Smudged

The day has not yet ended, we’re not ready for our beds, and the moon’s already rising while the sun’s on the horizon, smudging trees and meadows into charcoal shadows – a momentary impasse, a blur of branches, leaves and grass until the stars come out to play and night ink-washes day away. Kim M. […]

Humming into the Wind

Through sullen branches of ancestry, a deadened wind soughs a song of loss. Straggling souls skim the trees in skeins towards an ancient rookery to caw themselves to sleep. They echo through insomnolent dreams, but silvered by moonlit poetry I hum against the windy wings, through a mouthful of mouldering leaves, and the succubi of […]

Goodbye Mundane Monday

I wake up early and greet another day, a mundane Monday, damp, cold and grey. Winter should be over, or so the buds tell me, there should be sunshine and daffodils. I watch a smoking feather, a skylark rising, and then a second hovers above the winter field – then another, and another ascend into […]

Time to Turn (a Quadrille)

Osier wands planted in November are almost trees. Now’s the time when we remember to pluck a switch or three of willow, white with soft, sleek buds, gold with catkins, sweet temptation to hungry humming bees, still drowsy and crawling from their winter sleep. Kim M. Russell, 6th March 2019 My response to dVerse Poets […]