By: Timothy Russell

They whirled and flurried from the sky.
They came to me in the middle of the night,
some silently, some clumsily bumping into things.
They stuck their tongues in my mouth.
Some slunk along the edge of the river bank
like feral cats. Some ran ahead of me

like those bumpkins in Pamplona.

Story Tags: poem || poetry || Selected Poems || Timothy Russell

By: Timothy Russell

None of this will hasten
or delay that dazzling flash
astonishingly brief on the horizon.
Some of these children have never seen
a river or an orchard or a pea pod

Story Tags: contest entry || poem || poetry || The Fifty Things Wrong With This Picture || Timothy Russell

By: Timothy Russell

Trees on the steep hillside
across the river will peak
within the next few days,
and if things follow precedent,
shed their impossible colors
soon after.

Story Tags: contest entry || poem || poetry || Timothy Russell