Chilled to their Inner Rings

They wait for spring, those intimate winter trees at the end of the garden: unadorned birches tall, bare and skeletal white trunks shining, patient old friends chilled through with icy winds and frost each morning. Kim M. Russell, 9th February 2019 My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Just One Word: Sensation, also linked […]

The Point of Return

pristine pages of                 possibility flutter out the window into the                                sky fragile words on wings of air hovering ready to fall ­                                    […]

Heart and Other Beats

With the sarcastic percussion of fingers on the table top, my heart used to skip a beat. I longed for the comforting generosity of chimes in a summer garden instead of the irascible crash of cymbals, a teenage girl flouncing out the door; I don’t hear that any more. Kim M. Russell, 26th January 2019 […]

This poet needs…

to ease the itch of words that wake her up at night; to sing in a different language, one with imagery and bite; to linger in lines where no other poet has been yet; to smile to herself when other people get where she comes from and what she needs. Kim M. Russell, 24th January […]

A Frosty Night

On this frosty night, stars blow themselves to smither- eens and fall like feathers. Silvery hisses and splutters of white noise in my ears rush like the ocean on shingle, a symphony of moonlight, on this frosty night. Kim M. Russell, 19th January 2019 My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Weekend Mini-Challenge: Mustn’t […]

Apple Blossoms

branches fracture sun in spilling apple blossoms the valley awakes branches fracture sun awash with shiny spangles early morning dew in spilling apple blossoms a bumblebee cavorts with pollen’s sweetness the valley awakes a flood of pastel petals welcoming the day branches fracture sun they finger-paint the dawn sky with smudges of cloud awash with […]

Bread-Making in Winter

For months frayed foliage has covered earth, the agèd year is faded to sepia shades and now it turns again to white and grey with early dusk as winter draws its breath. The frigid bite of January’s mellowed, outdone by the aroma, as it lingers, of yeast and flour wafting from your fingers, familiar scent […]