The Point of Return

pristine pages of                 possibility flutter out the window into the                                sky fragile words on wings of air hovering ready to fall ­                                    […]

This poet needs…

to ease the itch of words that wake her up at night; to sing in a different language, one with imagery and bite; to linger in lines where no other poet has been yet; to smile to herself when other people get where she comes from and what she needs. Kim M. Russell, 24th January […]

Sonnet to a Poet’s Hands

The young man’s hands were slender, quick and strong, composing sonnets to his unknown muse, creating worlds in drama and in song to challenge the emotions and amuse. The busy writer’s hands were stained with ink and words. His skin was cracked and raw with rhyme. The scratching of the pen spurred him to think […]

Mothspell

I wander in the standing stones, gather objects for potions: hemlock parts and gossamer, eye of toad and an owl’s feather. A celestial light show sparks and suddenly, without a flutter, a moth is trapped in a halo of moonlight and I am  rapt; lured by a death head’s powdered pinion – a fatal attraction. […]

Angels and Stars

Stone angels form a guard of honour outside a mausoleum door visible from the open gate where the mourners assemble and wait. Whether it’s a simple grave or tomb, when hair, nails and flesh are gone all that’s left is stardust and bone. Kim M. Russell, 1st November 2018 My response to Imaginary Garden with […]