Category Archives: science poetry

Orion

Lifting over the horizon comes Orion
stellar giant writ large in the sky
seven winter stars, guiding me on dark nights
heavenly shepard

Rigel, bluebright, ten millions year young
living fast and furious
there at the giants front knee
pushing forward

Great Betelguese smolders
into dying at Orions shoulder
or maybe she’s blown away already
a light six centuries away

Hanging from a three star belt
stars are birthed swaddled in glowing nebulosity
look closely and you see their pinprick natal shine
count them and argue about it

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Glint

Pregnant nebula, embryo stars,
ragged incandescences torn apart
as plasma  bursts from stellar birth.
Deep within amid writhing gas
a glint, metallic gleam,
foreign shapes moving to gravity’s dance,
hulls laced in ancient disaster.
Who, what and why
lost to space-time.
Those who died here
infinitesimally disassociating
stripping to molecular debris
amino acids seeding new planetary nebulae.

Rebirthed on a moon near you.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

‘Glint’ was first published in Trouble Among the Stars Issue 3

The beginning of all understanding

Darkness born from darkness
the beginning of all understanding
            Tao te Ching, John H. McDonald, trans.

 

On an night when all possibilities seem open
when hills and towns and roads
dance and roll in my headlights
I muse on the dance of Higgs Bosons
across seeming emptinesses
matter forming and reforming
in deep space and time
in the most primeval dark

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

We are the Robots

Wetware software hardware
how hard do we have to be?
Programmed by the stochastic chatter of evolution
form fitting function,
almost.

Self replicating semi-autonomous robots.
purposed by deoxyribonucleic acid,
the software exists to
protect itself
not us.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Time in the dark

Born not in darkness but in a glory of light
glowing plasma heralding
time to come.
Wrapped in dust, avidly gravitating
acquiring debris, gathering and heating
shaping, moulding
to planetary status.

Time builds further complexities
molecular forms, moving, reproducing
that bloom in awareness
become intelligences
who eventually come to know
that stars are
born not in darkness but in a glory of light.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The Little Folk

Folk tales of little people abound
Retreating to the deep Earth
Now and then to emerge and engage
Ensnare or enslave
With trickery or with passion

Peripatetic you may have been
Leaving small trace of your lives
But deep in an African cave
We have found you
Naledi, little stars

We term the women who reclaimed you to the light
Underground astronauts
Yet you carried your beloved dead here
Through narrow clefts, over parlous depths
To lay them tenderly down to rest

As we stare into our deep past
And find you, Homo Naledi
Those of us who wonder
Those of us who marvel
Are ensnared and enamoured

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The discovery of fossils of a new human species  (Homo Naledi) is, in itself, a fascinating story. But why they are so ‘cool’ is very well explained by our fellow blogger on Fossil History at https://fossilhistory.wordpress.com/2015/09/10/homo-naledi-why-these-fossils-are-so-friggen-cool/

 National Geographic describes them as “A fully modern hand sported wackily curved fingers, fit for a creature climbing trees. The shoulders were apish too, and the widely flaring blades of the pelvis were as primitive as Lucy’s—but the bottom of the same pelvis looked like a modern human’s. The leg bones started out shaped like an australopithecine’s but gathered modernity as they descended toward the ground. The feet were virtually indistinguishable from our own.”

14_homo_naledi_cr_john hawks

Friday Poem: Earthfast

Architects plant their imagination, weld their poems on rock,
Clamp them to the skidding rim of the world and anchor them down to its core;
Leave more than the painter’s or poet’s snail-bright trail on a friable leaf;
Can build their chrysalis round them – stand in their sculpture’s belly.

They see through stone, they cage and partition air, they cross-rig space
With footholds, planks for a dance; yet their maze, their flying trapeze
Is pinned to the centre. They write their euclidean music standing
With a hand on a cornice of cloud, themselves set fast, earth-square.

 

 

Poetry describing a technical profession—bliss!