The world within

We are the body electric
Our cells sense differences
In the electricities around us

Burning

Whether it is dinner
or a forest
that smell is not simply
ash in the air.

Winter Sun

The sky is empty
Pale winter blue
A single bar of cloud

Dance

By the door of the living room
away from the adults
a girl dances.

Farm

My rolling road smooths over the hills
reveals a distant farm house
hazy gray, huddled in trees

Dancing with Shadows

Any attempt to pin down
this exact moment, that exact image
exactly what I feel and need to say

The Girls

They comment as they watch me weed
and as I go, they start to plead
for freedom from their boring pen
restrictive to a busy hen.

Cochi

Deep ploughed grooves
reveal treasures between vines
broken pots, beads, loom weights,

Grampee

Merry eyes, wicked smile, teller of tales.
Grandfather mine, I would sit on your knee
hear of Susan, the Mule that liked to kick officers

Truth like glass

In  Inspiration’s furnace
Poets work and strive
To create a Truth like glass
Clear, transforming
A window to other.

 

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/

Silence

Silence
Envelops, encompasses
Is made of a material
That becomes rigid
And shatters at a single sound.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/

Flower

I held a flower in my hand
Delicate, whole, perfect

Clouds

The four corners of  the sky
are suffocated with clouds

Commuter grind

Does anyone write of the commuter grind?

Of the early risings and the dark returns
The unseen children and missed bedtimes

Sunset at Round Hill

Dusk wallows in the hill folds
waiting to be let loose,

Ghosts on the beach

Waves swishing over beaches
Bring remnants of ocean lives

Coal

He told me of how coal can be split
to reveal the hoof prints of long buried deer

Azores Evening

Moonlight  has banished an ocean of stars,
pouring  molten silver across the water.
Murmuring waves remember a primal ocean,

Woodland Path

Puddles and pools of sunlight slide between the tree trunks
While shadows stripe the root strutted path
Somewhere above in the blue

Mount Blanc

Her great mass
Tears the clouds, pierces the sky
Pulls at the high blues
Stealing it for her glaciers

High Hilled Moor

Fog rose out of the valley
Where Hoar Oak Water runs
Swarmed up onto our hill path
Rose further to blot the sun

Deceiving hills

These hills deceive.
Apparent summits slide off away

Husbandry

He talks to chickens
Sometimes with their own sounds
Otherwise in English

Breath

Breath by breath we travel
in our beautiful shells

A poem about Nothing

There was nothing to write about on the road today
No sunsets, rainstorms

Bone Moon

Grey bone, alone
Stark in the star fled sky

Ophelia’s Gift

Rust red sun
Burns through yellow grey clouds

Stretching

The big oaks at the corner
stretch their leaves to gather the evening sun.