Where do the deer go in the day?
Empty fields, busy lanes
shady woods — all the same
No deer.
Walk in the evening
there they flit
in the shadows.
Where do the deer go in the night?
Same as the day — out of sight.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
High on hilly plateau
nestled in sheep fields
wind ruffled lonely lake
unexpected broken boat
pulled up onto
sheep stained rocks
bright paint splinters
blue into chilly green waters
aground amongst sheep
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Another great poem from Betty, and time I shared one with you…
.
He says she’s over the hill,
that she’s dancing
with entropy
toward the valley below
.
but she hears the call
of flickers, and the chitter
of squirrels,
and she sees ahead
.
lush meadows, tall trees,
and moss-covered stones
on the path
by a sapphire river.
.
There, she’ll follow the scent
of her own deep roots
to a range of mountains,
their tops hidden
.
in the subtleties he missed
between the lines
on her face
when e’er she smiled.
.
.
(c) 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
“Let something of me still remain behind;
A verse a cadence, to outlive the clay;
Let some reflect, some glimmer of my mind
Recall the passage of my little day.”
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. Apparently he wrote this, his own epitaph.
Words cannot encompass this nebulaic magnificence
Glowing dust hides star birth from prying eyes
Stars that dwarf our own mother sun lurk in clouds lit by particle winds
Radiation surges and particle winds sculpt huge gas pillars
Gas that has fed billowing pregnant clouds and grown embryo stars
Glows in colours beyond our eyes capacity to see
This beauty has travelled for almost seven millennia to achieve our orbit
Photons radiating away from the stellar birthing place
Those remaining after absorption and reflection losses are here
Now washing our instruments with glory
Now humbling our eyes with truth
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Inspired by February 5th Picture of the Day: http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap160205.html
Smothered in grey cloud
still blue
her wavelets lap a pebbled shore
an unseen sheep bleats lonely
by the straying path
to a ruined farm.
When we returned, our lady lake
lifted her misty veil
revealed her secret valleys
glowing with sunlight
way beneath us
everyday
soul stealing
magic.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Out here, there is another way to be.
There is a rising brightness in the rock,
a singing in the silence of the tree.
Something is always moving, running free,
as quick and still as quail move in a flock.
The hills out here know a hard way to be.
I have to listen for it patiently:
a drumming canter slowing to a walk,
a flutter in the silence of a tree.
The owl’s call from the rimrock changes key.
What door will open to the flicker’s knock?
Out here there is another way to be,
described by the high circles of a hawk
above what hides in silence in the tree.
The cottonwoods in their simplicity
talk softly on, as hidden waters talk,
an almost silent singing in the tree
that says, here is another way to be.
— Ursula K. Le Guin
The 21st October 2018 would have been Ursula’s 89th Birthday.
At the end of a long and busy day
The sky is dressed in lacy gray
With a sigh she dips her toes
Into a twilight of delicate rose
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Swaying bobbing we peer through the hull
Eagle Rays swish beneath us chasing the unknown
Light glints on a startled shoal sashaying across the rocks
Gas bubbles up from volcanic clefts
Crabs glance sideways, looking for the main chance
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
I turned away from the platform
The vain staring down the line
For the train that would not come
And found the trees beyond the station
Viewed from the municipal greyness of Bracknell
Their greens were varied and splendid
Their depth intriguing, a beckoning call to some other place
I probably saw wastelands “Soon to be redeveloped”
But, for second or two, it was Faery.
Then the train came.
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Re-blogged from 2016…..
