Lillehammer in winter, ice diamonds in the snow
ice feathers on branches show the temperature
is very low
Deep cold in England, garden cobwebs become adorned
with days of hoar frost growth and the spiders
are folorn
The slow magic of ice delights me
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This poem is a quadrille, it has exactly 44 words. It is posted in response to the prompt over at Dverse tonight. Mish has asked us for quadrilles using the word ice, or words formed from it.
A gentle breeze billows the green barley
Sending waves shimmering from hedge to hedge
Elder and Herb Robert sparkle the field edge
Above the oak leaves do not stir
Near here a crown once hung on a thorn bush
Men struggled for cause, battle cries rang out
A King died alone fighting amid the foe
Violated in death, lost
Naked and broken the victors took him to town for display
Traitor they called him, an anointed King of England
Hunchback, wicked, perfidious
Name calling by the new regime
Murderer of children they whispered into the stream of history
A gentle breeze billows the green barley
Above the oak leaves do not stir
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Walking the Ridgeway track
in a dripping autumn
rabbits scatter away
lollop towards the grassy mound
of Waylands Smithy
an ancient tomb
haunted by a Norse godsmith
here in troubled England
but I have no horse to shoe today
Simply rabbits to shoo away
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This poem was written in response to the Quadrille (44 word poem) prompt over at dverse.
Screaming baying the hounds are loose
their shrill screaking blare sings out
the noise of hell incarnate
caterwauling across a starless sky
continuing and resounding across this night
evoking howls from earthbound dogs
silence from all other creatures
and dread in human hearts
The wild hunt is loose
Yowling yelps rent the sky into fragments
lamentation fills villages and homes
palpable terror passes from neighbour to neighbour
as terror rides aloft intent on unknown prey
a sudden screech preludes eerie silence
celestial mayhem pauses and stills
the world below baits breath
waits as the hunt fades slowly into the clouds
Silence is not a comfort
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Let’s dance cry russet leaves
that whirl, spin and flutter
Let’s dance shouts thunder
to his parner the lightning
Let’s dance says the tornado
as she waltzes along
through an unprepared island
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This poem tells of an unexpected tornado this week on the Isle of Wight here in England. It has been written in response to Rebeccas September Poetry Challenge over at :
The tornado can be seen on the BBC:
Long grasses sift the evening wind
scent it with pollens
stars prickle through high cloud
somewhere, Skylark still sings
finishing the day shift
elsewhere, Owl calls
announcing night
dusk empties the land
of humanity
all close together
in their dim shelters
here on the ridge
Hare comes close
closer
black tipped ears erect
we return her stare
for what seems
forever
Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Written for this weeks earthweal weekly challenge: SPIRITS OF PLACE
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
Let’s have some summer fun. A weekly art fest, some old paintings , some new….
Iwerne Minster, Fontwell Magna, Compton Abbas
winding north we homeward go
past stone cottages and timber framing
Middle Farm, Old Way, Old Mans Cottage
Cats Hill Lane and Birdbush Farm
Ansty
the old names stay and we travel on
Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Above a Red Kite slides the wind
alert for who knows what
her searing glance burns
Here on the escarpment wind is all
trees continually rustle in its grip
bend to its command
A Hare runs onto our rutted path
stops and turns to look us over
dismisses us with a leap and a bound
Grass grows tall and wild here
dips and flows, always in motion
always alive
Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond
https://earthweal.com/2021/04/30/earthweal-open-link-weekend-67/
The Cheesesellers Wife 