Category Archives: poem

Bowl

Tidying the study, a place
where all books and memories come to rest,
I find a brightly painted rough paper bowl,
red and blue, used as a hat in dressing up games.
It has a brim, just like a hat.
Something for the patient to hold I guess
while bringing up what the stomach can no longer bear.

Your Grandsons saw a pile of them
waiting ready for use at your hospital bedside,
used them for play in the ward,
took several home over those long months,
painted them, called them “Grandad’s hats”,
thought them a great amenity.

Of course the younger one was hardly complicit,
he was busy learning to crawl,
up and down the long row of beds he would travel
bringing smiles to all as he wavered,
mimicking the siren call of the ambulances
that rush to hospital with a precious cargo
full of dread and pain.

We almost lived in the ward that autumn
grew to know the other inhabitants,
the nurses who made sure the floors were safe for crawling,
the Physio who delighted in having a ex-athlete to train.
You were called their miracle,
recovering so well from a disabling stroke that pinioned you in the car
that changed all our lives in a tearing moment.
Then you survived a sudden heart failure
and a night when we were told you would not see dawn.

I sit, holding this bowl-hat relic,
turning it through my hands
this link to your eventual recovery,
although we have lost you since.

I kiss it tenderly and smile.

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Road to Nowhere

We stumble along, believing we hold the map
believing we guide our path or someone does somewhere

From the darkness to the light and back
the bird flies through the drinking hall and is gone
leaving memories, echoes

All we are is memories and echoes
all we can do is fracture the silence

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This was one of the first poems I ever posted, back in 2015. I’ve tidied it up a bit.

Science and Science Fiction poetry: Alien Evening

Moonlight  has banished an ocean of stars,
pouring  molten bronze across the ocean
where limpid waves stroke a pebbled shore.
A harsh breeze crashes across our equipment
as if breaking on a reef
Distant creatures call evenings end,
sharp disembodied sentinels of the night.
We lock ourselves in and wait.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

‘Alien evening’ was first published by Frozen Wavelets December 2019 issue 1  :https://frozenwavelets.com/issue-1-toc/

Mondays are Science and SF Mondays!

A poem each week which either has a science theme or is Science Fiction…..

Burning

English summers, often damp, can invoke long stifling twilights
nothing landbound needlessly moves
contrails crayon across the sky
so many, this close to London’s hub.
Distantly, the buzz of a low plane, pleasure rider reaching up
into the realm of the starlings as they susurrate
a car comes past in the lane droning away round the curves
here the runway cross remains
the old tower still stands intact
as ponies munch and cattle chew
larks lurk in the grass where bombers once turned
occasional ironwork testament to hydrants and gun emplacements
war and weapons layered over by Nature and time.
But, as the dark deepens, the lost come home
tearing blazing incandescent screams rustle up drowsy birds
look up and the dazzling burning blurs past
metal screeches as it tears apart, each time the same
one last attempt at landing whole, at bringing the crate home
so wanting to see sweethearts and Blighty again
then gone, back to oblivion.
The burning pilot saluted you as he passed.

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem first appeared in Peacock Journal .

England July 2022

Humid air, popped with energy
soaks empty sky where
clouds breed like
virus in a host
then
darken, roil, and
infect the evening
with thunder

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem was inspired by the quote from Breakfast at Tiffanys : “It’s better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes.”

It was compsed and posted ii response to a prompt over at Dverse.

Amstelveen

Finally there, filling your sofa
raiding your freezer for ice.
Walking out to the river
its banks a storey higher
than the fields.

Taking the tram to the Dam
to the museum quarter
drifting through the Van Goghs
eating pancakes and poffertjes
in the shadow of windmills.

Finally with you, together at last
after years of hurt.
Finally the large barbeque
your Mums Pork Satay
and so many old friends.

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

We finally got to visit a dear friend in the Netherlands over the last two weeks. It was bliss……