Category Archives: winter

Cross Country Ski

Glad voices ring out in the chill air from the sledding slope
As we circle unsteadily on a frozen lake, finding our feet
Long new six foot wooden feet
Then we begin to glide, relaxing into the flow
Betrayed by speed on the first slope
The ground crashes up to us
We kiss hard snow several times as we ski through the forest
Mainly laughing at our woes
Eschewing the tracks, our (mostly) parallel woods slice into fresh powdered snow
Until the next topple

Crossing the park, 11am Monday

Scattered folds of night
litter bright mown grasses
spring up into the air
startled, flapping
at our arrival

We watch them wheel and
turn above us
spot a Red Kite floating high
turn again, caw to each other
settle under advantageous trees

Kite eats carrion not crow

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

For this week’s earthweal challenge, we are asked to “write of WILD MIND. How does green fire take root in the thought of our poems?”

I am offering up a little vignette of parkife here in my small town. After a morning of Internet research for a local project, I took a walk, and was lifted by my local birds.

Now

As winter, and so much else
winds to an ending
we begin the work

to forge paths back into the world
to be able to walk out without worry
to travel and explore new places
new thoughts, new ways of living

we must be gentle and patient
give grace to the vulnerable of body and feeling
as we each find our own pace in the years ahead

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Inspired by, and in some places using the words of, Angela T Carr.

a dreaming skin – Writing, Poetry & Creativity | Angela T Carr, Dublin, Ireland (wordpress.com)

Winter Reveals 2

Trees stark against the sky
show signs of hard pruning
or scars of storm damage

Sunlight shafts through leafless woods
reveals which wild seeded
and which are straight lined planting

The artificial brightnesses of our Decembers
do not touch this hard solitude
as we all wait for the future

Copyright © 2021  Kim Whysall-Hammond

This is a reworking of a poem I wrote (and blogged) in 2017. I was never sure of the ending, and I like this version better.

I was inspired to go back to this poem by the weekly prompt at Earthweal, which is all about Nadirs and Zeniths.

Dead of Winter

I have two poems (Lilbourne and Summer Queen) in this great Anthology from Milk and Cake Press. It examines the dark, the supernatural, and the uncanny of a long, cold winter. As we move from the depths of winter toward spring, and from pandemic isolation to a more normal life, these poems may be the perfect companion. Please buy a copy now!

Lilbourne is a poem about ghosts who linger in and near Milton Lilbourne in Wiltshire, while

Summer Queen retells Rumpelstiltskin in a prehistoric setting.

Friday Poem: There’s a certain Slant of light

There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons —
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes —

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us —
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are —

None may teach it — Any —
‘Tis the Seal Despair —
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air —

When it comes, the Landscape listens —
Shadows — hold their breath —
When it goes, ’tis like the Distance
On the look of Death —

by Emily Dickinson

Summer’s loss

Heart broken she withdraws
as every winter
into dark soil
as every winter

The promise of the stars nightly turning
the sinking and turning of constellations
the track of planets wandering  across the sky
say that she will return

Time past she was encouraged
by midwinter fires
now we trust to orbital mechanics

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond