from a cloud landing in mud. Within hours, shallow streams meander and bubble between banks of flowers burning above the flourishing flood. It gushes on, a convulsive weir, a torrent of energy trying to get back to where it was. The heat of the sun draws it up to a cloud and it becomes once […]
pan pipe music soars over the peaks of mountains a condor flying Kim M. Russell, 30th May 2018 My response to Carpe Diem #1443 Music to close our journey In the last episode of May, our inspiration is music from the Andean Mountains, called ‘El Condor Pasa’, played on the pan pipes.
Violets, forget-me-nots and pear-drop pink honeysuckle burst at the first hint of heat, spattering garden and street with sunshine. Somewhere, a blackbird sings solo and pearl-edged butterflies weave in and out of flowers flouncing their colours, true to nature’s word. Kim M. Russell, 30th May 2018 My response to Poets United Midweek Motif: Truth This […]
the end of the line Andean geometry sharp peaks and round domes Kim M. Russell, 30th May 2018 My response to Carpe Diem #1442 almost at the end of our journey In the penultimate episode of our journey into the high mountains of the Andes, we arrive at Huancayo, the capital of Junín Region, in […]
pulses quicken at fog-muffled footsteps on the cobbles. Along the soot-soaked lanes, pawn shops and tenements topple, and blackened windows weep tears of grime. They see it all: every good deed and every murderous crime, pickpockets, pimps and paupers, desperate drabs and abused daughters. The dross of life oozes, sobbing and mumbling from the murky […]
The sickle moon fell from the sky, having lost its lustre, hurtled through clouds and trees, and hit Earth with a clang – not a bang. It caught a fecund woman’s eye; claiming it before a sister, she got down on her knees and, feeling no disgrace, bound it to her face. That led to […]
Yesterday morning, I woke up really early and couldn’t get back to sleep. I’d left the blind up in my study the previous evening and, just before five, peeking through the branches, the sun was a red ball hovering over the river. The house and garden were silent, not even a tweet of birdsong, but […]