water has no punctuation its words just flow around rocks and pebbles or wear them down to silt roll from ripples and pop from bubbles whirl in eddies and sparkle in foam crackle from crystals that form in winter sub-zero dirges that melt into spring filling every ditch and gutter with gurgles and splashes and […]
Back in the seventies when I was a student in Cologne, I submitted poems to various publications; some were published, and others returned with the usual brief note about the poem(s) not being the right fit for an edition or anthology. I once received a short letter from Zoe Fairbairns when she edited Spare Rib, […]
Grandfather’s garden I pick peony petals fading on dry soil Grandfather’s garden haven of childhood summers no clouds in the sky I pick peony petals silky frills of deep cerise my secret friends fading on dry soil distant memories and tears his watering can Kim M. Russell, 16th August 2019 My response to Carpe Diem […]
Blood red blooms line dusty country lanes, they dot the village verge, and a meadow explodes into a rippling scarlet sea. Here and there blow pale pink blooms, their blushes fading in the sun, papery ghosts haunting tired fields. Dog day heat has scorched the brittle fields, the only shade is found in leafy lanes, […]
It is said that you should never place your faith in a sensual woman in red with full lips on a smooth-skinned face, who sells bitterroot to raise the dead. Her naked heart was born to darkness, counting corpses in an eternity of death and wicked business running the affairs of the city of bones […]
poor man’s weather-glass a memory of childhood rainy days inside tightly closed brick-red petals coaxed open by late sunshine Kim M. Russell, 15th August 2019 My response to Carpe Diem #1725 Scarlet Pimpernel Today, the new addition to our bouquet of wildflowers is the Scarlet Pimpernel.
My TV memories are mostly in black and white, that’s how we saw the world when I was a child, how newscasters would present each triumph, each disaster. I couldn’t see the difference on the wobbly monochrome screen between grief and joy, now and then; but we were taught that a cowboy in a white […]