Infant Inspirer: I’m a singer of songs and narrator of stories, bouncing and rhyming on Wednesdays and Thursdays. I count ducks on my fingers and pigs on my toes, bringing poems and music wherever I go. Kim M. Russell, 10th May 2018 My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Rommy’s Challenge: Job Title Rommy […]
Category: Poems
H2O
Although chemistry remains a mystery to me, I love the combination of hydrogen and oxygen: liquid that flows and trickles and drips, fills lakes and oceans, floats ships, quenches thirst and washes clean, sparkling foam, currents and waves, and the way the invisible […]
Loss
Yellow catkins drip from grey willow, catch early morning light through mist. Another season dwindles like smoke or ghosts of long-lost family and friends, and drifts away with my self-worth, my memory, the agility of mind and body. Yet I am are still learning, in my nostalgic yearning, to become untethered like a boat and […]
Muddle
From an untidy, disorganised muddle, we unpick poems, cuddle them close until they breathe. In a cluttered, haphazard jumble of thoughts and ideas, words tumble and line up themselves up cleaving imagery into stanzas, weaving poetic sanity from knots and tangles of the mind. Kim M. Russell, 7th May 2018 My response to dVerse Poets […]
Layering
Spring has come in layers, from the first swallows of the year drawing fresh lines through still air and busily nesting in eaves, to carpets of flowers, fragments of sky among nettles and grass, and the honeyed murmur of bees. Kim M. Russell, 6th May 2018 A sunny Sunday morning has inspired this little poem […]
Spring Barter
Spring stalled in her tracks, silencing birds, wasting late-flowering catkins and shrivelling bramble leaves. As she bartered for a little […]
Getting Wild with Crows
I want to strut with crows, stomp and kick the rows of neatly turned furrows in a field freshly harrowed. I want to scribble and scrawl on geometric shapes with crayons of ploughed-brown, corn-green and yellow oil-seed rape. Bring on the vivid hues so we can fly among the blues and splash inky shadows on […]
Verbing an Anthophila
I found the first one of spring on my windowsill, just bee-ing, when it should have been meadowing with a swarm, oceaning a roar, pollening and sweetnessing with honeyed kissing. Instead, it’s dead, Just bee-ing. Kim M. Russell, 30th April 2018 My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Thirty poems in April: a final […]
Lingering day…
is painted in pointillist shadows, light fades with the last echoes of birdsong and clings to moon and stars. Lingering day, when owls skim, swoop, dodge in and out of branches not yet embellished with blossom or leaves but pregnant with promise. Kim M. Russell, 29th April 2018 My response to The Poetry School […]
Almost there
A saddle-worn cowboy on the road hears the promise of amber bourbon in the strains of a lonesome tune. He slaps a dusty faded Stetson against his aching thigh and wipes the grit from his eye. There’s an arduous ache in the back of his throat that begs for that golden liquid burn. His swollen […]
writing in north norfolk 