The Poetry of William Hammett

Contact

Friday, January 17, 2025

It is a grand assembly
of quavers and semiquavers,
a convocation
of quarter and half notes,
a diminished seventh,
a major fifth
propelled and prolific
from black prison bars,
the almighty staff,
into the air harmonic
by whispering woodwinds,
sensual strings,
audacious brass,
pounding tympany,
strangers in a cotillion,
unlike dancing
with unlike
until they are married,
swirling from altar
to reception hall
to consummation bed,
movements made
by key signatures,
sharp and minor,
into everyday life
tuned to vibrations
dancing counterpoint
up and down the spine.

~William Hammett

Site Map

Monday, January 13, 2025

Synchronicity

What are the chances
of you reading this?
What are the chances
of anything happening at all?

The quiet man sits on the park bench

that he dreamed about.

A woman sits on the bench,

the very same one,

next to the quiet man

that she dreamt about,

both drawn to time, place, and soul

by strange winding rivers

driven by eddies and currents

too deep to fathom.

Life is a dream,

and the dream is life

when we notice the random

billboard, song, painting,

the chance encounter,

the conspiracy of coincidence

for which we are finely-tuned

when we notice the noticing.

A petal falls in Argentina,

stirring the air into a ripple

becoming a breeze that causes

the wind to move an ocean

and bring forth rain in Burma

on a man who needs cleansing

from the grief of a buried wife.

I have met you,

and you have met me.

Is that not wondrous

in such a far-flung galaxy?

~William Hammett

Site Map

Contact

Tuesday, January 7, 2025

Pulp Fiction

It lives in a paperback,
the older the better,
with yellowed pages
brown at the edge.

It’s there that Mason,

Marlowe, and Spade

throw on trench coats

in the middle of the night

to track down a lead,

put a tail on a snitch.

A gunshot rings out

in the night, a lick

of hot yellow flame

disappearing into an alley.

There are cocktails

in a fancy lounge,

a conversation

with a fat man,

maybe a tryst

with the dame

after she’s given over

the stolen goods.

I look up from the page,

hoping the curious case

will never end.

That’s the nature

of deep-down sleuthing,

of solving a mystery.

That’s life.

~William Hammett

Site Map