Theoretically

We harvested the fruits of muddy shores, watched millions of diamond sparkles on the crests of ocean waves before we turned our eyes to space. It startled us and left us wanting to know more about what lies beyond the darkness, titillated and tempted to explore. Still we must overcome hurdles while our feet are […]

Maenad Madness

What you doing with that ivy, sister? Pretending it’s a snake like that one on Instagram. Didn’t we get wasted last night, man! Yeah, we had a right scream! My lips are still black with all the red wine. My head’s all over the place with ecstasy. LOL – mine’s so bad I can’t see. […]

April Morning

The morning’s dust-tongued with short-lived frost and seabirds moon-blown from the coast compete with bell-voiced wood pigeons. These early muffle-toed strolls are full of promise: spring winds roar in a leaf-foamed coppice and all the quiet moments in between, while hare-heeled boots touch damp earth with a kiss. No dark-vowelled dreams could have predicted this […]

River Cascading

Between deep gorges water flows: springs that glint over moss and lichen or energetic streams that tumble, shifting and grinding over rocks and boulders. Between deep gorges water flows, fizzing with minerals and petrichor, full to the brim with April showers, springs that glint over moss and lichen. In summer months, watercourses dry where water […]

Into the Sea

We are crumbling, eroding into ­                       the sea with our pigmentations of blue, brown and green, accompanied by a withering wind and scent of rain. Dithering on mouldering marsh and ­                                […]

Humming into the Wind

Through sullen branches of ancestry, a deadened wind soughs a song of loss. Straggling souls skim the trees in skeins towards an ancient rookery to caw themselves to sleep. They echo through insomnolent dreams, but silvered by moonlit poetry I hum against the windy wings, through a mouthful of mouldering leaves, and the succubi of […]

Time to Turn (a Quadrille)

Osier wands planted in November are almost trees. Now’s the time when we remember to pluck a switch or three of willow, white with soft, sleek buds, gold with catkins, sweet temptation to hungry humming bees, still drowsy and crawling from their winter sleep. Kim M. Russell, 6th March 2019 My response to dVerse Poets […]