Tag Archives: science poetry

We are the Robots

Wetware software hardware
how hard do we have to be?
Programmed by the stochastic chatter of evolution
form fitting function,
almost.

Self replicating semi-autonomous robots.
purposed by deoxyribonucleic acid,
the software exists to
protect itself
not us.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Broken Cable

In the middle of the bright Atlantic
Floating on the swell between island volcanoes
Beneath reflective surface tension
Silvered gas bubbles catch the light
And, across the issuing rift
A long snake of data cable
Broken sheared twisted

As the gas breaks the surface
We hear voices
Blogs bubbling to the top
Instructions to buy or sell
A thousand tiny voices
Sparkling in the sunshine
Several parrot fish swim by
Next day when snorkeling
I fancy I hear fish blogging

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem was published by the wonderful Helen Ivory on Ink, Sweat and Tears:  http://www.inksweatandtears.co.uk/pages/?p=12491

Time in the dark

Born not in darkness but in a glory of light
glowing plasma heralding
time to come.
Wrapped in dust, avidly gravitating
acquiring debris, gathering and heating
shaping, moulding
to planetary status.

Time builds further complexities
molecular forms, moving, reproducing
that bloom in awareness
become intelligences
who eventually come to know
that stars are
born not in darkness but in a glory of light.

Copyright © 2019 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The Little Folk

Folk tales of little people abound
Retreating to the deep Earth
Now and then to emerge and engage
Ensnare or enslave
With trickery or with passion

Peripatetic you may have been
Leaving small trace of your lives
But deep in an African cave
We have found you
Naledi, little stars

We term the women who reclaimed you to the light
Underground astronauts
Yet you carried your beloved dead here
Through narrow clefts, over parlous depths
To lay them tenderly down to rest

As we stare into our deep past
And find you, Homo Naledi
Those of us who wonder
Those of us who marvel
Are ensnared and enamoured

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

The discovery of fossils of a new human species  (Homo Naledi) is, in itself, a fascinating story. But why they are so ‘cool’ is very well explained by our fellow blogger on Fossil History at https://fossilhistory.wordpress.com/2015/09/10/homo-naledi-why-these-fossils-are-so-friggen-cool/

 National Geographic describes them as “A fully modern hand sported wackily curved fingers, fit for a creature climbing trees. The shoulders were apish too, and the widely flaring blades of the pelvis were as primitive as Lucy’s—but the bottom of the same pelvis looked like a modern human’s. The leg bones started out shaped like an australopithecine’s but gathered modernity as they descended toward the ground. The feet were virtually indistinguishable from our own.”

14_homo_naledi_cr_john hawks

Friday Poem: Earthfast

Architects plant their imagination, weld their poems on rock,
Clamp them to the skidding rim of the world and anchor them down to its core;
Leave more than the painter’s or poet’s snail-bright trail on a friable leaf;
Can build their chrysalis round them – stand in their sculpture’s belly.

They see through stone, they cage and partition air, they cross-rig space
With footholds, planks for a dance; yet their maze, their flying trapeze
Is pinned to the centre. They write their euclidean music standing
With a hand on a cornice of cloud, themselves set fast, earth-square.

 

 

Poetry describing a technical profession—bliss!

The Shape of Rain

I am a rain drop.
Imagine raindrops
you see tears
but clouds do not cry.
Over England they excrete
ice crystals that melt
drop and tumble
balling, falling.
Surface tension
marries colliding drops
yet divorce is common.
Plummeting, flattening
rain discs hit the London pavement
lose their identity
in puddles and pools.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Published at Fourth and Sycamore in July 2018.

 

 

 

 

We are Stardust

Orbital telescopes send home images
nebulae, glowing with colour
last remnants of fat, dying, exploded stars
lingering across the night sky
lighted by millennia old catastrophe

They are where the magic happens
atoms forged in burnt out stars
a deathbed bequest that has made us all

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond