Tag Archives: night

The lilies of the night

The lilies of the night
are made of many colours
all of them black
as on a Raven wing
dark iridescences
pooled in shadows as twilight fails

The lilies twist around our dreams
soaking deep and darkly
nurturing fear, sowing despair
their leaves absorb moonlight
petals gleaming drably
as midnight rises

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Driving Home

The road is bejewelled with the lights of traffic
Red ribbon, white ribbon, snaking over the hills
Dark fields lie beside us as we wend our way
The villages we bypass shine stray lights to our eyes
I turn off the radio and drive in silence
Motoring into the dark, climbing and swooping
As the moon illuminates us all
I slide off at my junction taking the tight French style curve
And home beckons

Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Reblogged from 2015

Listening

Walking back from your house,
Orion calling to me over mine,
the glow at the next street light
burst into fluid noise, birdsong at midnight
rippling through our suburb
with no one but me to hear.
I should have gone back and got you,
taken you to hear.
But I’m still uncertain of your reaction,
pragmatic as you are,
and you need to get your students marking done.

The bird was calling out unheard
or heard only by me.
Just as you call and are unheard.
The idiot man who left you,
the sisters who think you should be
over it by now,
and only me, each Wednesday night
to listen to you as we paint.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond