I wondered what lurked in the landing’s shadows. I listened to the creak of breathing wood and the wash of my imagination’s shallows. I whispered to the upstairs ghosts mollifying volleys of hallos and showers of secrets and prayers – just making sure they stayed upstairs. Kim M. Russell, 2018 My response to Imaginary Garden […]
A good start to the poetic year with a poem in the January 2018 issue, Vol. 5, Chapter 3 of the online Visual Verse anthology. You can find my poem on page 14 or you can link directly to the poem, entitled ‘Brilliant Explosion’.
To a young child, the jagged edge of paper poked out like a tongue from the machine slung round the conductor’s neck. ‘Any more fares, please?’ With a rattle of his handle he conjured a miniature scroll, a ticket printed with conundrums to last the big red bus ride home. Kim M. Russell, 2018 My […]
She had a closet full of shoes she wouldn’t throw away, reminders of the comfy days when every shoe would fit. For me, it was a treasure trove of giant shoes for a four-year-old to slide across the lino, Ginger to my grandfather’s Astaire. I was completely unaware of the agony of her size three […]
In foolish figments, the wild willowwacks of child- hood, I am myrmidon to my master chocolate. My stash is hidden in entangled tree trunks; knots and holes encircle glints of wrapper and my dark greed, the eccentric need for sugar that makes me jump when Mother discovers crumbs and smears on the bedclothes. Kim M. […]
Content in our garden’s leafy shade, I think back to weedy margins on a distant council estate, full of dandelions and significance, between pan-hot pavement and simmering black tar, a strip of withered grass, litter-strewn and dotted with dog mess, where bike wheels used to spin, click, tick; children clutched coins in sweaty hands at […]
My passion as a teenager was playing the guitar, contorting fingers into chords and positions, resonating waltz and polka from the sound hole of a Yamaha, plucking delicate arrangements of Bach and Scarlatti. Now my fingers will not stretch across neck and frets, too stiff and sore to press on strings, too clumsy for harmonics […]