Tag Archives: speculative poetry

Hidden Dragon

In deep time when the air was fat with moisture and warmth
you soared in low gravity, swooped over and along deep Marineris
scrabbled amongst rust red rocks, seeking the treasure of tasty morsels.
Then, as the air fizzed away to trail behind your little planets orbit
and the planetary heart chilled to immobility
so you chilled and slowed.
Settling down to a hibernation, waiting the warmth of a spring
that has never come.

Blanketed by wind borne dust you have been slumbering
in your crater nest.
Now those selfsame winds have scoured away your cover
revealing your raised  scales.
Massive glider, hidden dragon.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

(Thank you Nesa, for the idea!)

47_bunge_crater_dunes-br2

Bunge Crater Dunes — Fans and ribbons of dark sand dunes creep across the floor of Bunge Crater in response to winds blowing from the direction at the top of the picture. The frame is about 14 kilometers (9 miles) wide. This image was taken in January 2006 by the Thermal Emission Imaging System instrument on NASA’s Mars Odyssey orbiter and posted in a special December 2010 set marking the occasion of Odyssey becoming the longest-working Mars spacecraft in history. The pictured location on Mars is 33.8 degrees south latitude, 311.4 degrees east longitude. Image Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech/Arizona State University

 

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Dockside

Neon shattered voices ring across dockside
joshing, laughing.
A gaggle of youth, glories of hair and beard,
jaunt along a just washed walkway,
looking for nothing,
arms linked, heads thrown back
deep laughs mixed with shrill cries.
Pocked skin drawn
tight over smashed cheekbone,
hair frizzy and sculpted
or flopping over acid kissed eye.
Wide grins stretch mouths
faces marred by occupational hazard
adorned with tattoo.
Brightly painted prostheses refract
glitter, crack together
as shoulders nudge hard
in proto-embrace or witty retort.
Tonight, youth’s incandescent joy uplifts,
they will launch into the dark
escape this gravity well tomorrow.
Other crews drift along
washed by unfathomed
tides of rumour and gossip
pushed-pulled to entertainments
you cannot, would not, share.
Our girls and boys josh on
exchanging joyous insults,
impervious to all.
An enclave of companionship
in a lonely night.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond 

First pubished in Wizards in Space 3, a print journal, https://wizardsinspacemag.com/

I’m at Eastercon (the UK national Science Fiction convention) this weekend, with paintings in the Art Show……..

Poem : Our Secret

Take the third turn over there
by the weeping willow at the barren stream.
Turn sharp now into brightness
or you will miss the crease,
that flaw in time’s weave you must push through
(sometimes my shoulder gets stuck, but I persevere).
Once through, stay low, part and peer through high grasses
watch the herds roll past.
Tusks upraised, immense cinnamon woolly hulks,
regally righteous, grassland behemoths,
lords of the plains
(yes, indeed, the land is flatter here that it was back now).
Be ready for the noise when they cry out,
it reverberates all through your bones
oscillating ears to numbness.
The hulk and bulk of them is prodigious
and worth the squeeze.
Whether it is worth the panic
when you finally realise
the directions home are missing?

Is up to you.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

First published in  Crannóg 49, the Irish print journal, http://www.crannogmagazine.com/

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

Poem : Gone

When it happened, we each thought
that we were the only one.
Gradually, we realised
others were affected.
Leaves no longer gave shade,
grass revealed the many varied
colours of the soil beneath
and the fields appeared barren
although stock still grazed.
Some clothes were embarrassingly transparent.
It took a good while
for the news to spread,
Hogsbourne was the village with no green.

Copyright © 2018 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Changeling

by Leah Bodine Drake

I am out on the wind
In the wild, black night;
On the wings of the owl
I take my flight,
On the ghostly wings of the great white owl;
And whether the night be fair or foul,
Or the moon be up or the thunder growl,
Happy I be,
Happy I be
When the changeling blood runs green in me!

When meek folk sleep
In their dull, soft beds,
I creep over roots
That the weasel treads,
Where the squat green lamps of the toadstools glow —
And only the fox knows the ways I go,
And nobody knows the things I know. . . .
Wise I be,
Wise I be
When the changeling blood runs green in me!

O Mother, slumber
And do not wake! . . .
Thin voices called
From the rain-wet brake,
And the child you cradled against your breast
Is out in the night on the black wind’s crest,
For only the wild can give me rest. . . .
Sad I be,
Sad I be
When the changeling blood runs green in me

from https://poemsofthefantastic.com/changeling/

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

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