Tag Archives: azores

Glass bottomed boat — poem from 2016

Swaying bobbing we peer through the hull
Eagle Rays swish beneath us chasing the unknown
Light glints on a startled shoal sashaying across the rocks
Gas bubbles up from volcanic clefts
Crabs glance sideways, looking for the main chance

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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There are never enough photos of Pico

There are never enough photos of Pico
Says he, as he takes yet one more
The light has changed again
And the mountain looks about to roar
We’ve flown over and around her
Driven along her lower slopes
But the best view is away from her
From little Horta’s shore

The mountain slumbers on
Fuji slopes gracefully curving down
She glows rose in the dawns light
By midday she can glower and frown
Clouds drape her and embrace her
Shadowing scree and walled in grapevine
However far we travel away from her
Somehow that volcano is always mine

Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Re-blogged from 2015

Cave

Deep in a volcanic sea cave
crimson crabs hang from the ceiling
scuttle along walls, clattering  pincers
gather in their hundreds
in affront
as our boat noses in,
engine stilled.

We have raced across open ocean
slamming over waves
to be claustrophobically  enclosed
looked down upon by crustaceans
never before have I felt
such an visitor to my own planet
insignificant in the face of the whale and the dolphin
and now these outraged crabs.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Azores Evening

Moonlight  has banished an ocean of stars,
pouring  molten silver across the water.
Murmuring waves remember a primal ocean,
write poetry in their foam,
erase the day from a busy beach.
A harsh breeze crashes across treetops
as if breaking on a coral reef
and distant sea-birds call evenings end,
sharp disembodied sentinels of the night.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond