Tag Archives: England


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.

Wild Hunt

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

Autumns New Dance

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:


High on the Downs

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
black tipped ears erect

we return her stare
for what seems

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Written for this weeks  earthweal weekly challenge: SPIRITS OF PLACE

To Ham Hill and Beyond

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

Again on Ham Hill

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


Twenty Twenty Cricket

Crowded into the bowl, excitement mounts
Shouting as the brightly coloured teams come on
Every ball bowled greeted by an intaken breath
Every shot acclaimed by cheers

The bowler waits restlessly
As a batsman gardens at the wicket
Fielders circle to the boundary edge
Keen to take a catch

The Wicket Keeper nonchalantly sledges
Then, a crack and the ball lofts high
Leather on willow performing the longed for magic
The Great Game is on

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Outdoor sport is allowed once more in England….yay!


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