Losing the Sounds of Spring

Vowels ploughed into other: opened ground.The mildest February for twenty yearsIs mist bands over furrows, a deep no soundVulnerable to distant gargling tractors.                                                 Seamus Heaney In the north, the Plough is ridden by the moonand frost continues to clench the earth.On this early morning walk there are no words,no lines from puffs of frozen […]

Dreams of a Samurai

I dreamed of a virile lord,a swirling spectre of berry redwith a thick brushof ebony hair and beard,and lethally sharpened swords,skilled on the battlefieldwith weapons and with words. I was the model of modestfemininity, a passionatebut submissive lover,a future wife waitingat the gate for the samuraiof my wildest dreamsand a bed not quite so empty.  […]

Shivering

From the classroom windowthe spangled playground sparkled,criss-crossed with blackbird braille,a whirlissimo of fat flakesas if blown from polar fur. Come home time,there were two or threefeet of snow and a magicallyvanishing world as the vanilla stormstole brown and green. I was five years old, my motherwas at home nursing a sick toddler,so the teacher told […]

Farther Down the Line

Gone are the dayswhen train whistlesblew my blues away.What once tookan afternoon nowtakes under an hour:steam has progressedto diesel and electric.Thanks to local fanatics,a little steam trainstill trundles past on time,blowing a fainter whistlefarther down the line. Kim M. Russell, 13th January 2026 It’s Tuesday and time for Poetics at the dVerse Poets Pub, this […]

Watching Mum Get Her Hair Done

The hairdresser circumnavigated my mum’s head,conducting a symphony of blonde curls, a pointed, shiny, metal comb in one expert hand,a can of hairspray in the other that turned hair into cement. But I didn’t really watch my mum get her hair done.There was too much else to take in. My eyes were drawn to shiny […]

So This Is Dilham

There are gulls between the goalson the village football pitch,tugging at lingering wisps of mist,their white wings stark against dirty green. They ignore the jackdaws, yinto their yang, pick at the last daisies,the ones that haven’t been squashedin mud, hoping for a tasty snack. No fish and chips here, too farfrom the coast, no shops […]