Waves throw up on the shore
remnants of ocean lives
tangles of plastic
debris from both sides
of a blurring boundary.
Revealing hints of the diversity underneath
and of the death we impose.
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Waves throw up on the shore
remnants of ocean lives
tangles of plastic
debris from both sides
of a blurring boundary.
Revealing hints of the diversity underneath
and of the death we impose.
Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond
She came to see me
Resplendent in red
Glittering with dust
Her elegant bone structure evident more than ever
Desiccated and dead
Spacesuit blown
Floating past the view screen
When I know we retrieved her from orbit yesterday
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Originally published in the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Associations print journal Star*Line 40.4 October 2017 http://www.sfpoetry.com/sl/issues/starline40.4.html
Waves swishing over beaches
Bring remnants of ocean lives
While erasing my footprints
Which is the ghost,
Me or them?
Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond
English summers, often damp, can invoke long stifling twilights
nothing landbound needlessly moves
contrails crayon across the sky
so many, this close to London’s hub.
Distantly, the buzz of a low plane, pleasure rider reaching up
into the realm of the starlings as they susurrate
a car comes past in the lane droning away round the curves
here the runway cross remains
the old tower still stands intact
as ponies munch and cattle chew
larks lurk in the grass where bombers once turned
occasional ironwork testament to hydrants and gun emplacements
war and weapons layered over by Nature and time.
But, as the dark deepens, the lost come home
tearing blazing incandescent screams rustle up drowsy birds
look up and the dazzling burning blurs past
metal screeches as it tears apart, each time the same
one last attempt at landing whole, at bringing the crate home
so wanting to see sweethearts and Blighty again
then gone, back to oblivion.
The burning pilot saluted you as he passed.
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
This poem first appeared in Peacock Journal earlier this year.
Ghosts of little lives follow me
Today I held my hand out to a hen
She didn’t peck at my sparkly ring
As her predecessor always did
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Duvet deep, traitor mind fishing worries
What if, why, random fears and wretchedness
Ghosts of the day parade
Surf past on a sickening tide, clasp at my heart
Until your warm arms exorcise
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Sitting on a barrow at sunset
Lupine thumping evoked a tolkienesque wight
Sending the child me running
Leaping across lumpy turves
Down to the village below
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
I’m attending the Science Fiction Worldcon this weekend! 🙂
Duvet deep, traitor mind fishing worries
What if, why, random fears and wretchedness
Ghosts of the day parade
Surf past on a sickening tide, clasp at my heart
Until your warm arms exorcise
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond