I am Queen 

I am Queen 

Whiskey Glass

woodman

Photo by Frances Livings

The dewy kiss of morning light,
shines upon our wallpaper
water stains
crease the lines
and bare our pain
lipstick marks the mirror,
crimson curled
floral and mould weave
an asymmetrical pattern
breathing life into where we dwell

walls2

Photo by Francesca Woodman

We’re the sawed off pieces of vintage
lace blowing against the window frame
The rotting leg, of a Victorian chase
mercury glass hangs –
the ceiling; a cold damp place,
with a tobacco stench

You, sit in silence
with a comb through your hair,
like an willow branch bowed at the waist
once an oriental lily,
now a bud cut from a stem

I, sit in silence
with a whiskey glass in my hand,
fingers blanched
Blank and vacant decadence
a childlike glance

We can’t recollect
a time before this,
Our withered bones and shredded skin
glisten in the sun
breeding
an unfortunate tale
one of stagnant drench.

@ J.CALVERT 2017

When I wrote this, I had a clear picture in my head, of a beautiful women fading-vacant and a man with a whiskey glass in hand. A time of depression, where the bottle took over their lives. Not sure where this poem came from, but it was written. Funny how the writers mind works.

Do you often read your work back and think where did this come from?

A Braid Of Blue Horizon

Fragrant scents linger still
on light wind;
across the mill
Speaking to the trees
whispers softly spoke,
Between visions of gold;
lies Calla-Lilies
Bold
Trumpet shaped
paper-like bulbs
Painted in oil strokes,
Across Western Isles,
a braid of blue horizon
A hazy day unfolds
The hours between us;
filled with wordless minutes –
seconds slip
through our fingers
No matter how we cling
Voiceless
The silent sea
and the land moans sweetly
Words fail our sensibilities,
Disentangled by the strings that cast
and bind our hearts
Our senses curve above the sun,
The clouds a husky front –
The sound of silence
Speaks to us,
In the garden of our dreams.

@ J.CALVERT 2017

Photography courtesy of Pinterest

Virtuously Blind

 

It’s the shade of blue that covers the sky
In December, when the sun is high
The light that crosses over your face
Shadows hold to no avail

Could it be you’re a mere fragment of my imagination?
Cask from the depths of my soul
Conjured from the wanting of my heart and
shaped by the very essence of my mind

Aware am I
That all this could be a dream
The fall of golden blonde across your shoulders
And silky skin
Pallid in the early hours
When dawn performs
Emerging as a holy flower

A blessing and a curse
Sin and virtue pooled
Tasted by a fool
Lips of red wine,
Spill
My bleeding heart
Created you from the vine
Virtuously blind.

J.CALVERT 2016

Photos courtesy of google images.

I know its been awhile and I’ve missed my writing space and writing friendships made. The last few months have proved challenging. I’m due to have my second baby girl in two weeks and my ability to write has disappeared? My mind is blank with the upcoming event taking centre stage! Please forgive my absence.

MERRY CHRISTMAS and  a HAPPY NEW YEARS everyone!

I hope you have a wonderful holiday with family and friends.

Here’s new and exciting adventures in 2017!

Jen xxx

 

 

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.’

Evening Primrose

stock-photo-112306111

Portrait of sadness by Agnieszka Lorek

Before the light of day
slips behind the moon
the maple tree glows red,
In tendrils of spidery webs
my fingers caress the earth,
Overcome by
the delicate aroma of evening primrose,
blossoms exposed on dusk.
The warmth of the sun fading –
the cool air weighs
heavily around my shoulders,
the lace shawl a slip across my vulnerability.
The beetles scuttle across the grass below,
Searching for a place to call their own.
I, a shapeless shadow,
disguised by the comfort of night
white stargazer lilies
upon the burial site,
a stagnant boulder
my eyes aching in
fits of weeping,
red rimmed and creasing,
hysteria took my heed.
Taken to the ground
my tears and
all my days gone,
Dawdling,
an ancient story
buried below,
Untold,
Goodbye my love.
Unfold my limbs across
our final resting place
Under the sun and
Clouded night.

I’ll lie with you all my days.

J.CALVERT 2016

Wild Hearts

OUR WILD HEARTS

CROSSED AND STITCHED

RUNNING DOWN THE STREAM

ARCOSS THE JAGGED EDGES

AND THROUGH THE FERN TREES.

J.CALVERT 2016

Flowing like clean lines

of water

clear and abundant

in natures spring,

Languid against the flow of the river

In sleepy depths

of sorrow,

teeming with tomorrows promise.

She knows not where she is going,

her vision impaired

blinded by the glare,

of the highlights and the shadows

cast far and wide

across her tired eyes

The path

wild and overgrown

cherubs and ferns turn

inwards

and welt under the sun,

The wildness of her heart

crushed

unveiled

altered

outwards

feeling the cool grip of the river run.

 

 

 

 

 J.CALVERT 2016