As I walk among the willows, following the dried-up brook, I stumble on its hidden hollows, pebble beds and twisting roots, and brittle leaves crunch underfoot. Autumn leaves, a beetles feast, release a sweet scent of decay: pollen, dust and shrivelled weeds waiting for the autumn rain to come and flush them out again. Kim […]
Tag: dverse Poets Pub
Embers
once we spent all day in bed exploring without maps deep diving and emerging to kindle more desires lighting forest fires now we warm our hands on the embers of our fading skin basking in the afterglow Kim M. Russell, 20th November 2018 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Tuesday Poetics: Desire and Sexuality in […]
Spoils of Autumn
Autumn spoils us with its music, a seasonal soundscape of rain-swollen becks, leaves fluttering from the oaks and raucous, cavorting rooks echoing through the mist before winter’s deep silence grips the landscape and days stretch ahead taut as a tightrope above cold iron earth. Kim M. Russell, 19th November 2018 My response to dVerse Poets […]
And not forgetting the mist
If I should forget you in the mist of growing old I’ll remember to grasp that mist and not let go. I’ll weave the threads between my fingers, tie knots to help them linger just a little longer to remind me of the autumn mist along the coast and the first time we kissed. Kim […]
The Naked Touch
a stony coldness plucked from a beach fills my palm and overflows into each line and groove, pulling fingers into a claw – like a ring clasping a jewel sensitive tips trace dents and pocks knocked into it by waves and rocks pebbled acne smoothed by human caress, the stroke of skin wrinkles, calluses and […]
Eldritch
You wait for the third hoot of owl to flutter down the chimney but the only sound to gild the shadows is the silence of moonlight, broken only by the slap of feet across the kitchen floor. Through the back-door window, the wind waltzes with the willow, the one-two-three ghost steps of branches rustle on […]
My Erewhon
Somewhere there is a world of poetry, music and stories, a concert of words playing together. This world has turned: the coconut scent of gorse that burned in the haze of a summer morning has become frosty mist that creeps across fields and dims the glow of crimson berries. I am learning to live in […]
Tipping the Wink
Early morning frost snail trails – a forewarning of iron soil where musky fungi creep, bright orange and red speckled with warts, among naked trunks and sprout on rotting stumps, and milky bell caps rise from damp leaf mulch, wisely smiling and tipping the wink. Kim M. Russell, 5th November 2018 My response to dVerse […]
Coastal Terzanelle
The coastline is a rugged spine of cliff, its rocky ribs fall and rise with each breath of wind and wave that shifts the distant skiff. Its feet stand firm and solid in the depth of salty water tugging at its bones, ribs falling, rising with each breath. The tides have loosened roots and bits […]
Once
Once upon a North Sea cliff, fragile skeletons chalky white and ghosts of spiralling ammonites exploded by the waterside. Teased by waves and torn by tides, the behemoth spilled its insides: with salty gush and rocky rumble, the towering cliffs began to tumble. Strewn among the shells and pebbles, bleached by sun and washed by […]
writing in north norfolk 