Tag Archives: SF

She came to see me

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

First published in the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Associations print journal Star*Line 40.4

red astronaut


“Deep” has been published in Star*Line

I’m delighted to tell you that my poem, “Deep”, has been published in Star*Line, the house journal of the Science Fiction Poetry Association:


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!  🙂

Stone Circle

Stone Circle

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


Here we are at the end of the world

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


                       Kim Whysall-Hammond

Here we are at the end of the Universe, and you two are Blogging!

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.