in hair and lungs
exhilaration and joy
memories that tip toe in
hand in hand with all my loves and woes
happinesses, griefs.
I hum songs of the sky
her shadows and canvases
float in my own internal ocean
drift and dream.

Each time I see her, I am joy.

 

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

BLM

If they don’t matter, none of us do
if they cant feel secure, who is?
I don’t feel privileged,
as a woman I will not walk the fields here alone.
But I am far more privileged than
George, Breonna, Rayshard
and all those others over all those years.
May my world and their world become one.

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

If I were Midas

If I were Midas
I would not touch you of course
But I would touch everything around you
Fill your life with golden splendour

If I were Homer
My next epic would have you as hero
Magnificent in your helmet and breastplate
Fighting on the shores by a walled city

If I were Leonidas
I would come back on my Shield
Having died defending you
And all we hold dear

If I were Clytemnestra
I would forgive you your war absences
And even Cassandra
I would stand by your side

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

For Tony on his Birthday

Apart

To be so many miles away
unable to travel
no breakfast  hug for me
no cards sent
(you said you would not use your mailbox
in case of infection)
no gifts given as yet
you are where you want
and need to be
loved and loving

My tall dark haired
generously bearded
kind thoughtful son
clever and daft in a single
wonderful package
you have  laughed and talked your way
through life
garnered so many friends
loved learning, but not school
blossomed at university
now deeply in love

Happy Birthday

and
keep washing those hands……..

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

One of my sons is away for his birthday. Not so awful, but we woud have usually got the family and his beloved Dutch Godfather together for a celebration — which cannot happen in lockdown. And I miss my hugs…..