On bleak mornings in November, when birdsong is muted and rare, the robin is the only bird that sings throughout the year. In the bleak gloom of winter, more wistful than in spring, a robin’s song is ‘wildly tender’ – Emily Bronte wasn’t wrong. © Kim M. Russell, 2016 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Open […]
Tag: dverse Poets Pub
Whispering Walls at Dragon Hall
I am named after a dragon carved on one of my rafters in fourteen twenty seven. I started life proud and tall, born from a thousand English oaks as a medieval trading hall. I was a shop, warehouse and meeting place for wealthy traders of wines and spices, worsted cloth and pottery, conjuring money in their finery. […]
Spanning Centuries
My name is Charles Bridge. I was conceived and born in 1357. I have survived floods and seen many changes, wars and revolution. I live in the centre of Prague. During the day, I am entertained by the musicians and pedlars that attract tourists and citizens whose footsteps wear and smooth my stone on their […]
Elephants in the Room
Italy quakes in her boot and Roman ruins rumble: just gods playing games with ancient marbles! No Nero fiddling in the flames of the Calais Jungle: just men in hard hats […]
First Glimpse
We were new to the North Norfolk coast and couldn’t agree what we loved the most: the flatness of the landscape, the drama of the clouds, the wind so loud, the skies so wide and flaming with gorgeous sunsets and expansive star-filled nights. In the charcoal-shadowed garden, listening to the sea beyond the dunes, I […]
Night of Sparks
I remember my first 5th November: I was five, bundled up in coat, knitted gloves, scarf and hat, breathing smoke and stars, a fizzing sparkler in my hand, spellbound by the Catherine wheel spinning sparks on the garden fence – it cost Grandad sixpence. © Kim M. Russell, 2016 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Quadrille […]
One Man’s Kindness in No Man’s Land
Tattered faceless silhouettes Staggered across no-man’s land, Fumbling to attach bayonets, Unkind weapons in shaky hands. Wisps of men blundered in thick of gas Back to the comfort of a mud-filled trench, Eyeless heroes in useless masks Smothering in the toxic stench. One innocent soldier wandering wide, Heading for trenches on the other side, Felt […]
October Mourning
Morning Is born with a caul Of mist on sharp, clear light, Ripped by the raucous call Of leftover scraps of night: Coal-dusted ravens and crows Hunched in ragged rows, Their sharp eyes like sloes Clustering in the blackthorn. In moisture-laden air, time slows In anticipation of dazzling hues: Ochre, rust and foggy blues To […]
Late Night London
Although I love living in a small Norfolk village, where there are no shops or street lights, I miss the sounds, smells and sights of London and relish the opportunity of visiting my daughter, who still lives between Clapham Common and Battersea. I love the way buses pulse like blood through the veins of the […]
A Tangled Twist of Blue
A twist of blue saxophone notes rose From the early morning arcade, Through the blank stare of dark windows And onto the tangled sheets of an unmade Bed, where he dreamed of her, Wondering if she’d changed, Remembering the way she looked at him That evening in the park, When he felt a spark. They […]
writing in north norfolk 