Writing in North Norfolk

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Sky at Night

We did not walk hand in handbeneath the night sky, nor look upat the menagerie of stars or findour own astrological map, or crabs and fish swimmingamong planets. Neither did we seelions stalking goats, hunters wrestlingbulls and rams, horses running free. What we saw was black velvetcushioning stars like diamonds,winking eyes of those we have met,loved for what seemed like a second in the…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

The Moorings at the End of the Garden

I rise with the sun this morning.Our cat is waiting at the back door. I pull on my wellington boots,unlock the door and let her out. I follow her across dew-soaked grass,grown long, studded with forget-me-nots, down to the back gate. She slipsthough its slats while I stand and admire boats bobbing ungainly on wind-kissed water,ghosts in cloud-filtered morning light. They creak and groan with…

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Journey

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Peach

Summer is nearly over when it comes tofruit, especially peaches. We thinkthey are so ephemeral that wemust keep them in the fridge so we candelight in their fuzzy beauty until we eattheir shimmering flesh, swallow apink and golden sunset.We declare ourselves convicted,guilty of a crime as old asLilith — sharing forbidden fruit. Weknow what we are.It would be more of a sin tolet these jewels fall…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Casting On

My grandmother taught me the art of patience, guiding awkward childish fingers to draw a loop around a needle, keep going until too-tight, sweat-soaked wool became a square. Knit was the basic stitch, purl soon followed as we explored more complicated structures, more colourful and different designs until, together, we conjured up a rainbow from cheap or unravelled yarn. Later, at parties, the…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Hope in the Morning

I feel it first thing in the morning:in the bubble and sparkle of early birdsong; the play of light on the bedroom wall;Luna the cat waiting by her bowl; the tranquillity of tai chi;reading words from our poetry community. No radio or television, and no news.Just a new day in all its hues. I inhale a deep breath of hope beforeI face the influx of despair once more. Kim M. Russell, 29th July…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Tiger in a Tropical Storm (Surprised!) 

They brought brushes, paints and canvas,so that he could spend his sacred leisurein the light, truth and happiness of paintinga surprised tiger and other wonders of nature.When I extend my gaze beyond the vivid huesof yellow, orange, red and tropical verdure(I’ve looked and found hardly any blue),I am thrilled by the way Rousseau capturedthe movement of the storm, lightning and rain,and a tiger…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

As a Bird

Oh, to beas carefree as a bird:to hop,to fly and soar,and sing with a melodic trill;a morning birdsharing the wordupon a windowsill,in a bush or on a branch of a tree,just being carefree,being me.Kim M. Russell, 27th July 2026 Image by Rainhard Wiesinger on Unsplash This Monday at the dVerse Poets Pub we are quadrilling without a care in the world with Sanaa. Yes, we are writing tiny little…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Music version of A Whiffle of Geese

Andrew suggested putting my poem to music on Suno – so I had a go: https://suno.com/s/SypM8GHHTSxo51o3

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

A Whiffle of Geese

From the melting mist on a distant hill,In a welter of water, there’s overhead whiffling.Then from unknown skies, skeins of geese arrive,twisting and turning, climbing and falling. There’s a green wave of a distant hill,It’s an ocean of grass where the breezes sing,And from unknown skies skeins of geese arrive,Twisting and turning, climbing and falling. They have crossed over flounces of indigo…

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Tight Squeeze

Heels tapped on the pavement, cracked red patent flashed ’Stop!’She could only go, despite the pinch on her little toe.Her sister’s shiny red leather rubbed her blisters raw.She had none of her own, no trainers, boots or sandals to her name.She had sold everything to fund her habit, to keep her sane.If she’d read the story, she’d have known about the tight squeeze of a red shoe. Kim M. Russell,…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Simple Treasures

These I have loved:half-light stealthily tip-toeing through gaps in blinds,mottled with shadows; mist and fog that drifts and creepsfrom field to field, muffling the rumble of traffic on damp streets;hues of leaves clinging tightly to autumn trees, the crunchunderfoot of those already fallen; lacy cobwebs wovenacross garden gates, strung with diamond drops of dew,sparkling in the weak rays of a…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

The Aroma of Dark Dreams

Without even a chink of light, I can find my way around your room to your bedside, drawn by your nightmares, the way they curl out of the open window and drift on the thermals of a summer night. I am the creature who smells your darkest thoughts, moving like a jaguar in the shadows. Nightmares smell and taste like blood while dark thoughts are more like bitter chocolate. I know that you have…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Thunder

The distant rumble is a cat’s purruntil, summoned by lightning, it crosses space and clouds collide, resonatinglike heavy metal. It’s a nursery rhyme: I hear thunder;hark don’t you? Thunder is an echo with no contentuntil clouds break and rain falls. It’s the growl of a bass drumbefore the pitter-patter percussion of raindrops. Thunder is gunmetal grey.It’s relief on a steaming summer’s…

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rosary of words on Spillwords

My poem, rosary of words, has been published on Spillwords today: Rosary of Words, a poem by Kim M. Russell at Spillwords.com

[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Asking the Right Question

Three letter questions, like how,who and why, dosend me off on a tangent. Have youmeandered among those words? Have you everbeen lost in a how? We will never knowif we have been taken forfools, but it is certain,in the world in which we live today, thatthe rich and powerful do not care what youthink, how you live, whether you arehealthy, coping, happy and doingwhat you always dreamed of.…

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[writinginnorthnorfolk]

Grandma’s Letter

As a child, I knew her handwritingfrom shopping lists,birthday and Christmas cards,a note to the milkman –but what a gift! A sole written letter,the only one she wrote to me,tucked away in my old photo box. Her voice echoes in wordspainstakingly formed,her giggle hides in each squiggle,her eyes sparkle in each loop. A reminder that she was morethan the shrunken formin a hospital bedthe last…