spring rain is falling islands drenched in rose and pine Matsushima tides Kim M. Russell, 15th October 2018 My response to Carpe Diem #1522 Matsushima … an amazing sight (CD Imagination) Today our challenge is to create haiku or tanka inspired by an image of Matsushima, a city on the northeast coast of Japan’s Honshu […]
Infused with Jasmine
sweet reflections willow in a crystal brook infused with jasmine sweet reflections leaves stirred by the ebb and flow drifting memories willow in a crystal brook its branches bent and dripping the weight of water infused with jasmine green leaves and shadows shimmer merging with time Kim M. Russell, 14th October 2018 My response to […]
Flexibility of Water
sparkling water purls into rugged rocks and stones a new path is carved Kim M. Russell, 14th October 2018 My response to Carpe Diem #1521 Lao Tzu … flexibility of water Carpe Diem’s festive 6th anniversary month is halfway through the alphabet and today we have arrived at the letter L for Lao Tsu: the […]
More than a Little Red
Traditional tales are steeped in bloody red: apples, shoes and roses are less than innocent and Riding Hood performed a striptease for the wolf. She removed her clothes and was eaten by the wolf (for all we know her underwear was also red), believing her hairy grandma must be innocent. When I first heard this […]
Peeking Cat Anthology 2018 Out Now!
I have a poem in the this new anthology! Today’s the big day! Peeking Cat Anthology 2018 is out now, featuring poetry, prose and photography from 58 contributors! Paperback: £9.99 ebook: £4.99 The paperback will also be available on Amazon in the next few weeks.
The Blue Mountain
was a cold flame on the horizon; it cast a wide-reaching shadow, an other-worldly drift of snow where three royal daughters were trapped by many-headed trolls who loved to have their scalps scratched. Tempted by a generous reward, a soldier arrived with a well-honed sword to make the trolls’ ugly heads roll. The teenage princesses, […]
Skulled
Grassy scree sweeps, a crumpled quilt on windblown moors, broken only by thistles like globe artichoke heads and a sole skull, once warm and woolly but now long dead – no skeleton, the only backbone formed by distant tors. Bowing stiffly before the threatening gale, sedge clumps hiss and escaping hoverflies hum a monotone refrain. […]
