Beloved Hills

Fathoms of microcreatures
that once lived bright lives
in an ancient topographic ocean
died, drifted, finally settled
into dark abyssal depths
in unfathomable time they
dried, were compressed,
eventually uplifted
became the chalk that
now underlies the rich flowery turf
of my beloved hills

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This is a Quadrille, written in response to a prompt on Dverse, where we had to use the word ‘chalk’ somewhere in our poem.

I feel like I have cheated a bit, as many of my poems are about the chalk hills of southern England. For example:

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2020/08/26/chalklands-2/

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2021/06/20/midsummer-white/

https://thecheesesellerswife.wordpress.com/2021/09/25/to-ham-hill-and-beyond/

Chalklands

Chalk undulates across Southern England
Hills, gentle yet steep
Can be overtopped by clay peppered with flints
So treasured by the old folk

As old as the hills is true here
The chalk is a two hundred million year ocean
Stiffened and folded over time
By our living planet

Several human species
Have hunted  in these valleys
Have dug into and sculpted these hills
Have left their ghosts for us to trace

The ancient monuments we treasure
Hill forts, stone circles, long barrows
Are but modern remnants
Compared to the first folk

My hills have deep roots

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Deceiving hills

These hills deceive.
Apparent summits slide off away
as the slope goes farther up again.
Their hollows and ridges
cosset then expose.
Any level walking is above the spring line
so the ignorant go thirsty.
In their interior,
direction is lost with the clouds.
The oldest ways stay close
to the stiff steep slopes down to water
and someone to tell you the way.

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Deceiving hills

These hills deceive.
Apparent summits slide off away
as the slope goes farther up again.
Their hollows and ridges
cosset then expose.
Any level walking is above the spring line
so the ignorant go thirsty.
In their interior,
direction is lost with the clouds.
The oldest ways stay close
to the stiff steep slopes down to water
and someone to tell you the way.

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

Chalklands

Chalklands

Chalk undulates across Southern England
Hills, gentle yet steep
Can be overtopped by clay peppered with flints
So treasured by the old folk

As old as the hills is true here
The chalk is a two hundred million year ocean
Stiffened and folded over time
By our living planet

Several human species
Have hunted  in these valleys
Have dug into and sculpted these hills
Have left their ghosts for us to trace

The ancient monuments we treasure
Hill forts, stone circles, long barrows
Are but modern remnants
Compared to the first folk

My hills have deep roots

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond