My Heart is a Wild Place

 

My heart

is a wild place

But

I dare not tread

with loud feet

and ungloved hands

My heart 

Is a wild place

But

I move in subtle rhythm

With soft-coloured eyes

behind lashes

My heart 

is a wild place

But

Words are seldom

with a mute tongue

Surrounded by lips like cherries

My heart 

is a wild place

But

Touch is sharp

with finger tips

and nails

red

My heart 

Is a wild place

But

Pomegranate

and rose bush

twill in a wind

of frosty dew

My heart 

is a wild place

But

Once untameable

Now

sleeps peaceful

beside

loves

unspoken

tender tones

to tell a thousand words.

ALL WORDS COPYRIGHT

J.Calvert 2017

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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

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.’