Poetry by Kim M. Russell

Poetry by K M. Russel

Hands

When he reached out to take her hand,
She knew it was the start
Of his journey to her heart:
Their worlds collided,
Hands touched,
Sculpting her skin
With fingertips
And his lips
Reading each scar,
Each line on her palm;
Smoothing cracks
And callouses,
Healing the broken
Heart in her open
Hands.

Summertime

I long for the sunshine of another climate
But cannot stand the agonising wait,
The jostle of station and airport queues,
And tourists who obstruct the views.
Instead,
I hide inside
From rainy grey,
Waiting for the flash
Of random rays,
Any hint of sunny days.
At last,
I smell the gentle singe
Of sun upon my winter skin
And, without hesitation,
Haul a chair into the garden,
A book tucked underneath my arm
And,
In my hand,
A glass of wine,
Cerise and sweet,
Licence to bask in summertime.

Rain in Vallagrina Valley

Sticky with kisses of raindrops,
The town overflows with red rooftops,
Splintering like slabs of toffee
On the slopes of Vallagrina Valley.
Ghostly bells in each church tower,
Mumble and mutter on the hour,
Warning every square and alley:
A storm is brewing in the valley.
Mountains choke with fermenting cloud
And thunder threnody echoes loud.
Umbrellas mushroom in the streets,
For daily errands cannot wait.
Puddles and overflowing gullies
Are typical in Vallagrina Valley.

 

BIO

My name is Kim M. Russell, my website is Writing in North Norfolk and I live in Norfolk, England, not far from the North Sea coast: the perfect place for inspiration. I have been writing poetry since I was a teenager, a very long time now. When I lived in Germany, I wrote in German and English, and had several poems published. Now I write only in English, with a few translations now and again.
Until a few years ago, I was teaching at a high school and didn’t have much time for writing, but since I’ve retired, it seems like I can’t stop! I’m in the process of revising a novel for children, set in Second World War Two London; I’m half-way through a young adult novel set on the North Norfolk coast; and I’ve started developing another young adult novel set in Norwich.

 

‘My first love will always be poetry.’

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BLOODLETTING BY ERIC SYRDAL

BLOODLETTING
by
Eric Syrdal

warrior ERIC

Once again
She
summoned to this place
against her will
never shy from battle
never austere in the face
of consequence
ever rising up against
that which would seek
to pin a name tag on her
significance
yet again she finds
she is brought back
to answer for deeds of which
she is guiltless
the crime lies
in the drawing of steel
ambition to claim
far beyond what the universe
decides is available
pursuit of oneness of mind
control over her vital organs of reproduction
more so
to decide
reliant upon her own free will
to cover her curves
behind plates of iron
hard armor protects supple skin
from the caustic glare of
an angry and jealous world
or might she
remove her breastplate
and cast it to the earth
her vorpal blade
slicing effortlessly through
the hide straps that
cling it to her
the metal clanging to the
ground and growing cold
devoid of contact
with her breasts
that now
wear a glossy sheen of saltwater
and rise and fall with determined breaths
once
in the golden days of her youth
and amid the roar of pitched battle
she was a flash of a blade
in the midday sun
she moved like the rippling air
over an open flame
none cast upon her
a withering glance of disdain
none dared to draw her ire
nor to tempt her martial prowess
Now
on this stage
in the light of her will to be
free…
free of torment
so readily clothed
in the excitement
of past lives
She turns her sword
to butchers work
carving cleanly
and fluidly
with surgical precision
she sets about her task
carefully
an apothecary
She now assumes the role
of healing her soul
she places the razor-sharp blade
on the ground next to her
within this arcane circle
on her knees
the echo of her battle cry
like rolling thunder
she holds aloft
the throbbing septic organ
She watches the crimson drops
of Life’s honey roll down her arms
her heart
seized in her own hands
She squeezes
and marvels at
the ruby pools of dreams
that collect in her greaves
and run over
onto the thirsty earth
of this battlefield

Biography:
Eric Syrdal is an independent poet/author. He’s an avid gamer and SciFi enthusiast. He enjoys reading science fiction and fantasy literature and spends a great deal of his writing time focused in those genres. He is from New Orleans, Louisiana, where he lives with wife and two children.

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Owl by K.Morris

Owl by K.Morris

I have lain awake listening for the owl’s cry.
A note that chills
Thrills
Then does die.

One day
This bird of prey
Will carry my soul away,
Or so the supersticious say.

Mice hide
While I, in my pride
Decide
The owl’s erie cry
Signifies that I will die.

The bird has no interest in me
So why can I not be free
Of his cry
That to my window nigh
does rise, then, as suddenly, die?

Biography

Kevin Morris was born in Liverpool on 6 January 1969.
After having obtained a BA (hons) in history and politics and a MA in Political theory, from University College Swansea, he moved to London where he now lives and works.
Kevin blogs at newauthoronline.com. For details of his published works please see the “About” page on newauthoronline.com.

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