Words and Feet – Reblog from Kim M. Russell and dVerse

Yes yes and more yes!

writing in north norfolk

We welcomed them eighty years ago
from the shadows of the night of broken glass
to the streets of Britain and beyond, child refugees,

hungry and scared, in need of homes.

History should not be allowed
to repeat itself; it’s our turn to act,
to learn from the past and protect

children fleeing conflict and persecution now.

There’s another page of history to turn and complete,
not with the sufferings of refugees
uprooted from their homes to flee,

but with courage of words and fearless feet.

Kim M. Russell, 10th January 2019

Image result for kindertransport statue at liverpool street stationKindertransport statue at Liverpool Street Station (found on Pinterest). I stop at this statue almost every time I get the train to London.

My response to Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman: What We Save Saves Us, also linked to dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night

Sherry is back this week with…

View original post 164 more words

About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
This entry was posted in A mixed bag. Bookmark the permalink.

Please share your own experiences here...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.