My poem ‘Alien evening’ has been published by Steph P. Bianchini in the first ever issue of Frozen Wavelets at https://frozenwavelets.com/.
My poem is here. Please head on over to read an excellent first isssue, which I’m proud to be a part of. Thanks Steph!
Is it the blackboard where I learnt my ABCs?
The way I tripped over my own feet, scarring my knees?
Waking up from sleeping next to my Nan in her great bed?
How it hurt when plaits were pulled tight to my head?
My gnarled, grumpy, loving Grampee
Telling me stories as I sat on his knee
Of Susan the Officer-kicking Mule
Or perhaps my first day at school
One seat left, next to John Searle
Happy to be friends with a lonely girl
The teacher who was angry that I could already read
My joy at being there, suddenly free
To learn everything and to love books
In which no one cared about a girl’s looks
My heroes were always boys and men
Not many strong women in stories then
My friends the boys were rough and poor
Never cared what dress I wore or tore
Quiet, pretty and sweet seemed to be the rule
But I learnt another way at my first school
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
……I was trying (at the suggestion of a friend) to write a short account of my girlhood for my sons, and this poem came bubbling out…….
A gentle breeze billows the green barley
Sending waves shimmering from hedge to hedge
Elder and Herb Robert sparkle the field edge
Above the oak leaves do not stir
Near here a crown once hung on a thorn bush
Men struggled for cause, battle cries rang out
A King died alone fighting amid the foe
Violated in death, lost
Naked and broken the victors took him to town for display
Traitor they called him, an anointed King of England
Hunchback, wicked, perfidious
Name calling by the new regime
Murderer of children they whispered into the stream of history
A gentle breeze billows the green barley
Above the oak leaves do not stir
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
I’d like to share this environmental poem from meadowpatch…
the smoke in which we breathe
the haze in which we gaze
the daze to which we woke
this grey polluted day
hangs heavy with pause
wind gusts toss ash dust
almost too late
Copyrighted by the author
What do we gain and gather
in all those places we go?
Close your eyes, see sunlight
glinting on childhood beaches
sunset over rust red desert
sunrise on a volcano
Smell all those breakfast coffees
your fathers home made burgers
your brothers socks
your lovers hair
You are the morning light
shafting through city streets
glinting from windows
bringing you home
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
He sleeps on while I awake
to hear rain on the roof
lie snug listening to a
long familiar sound
pattering, gathering strength
and force until
it pounds
and the roof resounds.
Gasping with sudden
shattering realisation
I grab for the breathers,
the suits,
scream for the children.
It does not rain
here on Mars.
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This poem was published as ‘Rain’ Star*Line Volume 42, Issue 2 –the in-house print journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos’ turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don’t eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I’m on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.
Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
ÒI cannot wait for de chopÓ,
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.
I once knew a turkey called…….. Turkey
He said “Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?”,
I said “I am not too sure turkey
But itÕs nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash’.
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey’ll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends ‘FOR LIFE’.
Was it the red hair
that so entranced us?
The strong nose
on a strong young man?
Or that capable stocky young woman
who didn’t moan at first frost?
Where did we get our blue eyes from after all?
In the snows of almost perpetual winter
and at the warm shores of the middle sea
we met them, loved them,
raised their children.
And left them behind.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
First blogged in 2018…..
Bursts of wind stir up the sea
like a conductors hands
waves crescendo and fall
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
