Moonlight feathers treetops
reveals hill slopes, shadows gullies
sketches out my beautiful Exmoor.
Lone headlights angle skywards on the west horizon
twisting along the high road.
I watch at the window on this cold night
as the car winds along towards us
(to however may
or may not be listening)
that traitor Moon
will not glint on my rifle barrel.
Gripping the gun with amateurs nerves,
I reach for Eva’s hand
and we hold our breath while
a child cries fitfully in the house.
We all have broken sleep in these remaining days.
We eke out, stand watch, wait.
For what? For a quiet death perhaps.
But in the day we want very much to live
so we tend straggling sheep, shoot rabbit,
Fear clutches my gut as the car turns past empty houses
and down along our valley road,
and a form of relief washes us as it continues on
following the river to richer pickings in the southern towns.
I move my baby to feed at my other breast
and mourn the futures stolen from her,
the violence awaiting.
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
‘Lights’ was first published in The Future Fire: http://press.futurefire.net/2019/05/new-issue-201949.html
Clouds gape and roar, thundering their pain
Fetid air blows from an oven door hot against faces
Heat dries eyeballs ears ring skin crawls
Hindbrain processes new and unknown into old fears
Crowded and herded by noise we look up
At the thing that is bursting through the atmosphere
Monstrous geometries writhing
Forcing and burning its path to us
Pushing our breath away
Blinding and deafening
Pushing us down until we prostrate on the mud
Afraid to look up as they look down
Death is upon us
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
(A Science Fiction poem first blogged in October 2015, now re-written)
In a simple field, no different from any other
Is a clump of small trees with a dark secret
Amongst their roots, we tiptoe down a rocky slope
Torchlight reveals a dry tunnel, strange shelf on the walls
Chattering, we walk until daylight is extinguished by distance
We stop, simmer to quietude, and turn off the torches
Liquid rock once ran where we now stand in black silence
The rock around us the scum that floated on that river
The apocalypse that created our tunnel has disappeared
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Once more, re-blogged from last year…