I start to trace the map of her face, the contours of her cheeks, pools of blue eyes, her valleys and her peaks, drawing from distant memories, trying to forget more recent days, colouring the sunshine hours, and feeling her warmth. Kim M. Russell, 2017 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Tuesday Poetics: Musical Muse […]
Tag: dverse Poets Pub
Shakespeare Dreaming
Words fall on fertile ground, blossoming midsummer dreams or sprouting mares of thorn and bane. While the poet’s pendulum swings, chimera of the mind whips whirring wings of fantasy into comedy, romance and tragedy, borne on feathered quill to make of what you will. Kim M. Russell, 2017 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Quadrille […]
Day Tripping
Wind-buffeted, we listen for quiet waves below the pier. Filtered through a bank of low-lying granite cloud, August sun is determined to shine on Southwold. Day trippers brave the sea, build castles on the beach, while in brightly coloured huts, flustered mothers hand out soggy egg and cress sandwiches that crunch with sand. In the […]
A Day for Shade
Tucked into a shallow bowl of shady hills, a gun-metal grey saucer of a lake reflects the silhouette of a small bird of prey hunting on wings back-swept, shadowing skylarks and pipits, playing tag with cumuli scudding their own penumbrae. Kim M. Russell, 2017 Image found on britainandbritishness.com My response to dVerse Poets Pub Poetics […]
Past Imperfect
When I was a child of three or four, my grandparents’ garden seemed enormous. I would take off from the back step, stretch out my arms and fly around the garden, past the living room windows to the blushing peonies, where I would stop to collect a handful of fallen petals to toss into the […]
A Flash of Summer
blue metallic flame bi-plane dragonflies travelling through time skimming summer days hovering and dipping flash of fizzing wings Kim M. Russell, 2017 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar — Trimeter Frank is our host this Thursday and he has brought us the tricky trimester. He explains that a line in a poem […]
Melting
In August nineteen forty two, amid alpine meadow scent and below skies of glacier blue, Francine and Marcelin, set off on foot to feed their herd. They never returned. Decades of searching melted to an end, revealing backpacks, stopped watch, tin bowls, a glass bottle, shoes still encased in ice, bodies side by side. As […]
