From an untidy, disorganised muddle, we unpick poems, cuddle them close until they breathe. In a cluttered, haphazard jumble of thoughts and ideas, words tumble and line up themselves up cleaving imagery into stanzas, weaving poetic sanity from knots and tangles of the mind. Kim M. Russell, 7th May 2018 My response to dVerse Poets […]
Tag: dverse Poets Pub
Frida’s Reality
“I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.” Frida Kahlo Mexican heat invades each night, pervades the frangible seams and transmutes dreams to nightmares, thickly oiling the barren landscape vivid, livid with pain. Morning arrives again with the promise of reality, a canvas to daub with certainty self-portraits of her truth. Kim M. Russell, […]
Getting Wild with Crows
I want to strut with crows, stomp and kick the rows of neatly turned furrows in a field freshly harrowed. I want to scribble and scrawl on geometric shapes with crayons of ploughed-brown, corn-green and yellow oil-seed rape. Bring on the vivid hues so we can fly among the blues and splash inky shadows on […]
Walking with Jasper
I used to love walking with our dog, Jasper. He was a cross-breed Jack Russell and the funniest, most inquisitive dog I’ve ever known. He died on 10th March ten years ago. He was my reason for walking three times a day: in the morning before work, again in the afternoon, and a short walk […]
Rubai of Light
The moon is a balloon that fills the night which bursts with stars and constellations bright, reminding late night lovers of the dawn whose fingers shatter dreams with early light. Kim M. Russell, 2018 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Variations on the Rubaiyat This week our host for Meeting the Bar […]
A Rugby Roar
Saturday afternoon, two hours until the train leaves, the boardwalk springs under my feet and the river sports diamonds. In the stadium at Cardiff Arms Park, there’s a gathering of voices. It rises, echoes like the sea: the roar of spectators gathered for rugby. Kim M. Russell, 2018 Photographs by David Russell My response […]
Lithophile
Dawdling spring starts to lift winter’s dreich and brumy veil from saturated inky hills, revealing cobalt palimpsests on elephantine grey. Outcrops of land-slid indigo form walls dividing pitch and roll, cross ragged seams of paths and tracks through brown and ochre soil riddled with lumps of flint and shale. In the distance, a sliver of […]
Lingering day…
is painted in pointillist shadows and shades. Light, fading with the last echoes of birdsong, clings to moon and stars. It’s a time when bats and owls swoop, skim and dodge in and out of branches not yet dressed in blossom or leaves, but pregnant with promise. silhouetted moon ascends from roof to ancient ash […]
Voices in a Late Summer Garden
Honeysuckle paints a pale sunset along the garden wall,a tumbling clown, with its tendrils dangling down. Above the constant buzz of pollen-coatedbees, I catch a cockeyed conversation. ‘Get down, you silly girl, you’ll get stuck! I can’t […]
Self-portrait in front of a misty mirror
The glass is cold to touch, fogged up with early morning bathroom steam. A drop of condensation rolls from top to bottom, clearing worm-holes where pupil matches pupil. Nose as close as glass allows before my breath steams up the gap, I see her eye, the cerulean I would drown in as a child, the […]
writing in north norfolk 