We have our moments, you and I,when we walkon eggshells, sometimes onan expanse of ice.We deal with it,masked with grimaces,a moment fragile as porcelain, and thenit cracks and breaks.I confess to allmy sins, and myfaux pas and silly mistakes.There we are,two sinners un-frozen,and then, inshimmering light, themoon’s magnetism pulls us together, tightin an unbroken lock,cementing […]
Tag: Golden Shovel
It is the music of a people
(a golden shovel) Can you hear itfilling the air today? The melody isa memory of what we once were and thebeating of wings and rushing of air is musicwe feel in our hearts and souls. Words ofdespair are replaced with agrowing defiance: power to the people. Kim M. Russell, 28th May 2025 Wednesday’s come around […]
Changing Times
How strange that it has cometo this. Children of hardworking mothershave been falling in the cracks between rich andpoor, while summer permeates the souls of fathersbattling the heat and storms throughoutthese heavy gunmetal days. How sweet theshift of chord from minor to major in a landof bittersweet memories, loss andan unknown future, where beggars don’thave […]
Lost
I think I’velost my mind; it’s beena while since I felt anything. I lockedmyself away in case it broke like an egg insidemy head. If you gave me yourhand, I’d give you my heart,only it’s shapedlike a box,and lost with my mind forthe last few weeks. Kim M. Russell, 20th February 2024 Image by Gaelle […]
Music of the Moorings
A sunny afternoon spent by themoorings watching boats; a smelldrifts off the water ofsun cream, lazy days and freedom,when days are long and warm,and barbecues singe gentle winds.Holidaymakers escape the limits ofsweltering city life in summer;I watch them navigate the dyke as I lingernear a patch of water lilies inthe shade of trees. I feel […]
Year’s End
The initial blast of snow that would only last an hour or so – was it a figment of the fearful mind or a tentative reminder of the rapid passing of Time? I imagine the Old Man sifting moments at his desk; the book of life opens itself and he sets about drafting the rest […]
Dancing in the Centre of a Noun
(from Carol Ann Duffy’s ‘Anne Hathaway’) Encircling all my words with his,he caressed them with a gentle touch,slipped them on as if they were ashoe, a glove, a familiar verbhe desired for his own; dancingtogether to a melody inquadruple time, echoing thebeat of hearts, we were the centreof the serious ceremony ofthe allemande: we were […]
Thundering Atlantic
Another Golden Shovel poem, with opening lines from Seamus Heaney’s poem ‘North’. You and I have finally returned. We found our way back to roots and branches of a family tree, long buried in a small churchyard near a strand in the wave-hammered storm-swept curve and wind-whispering embrace of a west coast bay. We […]
Digging for poems
My response to dVerse Meeting the Bar: the Golden Shovel Form Above, below and in between I trace familiar features with my Fumbling, feathery finger. Up, down, under and Over, I feel well-worn skin with my Tentative thumb Memorising the Tensions before I squat Over the ink pot, filling a pen That rarely rests Knowing […]
writing in north norfolk 