Otzi the Iceman

He wore warm boots and cloak
had many tattoos grouped
around wherever his joints hurt
to show where acupuncture should be done
carried a complex firelighting kit
containing many dried plants
with flint and pyrtite to make sparks

Consider his hide quiver of arrows with dogwood shafts
and an antler stub for sharpening arrow points
a rare copper axe with a yew handle
a stone bladed knife
various berries for snacks, and two sorts
of dried mushrooms strung with leather
one of them is antibiotic

When he died he was carrying an
unfinished yew Longbow taller than him
with a bowstring and the tools to complete it

Say Hello to our ancient brother

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Heavy on the wing, the  albatross approaches the rock

She soars ridges and slopes in the air
sees its fluid shape in in her pale yellow eye
dances on winds, a long haul tourist

She needs the lift of the air to live
maybe she brings the wind with her
to this vertical face of dead mosses and nests

Now at the rock, she dances on once more
this time to a lover, long unseen
looks forward, after so many years on the wing

to the earthbound pleasures of children
and a future

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

My Cheese seller challenged me to write a poem with his title…….

My Poem ‘Wayland’ now in Ink Drinkers Magazine

I’m very happy to announce that my poem, Wayland, is now published in the fourth issue of Ink Drinkers Magazine. The magazine was born in June 2020, when the editor found out that the term ‘ink drinker’ is the French version of ‘bookworm’ and thought ‘hey that could be a good name for a litmag’.

The issue can be downloaded (for free) here:

My poem is about the legend of Wayland the Smith — who is referenced in another poem of mine, Midsummer White, which can be read here on this blog:

To Ham Hill and Beyond

The lanes are lined with lace
Cow Parsley that sways and dances as we pass
our prayer wheel tyres turn and
charge our journey with significance

We dive deep into low green tree tunnels
where gnarled heat-seeking branches
reach out, over and above

Rise to a downland sea of many grasses
arrayed with sheep and bleating lambs
where the horizon is calling
to take us away

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Dribbleberry

The dribbleberry was aptly named
its juces do not easily wash off
and stain your cheeks and chin for days

Long orange dribbles adorn the face of my toddler
as he skips around the settlement
in that warm misty sunshine that is too pink

Rainy days soothe my longing for home
for then I do not see our double suns
can try to forget a faraway Earth

Where I once picked blackberries
rasberries, apples and pears

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Writtten in response to the prompt over at Dverse:

Rose Bower

for Gita, wherever you are

Enchantment beckoned at the end of your garden
many climbing roses intertwined into a
a concealing bower where

we spied on hidden lovers
hunted magic deer that leapt
skywards and away from
our orbital arrows that encircled the world

we swapped shoes and dresses
each handmade by our mothers
each smelling so different
you said all my people smelled of milk
I thought all yours were spice scented
and beautiful

we kissed each others palms
held our breath as pirate raiders crept by
evaded an amorous Sultan
sucked the tart sweetness of pomegranates
taken from your mothers kitchen

we found brambles amid the blooms
you did not know blackberries at all
then loved them more than pomegranate
because they grew in our magic place
you mother thought they were dirty
like me

we thought this would go on forever
that we would grow up together
then, you were suddenly gone
moved away to where
a school would accept an Ugandan Asian girl

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond