A phoenix poem must first burn

one ember ignitesinto undaunted new linesphoenix wings aflamepoems learn to fly againleaving their ashes behind Kim M. Russell, 9th September 2020 My response to Poets and Storytellers United Weekly Scribblings #36: ‘a phoenix first must burn’ Magaly is back this Wednesday, inviting us to birth new poetry or prose inspired by the phrase ‘a phoenix […]

Starting Point

So varied is the starting point,the foundation of a poem:sometimes a thought, a word,image, phrase, feeling, sound,or something you have foundin a different writer’s wall,the brickweave of their soul. Kim M. Russell, 27th August 2020 My response to Poets and Storytellers United Weekly Scribblings #34: Foundation This Wednesday, Rommy asked us to consider the word […]

Hunger

is a baby bird,a swallowscreaming for dinner,its beak wide open,a black holeready to swallowits mother whole. The raging acid oceangripes and grumbles,piranha enzymes frenziedby the food that tumblesdown the open gullet. But oh, the satisfactionof the elephantine belly,the joy of different flavoursthat coat the tongueand tease the gustatory cortex,a sweet and savoury tangobefore the chemistry […]

Smiling in the Sun

Early afternoon sun dapples the half-raised window blind, the part of my desk where the computer mouse sits on its mat, and my cold cranberry tea, ruby red and sparkling. Outside, crimson-berried honeysuckle and wilted orange lilies, wrinkled and raggedy, dance on the breeze, and a butterfly flutters by, tempted by potato plants and courgette […]

Comfort in Cookies

We stood by a field, watched waves of leafy greenness rolling, wind-blown and whispering, born from earth and sky. We stood and breathed the scent of stiff-stalked oats flourishing and bearing flavoursome, nourishing crisp-cased seeds. I held your hand on that summer walk, a slightly calloused hand normally used to work, sometimes to cook and […]

After the Virus

Megan closed the Chat Window, replacing it with the World Window, and sighed. The daily chat with her mother was becoming a chore and she felt ashamed to feel that way. None of her Friends seemed to have a problem with their mothers, but then hers had been much older when she ‘gave birth’. There […]

Chalk Marks, Bears and What Lay Beneath

When I was a child the pavementwas a canvas, a joyful defacement:I made colourful chalk marks on the grey,a street artist, until the rain cameand washed them away.Hopscotch boxes led my feetacross the concreteand cracks warned of bearswaiting to eat meif I didn’t stay in the squares.I was curious about what laybeneath the heavy grey;grass […]