Tag Archives: time

Rocks

Unimaginably ancient, preserving moments in time;
billion year old pebbles from unknown floods
bones fallen into an ancient abyss
ten thousand year old footprints along an English estuary.
Sitting on a rock, you touch time.

Rocks move. They melt and set, erode to dust
and then the dust settles
forms new rock over time almost unimaginable.
This undulating plain formed at great depths
was thrust up to mountainous heights
now lies placid for your walking comfort.

Go find a rock
and travel in time and space.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

P1180416

Advertisements

Time

I have loved you for so long
That the moon has moved measurably in its orbit
Islands have grown, jungles fallen
Empires have been toppled
I loved you as a youth
And now at the apogee of your prime
I love you still

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Re-blogged for Valentines Day

To Stand and Stare?

How does the time disappear?
Water evaporates under direct heat.
Time evaporates
under a withering glut of
the unexpected
the unplanned
and unremembered.
Distractions distract.
People with no time steal yours
with delays and waiting.

And.
in this century,
with endless updates
on sites you should leave alone.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Future

As we move through space
We move through time
One controlled
The other inexorable

As the future approaches
We can but hold our head high
Wait for the chances
Have the courage to leap

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The last  poem from the challenge I’ve been following for a short while. This poem is in response to the prompt ‘future’.

Time

I have loved you for so long
That the moon has moved measurably in its orbit
Islands have grown, jungles fallen
Empires have been toppled
I loved you as a youth
And now at the apogee of your prime
I love you still

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

…and all of this is true…..

………the Moon has retreated 132 cm from the Earth since we first kissed………

Watercolour time

Watercolour time

Wet brush blurs, lets colours bleed into the next
Time is a wet brush, bleeding memories, blurring grief
Until the pain of loss is subdued
Not single primary colour
But smoothed, mixed, melted
Not quite there, but never lost
Still in the picture but not the focus
Only the truly obsessed, vengeful, bereft
Or those whose culture encourages vendetta
Can support impasto grief over the years
Most of us accept the damp brush of time
As a comfort
Of sorts

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

“Time works like a damp brush on water color. The sharp edges blur, the ache goes out of it, the colors melt together”  –John Steinbeck, East of Eden.