Nebulaic drift of space glows pregnant with stars
Pulsates with unseen radiation, reflects light upon broken hulls
Billowing gases thread through holes laced by stellar blasts
Huge gas pillars glow with the light from star birth
Strange shapes eclipse the details of nebulaic magnificence
Ships riddled by particle winds after a disaster deep in spacetime
Now drift in loose orbits within a mystery, artefacts lost to sentience and story
Deep in the cloud lies a graveyard drifting to gravity’s pale tune
Gas jets burst from infant stars, glow in unseen colours
Shoot forth ionized subatomic debris
Push against torn metal, shifting orbits, prompting collisions
Against desiccated limbs, simulating life once more
The beings who struggled and died here disassociate and powder to dust
Microbes drift and seed, await rebirth in planetary clouds
Amino acids alter with the alien input
Nucleotides drift forward to the future
Ghost DNA haunts the spaces between worlds
Drifts onto comet sand meteors
Drops into planetary atmospheres
Visits us tonight as it has done before
Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond
First published at In Between Hangovers
Some Science Fiction to celebrate that fact that I’m attending the Science Fiction Worldcon this weekend! 🙂
Consider the stone circle
Do the stones collect impressions?
Perhaps imprinted like old photographs
Perhaps locked in their silicon crystals
Perhaps they link into the earth beneath
Using ants and their nest structures
To record the thoughts of those who visit
Maybe it’s my sense of place that deludes me
Makes me feel that the stones are listening
My need to bring some mystery to this circle
When it is already full of real mystery and strangeness
Why and how being the biggest
But I want to hear the builders, eavesdrop on long ago visitors
And so stretch fingertips to the stone to download the recording
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
The street where I work
The street where I work has a ring at each end
Spinning the subatomic in electromagnetic tunnels, round and round
Particle accelerators here on the English chalk
One under a small turfed mound, proudly flying the flags of nations
The other squat, resembling an alien mothership resplendent in silver curves
Both cousins of the great ring in Geneva, the largest machine ever built
Luminous fibres of glass traverse a continent
Bringing its discoveries to the hall under my desk
Science glows alive on my street.
Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond
Here we are at the end of the world
The clouds gape and roar, thundering their pain
as fetid air blows from an oven door hot against the face
Heat dries eyeballs ears ring skin crawls as the hindbrain processes new and unknown into old fears
Crowded and herded by noise we look away from the thing that is bursting through the atmosphere above us
Forcing and burning its path to us
Pushing our breath away blinding and deafening us pushing us down until we prostrate on the mud
Afraid to look up as it they look down
Death is upon us
If you don’t recognise the title as a quote from the good Doctor, then you are probably not a Dr Who fan.
I grew up with Dr Who. Like many many Brits, I spent my childhood watching Daleks from behind the sofa. Mum once came into the room and went to turn the TV off, seeing as how it was frightening me so much, but I protested and sat back down on the seat. As soon as she left the room, I went back into hiding, peering around the edge of the aforesaid furniture….
We used to run around the Infants playground at school, one arm held up straight in front of us rather awkwardly as it needed to be in front of our noses, shouting “Exterminate! Exterminate!”. It was a great time to watch TV, although many playground games were cut short by cries of “Exterminate!” or, from a rival franchise, cries of “But I ‘m not dead, I’m Captain Scarlet.”
Later on, as a teenager, I read voraciously, and would, each Saturday, do a journey around local libraries, taking out several books (always SF) at each. The trick was to get home in time to watch Dr Who which was always on at Saturday tea time.
My first truly long piece of writing was a jointly written Dr Who spoof novel where Tom Baker used his scarf to spin Daleks like a top and the heroine companion (me of course) swung from chandeliers. It was written in an exercise book with two good friends (one of whom is now a professional writer with 3 published Dr Who novels to date) , during lunch breaks at school.
My last memory of watching the old (proper?) Dr Who is from university days, sitting watching a programme in our new Student flat while my boyfriend attempted to cook a meal for the first time in his life.
Then finally , it came back, and we sat with our two young sons to watch Christopher Eccelston re-launch a childhood love. We were relieved when it was so good. And delighted when, the next Monday, the playground of our sons Infant school resounded to cries of “I’m Dr Who” and even to “Exterminate!”. Nostalgic parents had taught their children about the Daleks already.
Our then 6 year old son sobbed his heart out when Rose ‘died’. The first time both boys sat up for New year, we had a Dr Who TV marathon to get us to midnight, and we were joined by 6 Dalek remote control toys, lined up in front of the Telly. Each one was of a different design and colour of course and the array included a 1960s Emperor.
I’ve even made Dalek cakes for boys birthday parties. The one most remembered was a fully modelled white Dalek made of cake slabs glued together with butter icing that started to slump on a warm day, resulting in a shape that looked like it was pregnant.
Oh and one of the affectionate nicknames my husband uses for me is ‘Fang’, after the Monster of Fang Rock. No, I don’t know why, and neither does he. It’s lost in the mists of time …. rather appropriately.