To flood, with vowelling embrace, a page agape at my pen’s impudence, is to leave wounds of words upon its face, carved with the sharp and flat of consonants. Blood is ink dried in thirsty lines and margins, annotated stanzas, editor’s cut and thrust. All the while my stack of notebooks burgeons, shrouded in poetry […]
Tag: Meeting the Bar
A South London Childhood
Balconies and concrete stairs, beery piss in broken lifts, every night the same old prayers, someone get us out of here. Tightrope walking on the fence, leap the gap between the sheds, long walk to the traffic lights, sideswiped by a motorbike. Buttercups and dandelions crowd long grass by rusty gates; in the alley, shadows […]
Phantom Shadorma
snow ghosts drift in a late blizzard rags tattered dignity phantoms of the fantastic suspended in ice and we hide behind heavy drapes misty panes bated breath while winter and spring battle it out once again Kim M. Russell, 2018 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Phantom Form – Shadorma Amaya is […]
To My Unborn Grandson
Dearest boy, I am counting down the days and knitting. I am amazed at the butterflies of anticipation, imagining your eyes, mouth and nose, your tiny fingers and toes, the fresh-baked smell from the top of your head. I can’t wait to sing the songs I once sang to your mother, and the ones mine […]
Mid-February
Winter – saturated by a winnowing wind, bare branches are ready to yield to spring. Kim M. Russell, 2018 My response to dVerse poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Brevity — Five Lines This Thursday Frank is hosting Meeting the Bar and the theme today is brevity. We are writing poems with no more than five […]
Gathering Poems
Another poem’s formed, quiet words in a silent room for an anonymous anthology read in a silent room. Poems map success and failure, track winter’s raging floods and untarnished summer skies dreamt in a silent room. The playful winds of spring throw blossom at the moon, while winter drafts weave shadows in a silent room. […]
January 2018
For the first time I ignore the wind whistling a haunting incidental down the chimney: Change the tune. You don’t scare me. I am shielded more by word and rhyme the more you blow at me to fear […]
