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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Poetry by Amanda Eifert

” The Writings On The Wall Reveal You”

 

——
Am I real?
When you look at me,
Do you see me for me?
Do you care what you see?
I’ve only questions,
While you play your cards close.
I’m not going to cheat,
Peer at your hand because —
I’m afraid what I’ll see.
Such truths, I don’t want to gaze upon —
Unfaithfulness,
Only physicality, sexuality;
No emotion or affection,
No conversation in person,
No Voice stroking voice.
—–
Hands speak with our words,
Eyes glint and reveal,
Secrets you’d rather hide,
With sunglasses.
Staring at your hand,
Trying to beat my cards.
Poker face silent, emotionless;
All bets are off.
Time to show me your cards,
What the river dealt you —
Matters not; but for now,
Play how you like.
Fold if you’re scared,
Of falling into deep,
Of feeling emotion.
Your heart picking-up,
Thumping a beat.
——
But, perhaps, I’m a woman for fodder,
For a lonely night at home.
Perhaps, I’m not pretty enough,
Not thin enough for you.
Maybe, you know I’ll ask questions?
Questions you have trouble answering.
Maybe, you know —
I’ll turn the wanderer in your soul home,
And welcome you in my arms.
Maybe you’re not ready,
Perhaps, your only an ass.
A nice way of saying,
Other words I want to shout.
Perhaps, I’m only a date —
And one night.
Is this how you treat women?
I’m too strong for your tricks.
——-
You may forget my face,
My name, my body.
You may let me do the walk of shame,
Thinking I’m fooled by you,
The man I liked all along;
You may believe —
Finally, you wore me down.
And now I’m flattened,
Nothing left to sculpt,
Nothing left to shatter.
Smithereens, glass embedded.
You may have led me astray,
Made me consider:
I no longer think,
Some guys are good,
And some guys do care.
——
But when I chose you,
Maybe I didn’t realize,
I was choosing all wrong.
Maybe, I should’ve gazed above me —
Seen the ‘writings on the wall.’
Seen the woman in her glory,
Waiting for her own life,
On wings to rise and fly;
From your lies and tricks;
You didn’t shatter me,
I saw all the writings,
Every word on that damn wall,
I know all your horrific secrets;
And I read them all.

 

“The Darkest Faeries”

——
The wings of a faerie, a delicate lace.
Transparent and glowing with,
Each faeries myriad colour choice.
You can see their wings flash,
When the sun begins to set;
When echoes of the rainbow,
Give one the illusion of colours bold.
But it’s the faeries who are —
As beautiful as they’re deadly,
Luring children to their faerie lands.
Turning your infants to faeries,
To live many ages;
To play wicked games, faeries play.
—-
They’ve no offspring so they steal,
A babe fed; left in their crib.
Mothers are distraught,
Be not surprised; it’s what faeries do.
You’ve heard the tales and watched,
As your mother, and her mother before her.
Still you cry and sob;
Picking-up your biggest kitchen knife.
Faeries are terrible beings,
We read false truth about,
They don’t actually want to help.
They’re evil when alive too long.
——-
Faeries so tiny,
Keep their race alive.
Promptly, wave their hands;
The wisps of their garments,
Sleeves like streamers trailing long.
Chanting magic ancestors taught,
They curse your darlings with bright wings.
And turn you and you husband away,
Searching for,
Your their stolen little ones.
Though your broken-hearted mother,
You keep up your fight.
You want your children to grow,
Not become an evil faerie;
Live a Millennium to burn.
——-
Faeries lead astray those,
Who try to capture them.
You who yearn for your babes,
To get your children home.
As faeries, your darlings grow in the blink of an eye;
Become adult faeries in days,
Not knowing they were humans young,
Merely, days ago.
——
Mother’s sorely missing kids,
Are wandering the forest for —
Where ancient faeries hide.
Faeries lie to stolen babes,
Say they were unwanted,
So the faeries gave them home.
And rainbow wings to one day,
Catch the eye of yet more babes.
Lost before a parent sees,
A child stolen gone.
——
Faeries change your young,
Dawning them with gossamer wings,
Knowledge of mischief and celebration.
A faeries life is of none-stop festivity,
With little meaning;
And no knowledge do faeries posses,
But the knowledge to take;
Those you hold so dear–
It’s why you burn their wings,
In the candle lit at night;
So, they will never curse your home,
And bring you a mother’s tears,
——
Why you learned to take your knife,
And kill the old faeries weird,
To end their malicious games.
Take back your children,
Undo the magic faeries formed.
You’ll burn and stab their wings all night,
Until your children,
And your neighbour’s young,
Are finally, safe at home.
So the faeries fade away.
Die out with no offspring,
Because of you;
Your child lives.
And never will you cry again,
From a fairy interfering.
You, most feisty mother,
For your perseverance, you have won.

Shadorma: “Women War Not Alone”

—–
Such times as,
The ones she lives through.
She conforms,
Yet wants more.
Sees hurt, it perpetuates;
Never healing whole.
—-
Self-harm and —
Hate common, if she–
Keeps hurting;
Harms others–
Hate with false judgement, it wins.
Woman, think thoughtfully.
—–
End the pain,
Close the doors so she,
Locks terror,
Out in cold.
An unforgiving night, reminds —
Her, fight gently.
—–

Keep working;
I know her battle,
It’s as old,
As the earth.
Men and women must fight for,
Prosperity.
—–
If only,
For a moment’s time,
Pax, and rest.
She is wise,
For seeing tomorrow’s pain;
Unburdens those lame.
——-
Light in the,
Darkness, shines, provides —
Glimmer of,
Hope, assured —
Fighting, with her words and sword;
Hoping for happiness.
——
Good prevails.
Light’s glow permanent.
Good’s older.
She drinks wine;
Thinking of mornings, sunrise —
Reminds her she’s loved.
—–
Leaves on tree,
Dusting her path yet,
Leaves mark the —
Passing of,
Seasons; each one she shines light,
Earth keeps turning while —
—–
She worries,
Weeping in bad times,
She doesn’t
Forget what,
Was fought for at heavy cost,
She lives; others fought —
——
For her now.
Because in their time,
They had few —
Rights at all.
Doing wife’s duty despite,
Desire for freedom — rights.
——
She looks for,
Light in the tunnel,
At the end–
Of the war.
She fights not alone; she holds —
Strength in her faith bold.
——
For her God,
Never gives up, for —
Women so —
Precious; God–
Created Man and her equals.
Partners; she’s not less.
——-
Complement,
She smiles because she —
Knows inner —
Completeness.
Remembers God’s son best knows,
Inequality.

Biography:

Amanda is a writer, blogger, and student in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. She has a BA in English Literature, a certificate in Residential Design, and is pursuing an online MFA at UBC in May 2017. She loves being creative and imaginative in her writing. She enjoys drawing and acrylic painting, dogs, hanging with her friends and family, Netflix, scrapbooking, and yoga. Amanda blogs at: www.mandibelle16.wordpress.com.