I send you my poetry
As the Sperm Whale sends her song out into the wide ocean
To listens for echoes, to hope for response
Her staccato clicks can be hunting for sustenance
But they also encode messages and love songs
Poems may sustain you or tell you a truth
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
We are the body electric
Our cells sense differences
In the electricities around us
We are multitudes
blood containing cells
from parents and children
And yes, children, we are stardust
billions of stars died three times over
to make our atoms
Poetry and wonder
is our very
existence
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
The art of living appears to be in accepting the inevitable
Negotiating a peace with oneself
Making a treaty with the world
And then becoming free to really live
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
First blogged in 2016.
“The art of living lies less in eliminating our troubles than in growing with them.”
― Bernard M. Baruch
From http://dailyinspiration.me/
Two lights gleam equally across the snow
The traveller hesitates which way to go . . .
One is a cottage lamp; the other ray
A world four hundred million miles away.
by Theodore Stephanides, who should be familiar to all who love Gerald Durrell‘s “My Family and other Animals”. Theodore was a polymath—-both Doctor and aquatic biologist, and he wrote wonderful poetry.
Maybe we are not players on a stage
But in an orchestra
Each with a part to play
Integral to the whole
They tell us to aim high
Lead role, boss, the one and only
First violin
But so many of us thrive without the spotlight
The pedestal
What is a orchestra without a third row?
Empty.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Considering the expanding universe and ultimate cooling, I pause
remembering photos of star birth amid nebulosity,
nuclear furnaces blossoming.
Telescopes in orbit or secluded in foreign deserts
produce pictures in lights we cannot see
show immensities in glorious un-colours.
In the back garden, I look up, past scudding clouds,
watch coloured pinpricks arrayed over black sky
with occasional satellites twinkling by beneath.
Feeling the breeze, green with trees, redolent with life
thinking of all those things we cannot see
here and all the way up there.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
In the dew-drop abyss near
Wrecks of molecules appear;
In the far abyss of the sky
Wrecks of outworn worlds drift by…
But in the protean abyss of the soul
Wrecks of motes and universes roll.
by Theodore Stephanides, who should be familiar to all who love Gerald Durrell‘s “My Family and other Animals”. Theodore was a polymath, and wrote wonderful poetry.
We stumble along, believing we hold the map
Believing we guide our path or someone does somewhere
From the darkness to the light and back
The bird flies through the drinking hall and is gone
Leaving memories, echoes and silence
All we are is memories and echoes
All we can do is try to fracture the silence.
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Re-blogged from 2016
Waves swishing over beaches
Bring remnants of ocean lives
While erasing my footprints
Which is the ghost,
Me or them?
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
A ‘Found Poem’ from William Hazlitt – ‘Lectures on the English Poets’:
Poetry is imagination and the passions
whatever gives immediate pleasure
or pain
language which the heart holds.
It is not a mere frivolous accomplishment.
Wherever there is a sense
of beauty, or power, or harmony
there is poetry.
The rest is mere oblivion,
a dead letter.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
