It’s back again, thesoporific burr of beeshovering in the fruit trees thatmakes me want to sleep. I watch them burrowing insidespring blossoms. They ignore meas they take their fillof pollen. Lately, mytaste for honey has taken over my mindand I’m dripping withtheir sweet buzz. Kim M. Russell, 30th April 2026 This Thursday at the dVerse […]
Tag: Meeting the Bar
Following the Brush
I sweep the floor with an old broom, it still does the job, collects crumbs and dust, pushes the pile of detritus from one placeto another, and with it my thoughts a poem forminglike the pile of dust,sometimes caught up in the brush and then escaping.Our cat Luna pokes her head round the door; she’s […]
Letter To Myself Looking Back
Six years ago, in the fertile belly of pandemicspring, you were inside looking out. The street was quiet, no traffic, bar a delivery van,the driver masked and gloved, as were the single walkers, with or without dogs.Not even an aeroplane in the sky. The sun shone, flowers bloomed, but you wiltedin the stifled isolation of […]
Paradiddle
He plays a paradiddle on the drumswhile his lover sleeps. The room is dim, no heat at the ending of the day,although the weather has stayed dry. She really wanted to go for a walk,but he focused on his drumsticks, work took precedence, with a new world tour.She turned her back on him, a tear […]
Why?
Why do honeysuckle blooms spill their fragrance in the night? When morning sun creeps between slats in shutters, whyare dust motes ignited like fireworks? And later, the lens of day’s diminishing light freezes in the finalblaze of sunset, capturing a heron’s trailing gangly legs. Why does spring arrive in starts and stops like a dripping […]
Stolen by the Breeze
On stone pillows, the dead sleep soundly.but the cicada’s seventeen sad syllablesare immediately stolen by the breeze. In the morning quiet of the cemetery,the haiku master writes a eulogy, whileon stone pillows, the dead sleep soundly. Lost in his task, he dips his brushin a pot of black ink, and he hears nothingbut the cicada’s […]
First Kiss
First kissFirst touchFirst stepsAnd all the bees dancing From one of the poem postcardsSarah Connor sent me Night fell fastLights glowed in windowsChimney smoke driftedCondensation in the kitchenScent of homemade lasagneA walk in stars and sea mistLost in conversationMusic and memoriesOpen fire’s hissFirst kiss Misty halo aroundAn October full moonOnly light on the empty streetSand […]
Alphabetically speaking
(Because the alphabet is the brickwork of language)Cave walls had ancient words scratched on themDestined to become poetry. Echoes of lost tongues lurk inFossils long predating homo sapiens,Gorgeous, mysterious and soul touching. Humans staked a claim on poetry —In error I hasten to add —Just as birds wrote theirs in the sky. Kingdoms come and […]
Ode to November Rain
A respite from early snow, it pours from bruised clouds and makes the fields sodden.Drumming against my windows,I hear it in the garden,washing away words that robins have trodden. It gushes in the gutters,punishes the water butt ‘til it overflows. I listen as it muttersrhymes I never wrote—a refreshing respite from the silent snow. Kim M. […]
All Souls
I hear them through the chilling autumn mist,the muffled footsteps of returning souls;their heralds are the jackdaws and the crows. Before the sodden churchyard has been kissedby daylight skipping in between headstones,I hear them through the chilling autumn mist,the muffled footsteps of returning souls. The scarlet red of poppies will persist,although the blooms of summer […]
writing in north norfolk 