On this August day, the breeze ripples green leaves in the quince, plum and willow trees, buffeting an army of tall stinging nettles. Inside the shed, greyed by weather and age, the brambles are uprising, sharp-thorned and striving to escape; they’ve broken a window and are prising the door from its frame. A white plastic […]
Tag: dverse Poets Pub
A Taste of Southern Comfort
Fifty was a special birthday for me: I had a new teaching post to start in September, my daughter had come home to celebrate with us, and I had completed half a century pretty much unscathed. I opened cards and a few presents and was feeling good. I knew that my husband was planning something, […]
Almost Harvest
no dawn chorus rising later every day sunflowers ripe wheat unmoving in the field a splash of poppies brittle with heat leaves already yellow awaiting release scarecrow silhouette leaning west towards the sun redundancy silent blackbirds in their annual moult counting feathers Kim M. Russell, 30th July 2020 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Meeting […]
Brent Geese in Autumn
By mid-October, large flocks of dark-bellied geese grate and grumble across grey sky, ticking clouds with wings. They descend on the estuary and spend all winter pecking at eel grass and remains of corn. Their noisy nasal honks pierce autumn twilight like a foghorn, belying the beauty of their flight and the delicate embroidery of […]
Tales of Thorns
Hunched against twilight, unfurling brambles and briars arch with witch’s spite, wiry black liars that prickle and grasp. Night noises regale with twisted tales of thorns, the cost is just a drop of berry red blood to satisfy suckering roots. All is not lost. Kim M. Russell, 27th July 2020 My response to dVerse Poets […]
Spinning
that feeling of childhood revolution with both arms outstretched and the whole world condensed into horizontal lines of a spinning top when you dare yourself to look up at a sky that’s about to pop think you’ll never stop and then you drop onto a grassy spot you roll over among daisies and the world […]
Luna and the Blood Moon
Luna was hunting. She had left the house before twilight and was waiting for her namesake to give her a sign. She had already feasted on a vole and a field mouse. Magic was in the air. Grandmother’s grimoire had promised freedom from her feline form. The words were indelibly burnt in her memory: When […]
Bird-scribbled
‘A little bit of bread and no cheese,’ the scribble larks* beg – I know, they feast on bugs and seeds – the notes of their familiar song fall like rain from the sky. At my feet, another message scribbled in the intricate patterns on an empty egg, a warning of their demise through dearth […]
I am the Blue of my Mother’s Eyes
I am the songs that my mother sang to me the dust of Coty powder on her nose, cheek and chin the peach lipstick imprints on the paper hankie that she threw with panache into the nearest waste bin I am the softness of my mother’s favourite sweater the way her chiffon scarf wafted in […]
That Look
I sat among the guests on bales of prickly straw, the afternoon sun hot on heads and backs, the expanse of Tuscan sky a perfect blue. And so, daughter, were you, perfect in your wedding dress, in your hands a pastel bouquet and single flower in your hair. I admit, I shed a tear, feeling […]
writing in north norfolk 