A Seasonal Relationship

this is the season of the wistful                                                     goodbyeto early morning’s frosty chill                                                      hellosnowdrop, crocus and daffodil                                                      a skyinstead of cloudy grey spills                                                      clear bluewhen the promise of sunshine thrills                                                      anewas winter turns its back on us                                                      againthe pang of regret will pass                                                      amen Kim M. Russell, 10th March 2021 My response to Poets and Storytellers […]

To the young poet of the future

Dear poet, I picture you gazing at a star, concerned that you are still so far from being the poet you wish to become. From my position of restrospection I promise that your journey is the best lesson: you will be buffeted by storms and squalls, fluctuations in the weather of the soul, soothed by […]

Aerial

we are aerial               we are swifts                              asleep on the wing                                             or rising sooty-brown                              to black against the sky               wings like scythesand all summer long we fly               until the long days pass                              African heat and grass                                             call like drums and rattles                                                                                                and we fly Kim M. Russell, 8th March 2021 My response to dVerse Poets Pub […]

Next Door’s Ghosts the Final Episode

“Pleased to finally meet you, Kay,” her next door neighbour said. “I’m Sally. I’ve seen you coming and going, and I’ve made friends with your lovely cat.” “Which one?” asked Kay before she realised her mistake. “Do you have more? I’ve only ever seen the one and he’s very friendly. I hope you don’t mind […]

Newborn

Originally posted on writing in north norfolk:
The waiting was breath held underwater, the longing was a crushing ocean wave, and the scalpel cut was the sharpness of moonlight at the end of a stormy day. Now his smile carves deep into my ribcage, his fingers worm paths under my skin, and the smell of…

Unmasked

Pandemic masks express littleof the wearer’s personality: floral,funny, plain or heavy metal. We focus on each other’s pupilsor look away, unsure if sparklesare reflections of windowed souls. Words and meanings muffled,cloaked, and sometimes daggered waffleto fill the spaces in between, mumbled emotions captured in dissembledetiquette. And how we long for smiles,rows of teeth, and lips […]

Fringe

I used to hide behind fringes: the tablecloth fringe that dangledfrom grandmother’s dining table,the one I pulled until scaldingtea splashed on my legs; the grass and weeds on the fringeof the field near the railway bridge,the green-shadowed placewhere I buried my pet hamster; the fringe of hair over my eyes,my mother’s scissor-straight line,the blonde fringe […]