In the hedgerow, a robin spills its joy at weeds and wildflowers unfurling and greening cracks in the pavement, graveyards and verges. It cocks its head and blinks its eye at a trembling of finches in the sky with flashes of yellow and bursts of twittering. Nature always finds a way: midsummer’s insects are only […]
Tag: Tuesday Poetics
Invisible Friends
A summer-born child, I lived in my head, I drew, wrote, sang and read, peopling worlds with invisible friends to fill the space where reality ends. Now I feel winter creep into my bones and my poetic graffiti covers the stones, written in lichen of saffron and green; childhood’s buried where it can’t be seen. […]
In Bleeding Heart Yard…
pulses quicken at fog-muffled footsteps on the cobbles. Along the soot-soaked lanes, pawn shops and tenements topple, and blackened windows weep tears of grime. They see it all: every good deed and every murderous crime, pickpockets, pimps and paupers, desperate drabs and abused daughters. The dross of life oozes, sobbing and mumbling from the murky […]
Amongst other things, cats on the mat
The mouse left on the mat is a present from big cat; she seems to think I’m partial to a rodent, cheeky rascal, and doesn’t understand me when I find dead birds unsavoury. But sometimes she is clever and leaves me just a feather. When I’m tucked up in my bed, little cat sits by […]
Sweetness and Light
A shy nightingale waits until dark, quietly chuckling and snickering at lovers in the park. At moonrise, he crescendos into fluid song, charming lovers and the Milky Way to shimmer more than they did before. Kim M. Russell, 15th May 2018 My response to dVerse Poets Pub Tuesday Poetics: BRAND NAME NOODLING! Lill, our host […]
Loss
Yellow catkins drip from grey willow, catch early morning light through mist. Another season dwindles like smoke or ghosts of long-lost family and friends, and drifts away with my self-worth, my memory, the agility of mind and body. Yet I am are still learning, in my nostalgic yearning, to become untethered like a boat and […]
Getting Wild with Crows
I want to strut with crows, stomp and kick the rows of neatly turned furrows in a field freshly harrowed. I want to scribble and scrawl on geometric shapes with crayons of ploughed-brown, corn-green and yellow oil-seed rape. Bring on the vivid hues so we can fly among the blues and splash inky shadows on […]
