that was me, knitting furiously, jumpers, hats and scarves, while sipping wine from a sticky glass and smoking roll-ups when a pattern got tough. I’d sing along to Neil Young and Joni, nod to prog rock, smiling shyly, never one to socialise, knitting in shadows of different plies. Kim M. Russell, 2017 My response to […]
Category: Poems
Weighing Time
We’re soothed by steady ticks and tocks of our old clock, gently knocking, rarely stopping to balance up the weight of time; unclogged by grime, fine polished gears count up the years. We put trust in its staring face, its plodding pace, its simple chime as it calls time. Kim M. Russell, 2017 Image found […]
Desk Lamp Blues
Due to the way you bend my neck, leave me craning, I can only catch a glimpse of you swimming in the early morning shadow that surrounds my white halo. Your fingers tap and eyes stare as you lean back in the creaky chair between sips of sweetly pungent raspberry tea, completely disregarding me when […]
A Writer’s Window
Outside is a garden, wild and green, from my study window seen. It’s tangled with branches and shadowed with leaves: my garden has the coolest breeze. The riotous grass is sunlight-dappled, scattered with plum, quince and apple. The dome of willows is a hideaway where cats, deer and pheasants play. Outside the window are trees […]
Echoes of an Earlier Landscape
Early light has been diffused to an apricot glow, dappled with fragments of cool, grey shadow, echoes of the wet earth of an earlier landscape. Soggy fields and marshes suffered centuries of drought; now precious juttings of sea-worn granite lure us out to where water once teemed with life. Now all that’s left are sweeping […]
Demons
In the shattering pangs of sadness, bring me nepenthe so I may climb into vague forgetfulness and abdicate world-weariness. Neolithic numbness turns me to sallow stone, my only hope has perished and left me all alone. The four corners of this earth grow ever near, closing in day by day, accompanied by uncontrollable, irrational, offhand […]
Flicker
Poems are born as tiny flickers from diverse seeds of our imagination that germinate, sprout and quicken, ready to be planted in other people’s minds, where they can bloom and flower or they can droop and wither in the frost of poets’ winter: misinterpretation. Kim M. Russell, 2017 Image found on Pinterest My response to […]
Victoriana
The butterflies in her gut dry their wings, hanging from withered weeds in her womb, poisoned by opium, his beautiful lies. Kim M. Russell, 2017 My response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt: July 16, 2017: Fine Dining – Kitchen Tricks This Sunday, Scribblers Dipstick has brought us a new ‘story board’ collage. We should let […]
Red Like Mars
Brick buildings, red like Mars on the horizon, are veiled in tatters of grey haze. Our civilisation planted on another planet is a seed that sprouted in healthier days. Will it grow and bloom or be reduced to sizzling weeds of doom? Meanwhile, back on the home planet, the microscopic water bear. also known as […]
Motorbike Madonna
She was a leather-clad, two-wheeled speed-freak, with a mouth full of swear words and dust, and a body full of tattoos, bruises and scars. She wasn’t one for trucks and cars, or men with smoothed-back hair; she preferred the scent of two-stroke and dirt-ingrained fingernails on a bloke, and the glittering chrome of a motorbike, […]
