Tag Archives: travel

Flying

Flying over cities is glorious
London’s furnace reaching for the sky
The nested curving of Amsterdam canals

England on Guy Fawkes Night
Firework chrysanthemums blooming upwards
Colouring the belly of the plane

Shimmering ice dazzling in the cockpit
So many planes alongside
Taking the polar route

Diverting around a war zone
Noting shell bursts far to portside
Glamorously frightening

Heading out across the Atlantic
Passing over container shipping
Waiting for Azorean volcanoes on the horizon

The miracle of heavy flight
Watching Jumbos lumber into the air
Carrying hopes and dreams

Copyright © 2017 Kim Whysall-Hammond

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Graveyard shift

Graveyard shift

In old Malay, draped in forest, lies heat swamped George Town
Where abandoned colonial mansions rot in new technological haze
Forsaken, cracked, diminished, atrophied
Yet evening jazz drifts from broken windows, lights flicker, shadows dance
New tenants, just for the graveyard shift

Old hotel, four square and white, now has modern facilities, pools, spa
The private beach, golden, secluded, is a long walk but a short drive
Courtesy coaches ply the mountain road past decaying  tombs
Extra guests take the last ride of the day, leaving the driver fevered
New passengers, starting the graveyard shift

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

….retold from anecdotes told to me by Nesa………. thank you……….

Voting for poem of the month

My poem Broken Cable has been shortlisted for Ink, Sweat and Tears  Poem of the month for March 2017! Public voting is at https://www.surveymonkey.co.uk/r/7V5XFKP

Voting will close at 9pm on Thursday 13th April. The shortlist is at http://www.inksweatandtears.co.uk/pages/?cat=72

I’m going to be cheeky and ask that you vote for my poem. Here it is once more:

Broken cable

In the middle of the bright Atlantic
Floating on the swell between island volcanoes
Looking past reflective surface tension
To silvered gas bubbles beneath catching 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 snorkelling
I fancy I hear fish blogging

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

About a boy……

He turned 20 years old yesterday, off to France today…………and it seems only a little while since his first trip away without us, nine years ago.

       The School Trip

Long limbs, freckled cheeks
He slips between us in the bed
It’s nearly time to go
We hold him, all nervous and excited
The week long trip looms
Kiss in the hallway at home
Dash to the coach in a gaggle of friends
Pulling faces at the window
I put ‘ears’ on Dad and little brother
The coach goes, and so, nearly, do our tears
They grow – you let them go
Nerves, sadness, excitement and pride

Copyright © 2015  Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

… poem originally published 2015…..

M1 in winter

M1 in winter  (Watford Gap 1 mile)

 Mist enwrapped trees extinguish the low orange glow of the Sun
Taillights warm the twilight ahead
Headlights shine on traffic cones and road workers  jackets
Jagged shadows in a field reveal a ruined brick barn
Aerofoils loom above, rotating for electricity
We return from lunch with a son at University
Time, long and relaxed, spent talking junk
Films, comics, games, YouTube
Reconnecting the family

Each capsule of metal alongside, before and behind
Contains a story
Adulterous trysts? Mismanaged meeting? Half Term visit to the Zoo?
All these journeys and ours are twenty first century bubbles
Made manifest in the manic twentieth
Our posterity is as yet uncertain
The fields and their shadows will outlive us all
Animals will graze, trees loom in the dark
And Suns set, wetly

Copyright © 2017  Kim Whysall-Hammond

Lava Tunnel

Lava Tunnel

In a simple field, no different from any other
Is a clump of small trees with a dark secret
Amongst their roots, we tiptoe down a rocky slope
Into blackness.
Torchlight reveals a dry tunnel, strange shelf on the walls
Chattering, we walk until daylight is extinguished by distance
We stop, simmer to quietude, and turn off the torches
Into silence
Liquid rock once ran where we now stand in black silence
The rock around us the scum that floated on that river
The apocalypse that created our tunnel has disappeared
Into history

Copyright © 2016 Kim Whysall-Hammond

 

Once more, re-blogged from last year…