Tag Archives: nature

Herepath

Wide as ten men abreast
The old road cuts between farms
Dips down to the river
Rises up over the moor
Rabbits lollop, lambs bleat
Rosebay glows at sunset
Where were the wars that you marched to?
Where were the victories that you won?
Here on the old Herepath
The road truly goes ever on

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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Olso Fjord

Olso Fjord

Brightness cuts the morning haze to lace
Distant fjord islands float on the light
Sunbright reflections dazzle into the camera lens
Here at the city edge, the discontinuity between city and fjord
We stand, building cranes nosing and noising  behind us
While silence washes all clean in front of us

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Originally blogged May 1 2016….  I’m dreaming of a white Christmas….

Burning

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.

 

 


Exmoor Soundscape

Wild ponies snorting in the shade of a thorn tree
The kee of a buzzard soaring overhead
A ragged baa from a startled ewe
All underlaid by the irregular rumble of falling tumbling water

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

A note to readers from America: An English buzzard is not a vulture, but catches live prey.

Stretching

The big oaks at the corner
stretch their leaves to gather the evening sun.
A breeze lifts and turns them,
dark, bright, bright, dark.
Giving a green glitter effect
that entrances me
starting the long stretching walk along the lane.

As I walk, the sun lights overhead leaves,
creates broderie anglais shadows
where cars slowly trail only feet apart.
Above a lacy sheet of alto cumulus spreads
pierced by the setting suns laser rays
up to the stratosphere.

I pause to enjoy, then
move on past the McDonalds drive in.
Cars queue for their Friday night treat
around the roundabout and beyond.
Full of the bored and restless.

And I retrace my steps
on the sunlit stretching walk
back towards home.

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Northern light

Blue Baltic waters
semi-sweet to taste

Pale rose rocked islands
Rising softly from the sea

And oh
Oh
All those Birches

So many Birch trees
tall straight trunks
massing on every surface

White wrapped
Or black inked?
Design icons

Bearing thin scrolls of bark
whose paleness
reflected summers northern light
into grateful eyes

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

I’m still trying to capture my delight in the islands around Helsinki in poetry

Fellow Traveller

Drowsing on the wayside
Halfway through our walk
We are stopped
Something rustles and I open my eyes
Raise my head
There in the red tipped grasses of the moor
Stands a doe, ears twitching
Black liquid eyes gazing into mine
Two creatures on the uplands
We exchange something in that moment
Before the nearby bleat of a sheep
Startles us each
And the moment and doe are both gone

 

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The many names of Rain

Precipitation within sight
Rain, drizzle, mizzle
Soft weather, mucky weather
‘The Smoky Smirr o Rain’
Liquid sunshine
Slow words, gentle
But it was spitting this morning
Pitter patter, splash, splish, splodge, squelch
And it bucketed down last night
A torrent,  raining cats and dogs
Not a light soaking rain
Squalling, hailing and sleeting
Flooding, flowing, swamping
A deluge chucking it down

Drowning

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Alpine River

Even in the allegedly flat valley
The river ran boiling over its rocky bed
Looking out of our cabin window
I could see white electric splashes of water
Gashing along in evening gloom
Boisterously noisy in Alpine stillness
Laughing around boulders
Burbling drunkenly against its banks
Massive ice its head waters
The river was attempting an escape
Scrambling over obstacles
Scudding away from the mountains
To lazy riverine days on plains below

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond