Mother put my hair in a plait,dressed me in my best blue skirtand red sailor blouse.Father set a timerand photographed the pose. I knew it would be boringand, deliberately turning,rummaged for stories in a chest,while mother froze, her blue dressblending into the mise en scene. She smiled faintly at the lensand then looked away,as did […]
Tag: Tuesday Poetics
Day at the Seaside
It was one day at the seaside, midway through the summer holidays and, despite the trauma of tepid vomit lying heavy in a paper bag, about to drip on my new cotton dress, as soon as we reached the top of the hill, the whole coach sang with the thrill of seeing the sea. After […]
Limerence
I am an unripe field with scarlet seepingthrough green stalks, a stain of fluttering blooms studded with the teary aftermathof warm summer rain. I take your breath and set your world on fire. Just one glanceis all it takes for you to fall. One close dance means that you are in my thrall, and I […]
Three Things
Little tiger Mojo won’t go beyond the corkscrew willow, while I wander to the end, to the garden gate, lean against the warm wood and watch a boat bob, tethered by a frayed rope that clink clink clinks. The long grass beneath the silver birch is a mass of dots, forget-me-nots and pink weeds the […]
Strains of Billie
It’s a quarter past three on a Sunday morning. Darkness sits heavy as a blanket. It’s waiting for first light to seep through night and gently lift it. Strains of Billie Holiday curl into a hug of raspberry tea steam from my favourite mug. The cats have been fed and husband is tucked up in […]
The Quality of Finger-Painting
Finger-painting is the quality of not worrying about the mess on your clothes, hands and face, and sharing the happiness of the child with whom you’re finger-painting. Finger-painting is being a cave-dweller, doing what comes naturally, while unleashing your inner Picasso, Kandinsky or Miro, even throwing a little paint like Pollock. Finger-painting rediscovers the child […]
Riverbank
The riverbank beavers a hustle and bustle once spring is underway. A wagtailing wind tugs the last of the catkins throughout the month of May. Warblers and dippers fly over rivers that surge and swell with rain ‘til the sun otters out with a spiral of sparkles – the river’s alive again. Kim M. Russell, […]
Mary Alice Muted
She is muted, not just in colour.He has painted her in hues of dolour.and taken away her voice.I wonder, had it been her choice to find herself so portrayedin shades of violet, green and greyto the modern art world’s eyes,to be so closely scrutinised, or did she trust the artist’s view.Lacking softer tones of blue,I […]
Writing Freedom’s Wings
The pen was the key to the poet’s voice; the guards took it, and with it the poet’s choice. But they could not take unspoken words, could not stop images forming into nouns and verbs, which became feathers and then wings. Justice knows why the caged poet sings. Kim M. Russell, 16th May 2023 Image […]
Curators of the Night
They are busy on the night shift,dusting off star drift,polishing up the moon in all its forms.(It’s always being tarnished by space storms.) The library’s astronomerscans the sky for astral bodies, gathersmoons, and stars that fall to Earth,and shelves them until their monthly rebirth. They lend them out too,to people like me and you,romantics who […]
