Tag Archives: England

Train

Rails clack and clatter
as we roll round the back of houses
(each garden accidentally revealing it’s owner)
drawing out into the un-urban

English green fields, scruffy stations
and level-crossings blur past
yet the horizon crawls

All personal sense of hurry lulled
a bubble of contemplation forms
distantly observing  passing scenery
my mind drifts to places past
and places future

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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Twenty Twenty

Crowded into the bowl, excitement mounting
Shouting as the brightly coloured teams come on
Every ball is greeted by an intaken breath
Every shot is acclaimed by cheers
The bowler waits restlessly
As the batsman gardens at the wicket
Fielders circle to the boundary edge
Keen to take the catch
Wicket keeper nonchalantly sledges
A crack and the ball lofts high
Leather on willow performing the longed for magic
The Great Game is on

 

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

It’s Summer and the Cricket is on!

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

Sunday in Spring

Two fields over, Rooks argue
a raucous parley that
goes on and on and on
while other birds sing prettily

Here in the meadow we have knelt
as if worshipping
to peer at tiny pink blooms
wobbling on a frail stem

On the way home
we walk a green lane
lambs call behind a hawthorn hedge
a ewe responds, deep voiced

Pretty bird song
clamorous rooks, bountiful sheep
tremulous flower

Are all remnants
Of a greater whole
Nature worn ragged

Broken
By our actions
Or inactions

And I feel the need to
kneel once more
in supplication
and in fear

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Places of Poetry

Colin Hill has found a great poetry project :

https://www.placesofpoetry.org.uk/

—It’s open to all and aims to use “creative writing to prompt reflection on national and cultural identities in England and Wales, celebrating the diversity, heritage and personalities of place.”

The site is open for writers to pin their poems to places from 31st May to 4 October 2019. It will then be closed for new poems but will remain available for readers.

I have pinned these poems of mine on the map:

Farm   (pinned near Didcot)

Picking up the Cheeses  (pinned at Iwerne Minster in Dorset)

Rat Trap (pinned in North Hillingdon)

Glaslyn (pinned at Lake Glaslyn near Lllanidloes, Mid-Wales)

At Stratford with William (pinned at Stratford upon Avon)

Fellow Traveller (pinned in the middle of Exmoor)

 

Um, yes I think I got a bit carried away….have you got some poems to pin there????

 

 

 

 

Friday Poem: To England — A Note

I watched the boys of England where they went
Through mud and water to do appointed things.
See one a stake, and one wire-netting brings,
And one comes slowly under a burden bent
Of ammunition. Though the strength be spent
They ‘carry on’ under the shadowing wings
Of Death the ever-present. And hark, one sings
Although no joy from the grey skies be lent.

Are these the heroes-these? have kept from you
The power of primal savagery so long?
Shall break the devil’s legions? These they are
Who do in silence what they might boast to do;
In the height of battle tell the world in song
How they do hate and fear the face of War.

 

Picking up the Cheeses

We seem to leave modernity at the edge of Salisbury,
Modern road but ancient names
Steep chalk coombes and rolling downland
Peeking through the misty rain
Ansty, Birdbush Farm and Cats Hill
Ludwell and then Shaftesbury town
Winding south we squeeze past lorries
Middle Farm, Rose Cottage, Hawkcombe Lane
Past stone cottages and timber frames,
Compton Abbas , Fontwell Magna, Sutton Waldron
Iwerne Minster, sharp turn left and up the hill,
To the dairy and the Cheese…..

Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond

 A journey to the real old England, re-blogged from 2015

Farm

My rolling road smooths over the hills
reveals a distant farm house
hazy gray, huddled in trees
we roll on and the farm folds away
gone into green.
As it did
when Vikings rode past
hunting for spoils, women and food
when the Revenue came later
searching for tax payers.

This land is ancient
holdings forged millennia ago
only when warfare encompassed the air
was this farms safety broached.
Yet bombers passed over to pit and hole
to blast and burn
the farm house remained
snuggled into the land.
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Edited from a version published here in June 2016

Being English

Show no emotion, hold everything back
Say ’I think we need a bit of support’ when you are under fatal attack
Go about your business as the world falls apart
Hiding the fear deep in your heart
Delight in the odd, the strange and the weird
Live beside the newcomer, even if they are feared
Chicken Tikka Marsala is our national dish,
An island nation that rarely eats fish,
Throw flowers under a princesses hearse
Life may be difficult but it could always be worse
Marry the outsider, swallow them whole
Quiet, loving and different is the English soul

Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond

First blogged in 2015 and it seems a bit appropriate this week. I admit that both people in the photo not actually English….but its a great photo!