A little toy engine sits on my shelf, It isn’t mine. I didn’t buy it for myself, It was part of a birthday present for a special boy, a battery-run, magnetic, self-propelling toy that was meant to pull its wagons round a track. It didn’t work and I had to bring it back. A replacement […]
Tag: Poets and Storytellers United
Lips
I was never one for painting my lips red, although I sometimes fantasised in bed about a scarlet slash against white teeth tempting you to meld our lips and breath, a colourful seduction in a bed gone quiet. But then I realised that instead of a riot of thrashing limbs and pounding chests we both […]
Restricted View
From the window and in the confines of the garden, I watch spring advance. Willow buds and almost-blossoms dance on the breeze, promising abundance yet to come. High above in the heavens are black smudges of distant ravens, harbingers let loose among vernal festivities. Stuck alone within these walls, but blessed with flowers, hedgerows and […]
A Way Back to the Garden
In the garden she was lovingly cultivating, Mother Nature stood back. The plants were doing well, flourishing even, producing flowers and fruit of every colour, even some she hadn’t invented yet – they were going it alone. Birds and insects carried pollen from one part of the garden to another, cross-pollinating, creating forest and jungle, […]
Mothering Sunday
I left the laptop, just for a minute or two, to let the cats out and make the first cup of tea of this morning. I looked out at the sunshine, perky daffodils and drooping snowdrops gathered at the end of the garden, smiled to myself, and then, from the laptop’s scrolling photo display, a […]
What happened to the snow?
What happened to winter snow, hoary patterns on windows, frozen ponds to skate on, icicles hanging from the gutter? Sun worshippers may think it doesn’t matter and wonder why we mutter at unseasonal weather, unconcerned that snowdrops and daffodils bloom early, blackthorn roots are purply and willow tops froth with yellowy green. Is it the […]
The One Who Does Not Go Straight Home
I am the hare who does not go straight home. I relish the cool dew on my whiskers, the wind in ears and scut. Dawn steals past the farmer’s gate and I follow in its honeyed wake, zig-zagging fields, up and down hills, among the yellow daffodils, too full of giddiness to go straight home […]
Antibacterial
On a cold blue morning, she will sit on a crowded rattling train, antibacterial gel in her pocket, avoiding other people’s faces, sneezes, coughs and stares. She might fidget on her seat, watch the burgeoning greenery, the fresh flashes of fields and trees as she hurtles towards the city: crowds of strangers, with their mouths […]
Incision
The sharp blade splits smooth skin, spilling the ruby jewels within and staining fingers with fruity blood. Its sticky flesh holds heavenly food, the luscious seeds small surprises as they crush between white incisors, trickling juice upon the tongue, a crimson, fertile, sour song. Kim M. Russell, 27th February 2020 My response to Poets and […]
Tribute to the Magpie’s Tail
Among the high branches of the silver birch struts a handsome magpie, jet black on creamy white, not still and quiet like the pigeon on the branch next door, but constantly chattering and fidgeting, see-sawing its tail to keep balance. It’s a fine, long tail, a stick of charcoal scribbling in the grey February sky. […]
writing in north norfolk 