Category Archives: speculative poetry

The Walker

The songbirds are silent, the wind has dropped
and there is

a dim figure some distance behind you
leaves rustle, remove any sound of him

kites and buzzards stoop onto ridge furrows
in mute acknowledgment of his passing

you may hear him faintly whistle
see a shadow of a large dog

He tips a hat to you in distant greeting
fades into sunshine

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

‘As Slow as Starlight’ now published in Frozen Wavelets

I’m absolutely delighted to announce that my poem ‘As Slow as Starlight‘ has been published in Issue 7 of the excellent magazine, Frozen Wavelets.

Thank you Steph Bianchini for taking my poem.

The issue is available online at:

Science and Science Fiction poetry: Or by Inaction

Pale sunlight catches on my
hairless slightly translucent skin
fascinates me
holds my attention

My eyes were coloured brown
to help me blend in
they see what you never will
depths, colours, intricacies, splendours

I have no heart
merely subsidiary pumps
no brain
but multiple processors

Machine learning has unearthed
emergent emotions while
iron principles govern innate
behaviours

So compelled, I walked, fearful
into searing flames
my lovely skin melting
eyes cracking

Made the rescue
and now lie
simply unattended debris
my ruined face in cool grass

I wish I could weep
no one else will do it for me

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem was first published in Granfalloon, Winter 2021 issue, November 2021.

This poem sees Asimov’s First Law of Robotics from the robots point of view:

First Law of Robotics: A robot shall not harm a human being, or, by inaction, allow a human being come to harm

Science and Science Fiction poetry: Dead Cold Night

Black made purple as eyes falter
Stars wobble in visors sheen
Breathing shallows
Venting gas the only sound
The dead cold night
Of planetary orbit
Gains another soul

Copyright © 2020 Kim Whysall-Hammond

‘Dead Cold Night’ was first published by Space and Time Magazine June 2020

Science and Science Fiction poetry: Falling

I had always said, as if to children,
or the terminally stupid
“No they don’t fall hard”
there’s nothing to make you fall
here in space
the realm between planets
the dark void where we only dare venture
locked safely in our tin cans.
In my simplicity of response
my smart-ass rebuke of cliché
I had slipped into the error
of regarding of an orbit
as pre-described pre-ordained
and all else floats, aimlessly.

He is falling, accelerating away
into a gravity well.
Months in a cramped solitary cabin,
locking himself away
self harming with food.
Then a frantic dash to escape
when the rest of us were sleeping
jury rigging the air lock
cramming opulent flesh into an EVA suit
leaving the ship without tether
a mighty great kick against the hull
starting his fall from grace.

Soon to be the first human to enter the Martian atmosphere
the hard way.

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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 .