‘From where does the thundercloud come with its black sacks of tears?’- Neruda Black sacks of tears arrived on my doorstep today; I thought they’d been delivered by the coalman, until I opened them, and some teardrops got away, attaching themselves to leaves and gutters, dripping on my shoulder, soaking my jacket like a sobbing […]
We walk along the blustery beach, embraced by towering arms of rock laced with white foam cuffs. Falling sheer to shore, sombre cliffs, banded with distorted strata of basalt, rusty iron, brown and buff, are broken by moss-cloaked boulders, moist with silver sea mist and rain, and crowned with gnarled oak, wind-blasted, salt-stunted limbs leaning […]
I’ve been off-line for a while, so I was pleased to see I have another poem in Visual Verse. In October’s issue, the image is by Valérie Mannaerts/M Museum Leuven/Alexandra Colmenares. You can either click here to see the image, read all of the poems and find mine on page 36, or you can go directly to ‘Legs Dancing‘.
the art of quantum physics energetically pops and fizzes on impudent protruding tongues bright and tripping acid tones orange, blue and green on Andy’s silver screen from the depths of velvet underground to a star man spaced out in outer space on Einstein’s face Kim M. Russell, 10th October 2019 My response to dVerse Poets […]
French kisses bruise the sky as I cartwheel through clouds of purple. Kim M. Russell, 23rd September 2019 My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Bits of Inspiration: The Colours in a Song Susie is our host today with a prompt that asks us to experiment with synaesthesia, in particular the colour of music. […]
I’m absolutely delighted that I have another poem in Visual Verse. In September’s issue, the image is by Joelle Chmiel. You can either click here to see the image, read all of the poems and find mine on page 15, or you can go directly to ‘Peeking in Windows‘.
When a seamstress loses the thread, she becomes thorny: stitches tighten in her gut and snakes breed in her very soul, notwithstanding itches in her fingers from tiny hollow hairs, steeped in a poison that bewitches and catches her unawares. All fingers and thumbs, and nettled by unforeseen hitches, she waits for serenity and calm. […]