Alchemy

 

These souls so full they re-align.
Separated by thoughts and time.
Which hold a love that extends to all.
Who reign above, and for those who fall.
And do not let the world go dark.
But ignite the hope within each spark.
This alchemy that turns hate to kind.
 Our lives, our world, all intertwined.

 

Failures washed over his workbench, dripping down his life. His quest to find the secret of changing lead into gold had consumed and shaken his soul. Yet he had merely strayed from the path he was meant to travel, clouded by the misty haze of obsession. When a little book comes into his life, it realigns his fate and lets the alchemy truly begin.

‘Alchemy’ is a story about a man’s evolution at the end of his life and how his preciousness is valued, not in the gold he makes; but the changes that he conjures. Strewn around poems that lead from dreams to magic, and prayers to happiness; the story navigates from despair to adjustment in surreal and magical landscapes.

Poetry and storytelling collide in this hybrid tale that mixes spirituality with personal well-being.

Alchemy is out now in e-book and paperback.

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Reinvented, reflected & revived

Just a quick note about a change of scenery and new content.
My portfolio site has had an overhaul, and I hope you like the changes. Be sure to subscribe for future book promotions, news, events and general funities.
(Click the image below to fly off there)

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Tenderness

Don’t let them touch you there.
Not in that fashion.
You are not a tree stuck in their path.
Or a lump of coal by the fire.
To warm them on chilly nights in their frozen situations.
Devoid of obligations.
They must show us some tenderness.
A little honey with the bitter.
They should not lay their fingers over.
The precious gold, the spotless soul.
Who knows when they washed those hands last in holy water.
Who knows where those thumbs have been.
You are not pulp of a fiction with crumbled pages.
But a silky bible with a sacred taste.
Smelling as divine as Jesus’s spine.
All words of resurrecting what’s dead.
If they tried a little tenderness.
These doors would open.
To a chamber splashed a gaudy red.
And we would pray together, incomplete forever.
Cherishing what we found.

The Last day of sanity

You burned the books. Too many pages and insights.
A paper mountain of truths you couldn’t climb.
Ripping out the hearts of those lonely men who confessed everything.
In unintelligible writing.
How you move through us now.
A pulsing fire like the sacking of Troy.
You leave them restless and weak.
Numbed by those empty regions of your mind.
There is a fire in Heaven tonight.
A blaze that the tears of angels could not extinguish.
Yet it floods down here on earth.
A holy water that washes everything clean, but you.
That fire above reflects in your velvet eyes.
An empty pit of pity, where not even the righteous can escape.
But you pay no mind, for there is no mind to offer.
Flashing snow white bones to all who see.
As you move through once more, the Helen of your own making.
Laughing, as the Heavens fall.

Leviathan: Of the soul – Out Aug 25th

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Out Aug 25th

Lurking deep within all of us, even those familiar to the stormy seas, dwells the leviathan. The monster in the soul which takes hold when the sun is so easily burnt out. It is the bringer of the darkness, the chaos and the nightmares. Threatening your little raft of life, cast out into the world.
Journey here out onto the sea of poetry and short stories that explore the waves of emotions, horror and sadness. But keep an eye on the horizon, for that little splinter of hope that breaks from the sky.

‘Leviathan: Of the soul’ is a poetry and short story collection covering topics of death, mental illness, suicide and redemption. Hold on against its onslaught.

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WHITE/BLUE – SHADOWS IN THE SNOW

Knock three times

The snow that had collected just above the window frame drifted down in a fine powder, dislodged by the loud knocking coming from the door. Inside, they lady and the girl looked over to the door where the banging was coming from. The knock was repeated, this time with more force.

“Stay here, and please; don’t say a word.” The lady said, and the girl nodded in reply, taking a sip from the tea cup; her throat changing colour as the liquid fell inside her, like a fading rainbow. The lady ambled to the door and grabbed a walking stick she kept by the umbrella stand. She didn’t need the stick of course, her bones were weary but her health was fine, she merely liked how it looked walking along in the snow sometimes; inspecting things with a gentle prod. Now, she held a tight hold on the top of the cane (shaped like a giant snow globe) and cautiously opened the door, catching the knockee mid-knock.

“Oh!” she said, a smile widening like that of the door. “Timothy, what brings you this way?” She looked out into the snowy gloom; the disappearing light had blanketed the world in an encroaching grey, like soup lapping at a bowls rim. A small boy stood on her doorstep, his feet in wellington boots far too big for him. He was wrapped up against the storm, but his nose was as red as a holly berry.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, I didn’t think you could hear me, thought you might be sleeping.” Timothy shouted, compensating for the wind by yelling like only a child can. The lady chuckled.

“Well, if I were; I’m sure it would’ve woken me up. Anyway, come in come in.” she said, beckoning him inside out of the cold.

“Is Stacey here yet?” He asked, remaining on the doorstop.

“Stacey? Why would she be here?” She asked him, puzzled somewhat.

“Well, it’s Thursday. You said for us to come for the stories on Thursday, remember? I even brought some biscuits my mum made.” He replied, shaking a small tin he held in his hands, containing, now no doubt, shards of biscuits. “I just wanted to know is Stacey was here yet, if not I would go to her house now and walk with her.”

The lady could see the twinkle of opportunity in his eyes.  Her mind flickered to her calendar and checked the date. Nope, he was a day early. Timothy was always over anxious. She chuckled a little and told him he’d gotten the wrong day. As his face fell she took something out of her pocket. She handed him the small purple glove, its index finger was slightly frayed with a long loose thread which looked like a long woollen nail.

“She left this here last week though, perhaps you might be so kind as to drop it by to her today.” She said. His eyes grew large as he took the little mitten, holding it like a small treasure. He set off straight away back down the little path calling out to the lady as he went,

“Thanks, see you tomorrow!”

The biscuits beyond repair now, flung this way and that in the little tin as he rounded the corner of her fence and disappeared up the lane. She stood and watched him go, enjoying the scene of the darkening light and the heavy snow which spread a happiness inside of her.

But then it stopped. Cut off quickly as she saw the shadows. They reached up and under the little fence she had at the bottom of her garden. Tall and thin wisps of dark, like the fingers of a demon. It all grew suddenly quiet as the wind dropped and the silence that accompanies snow descended.

She couldn’t see him, she only felt he was there. The presence. The energy she could normally feel bubbling way off over the woods, but marked on every page of her treasured magic book. Like a compass it pointed the way to the light and dark, and she felt the shadows creeping nearer and nearer to her. She shut the door hastily, warding off the nefarious nature by her own incantation and signs that keep her little cottage safe.

She never saw the gentleman of the boxes, though she knew he was there. His little eyes peering at her from the trees as he skulked around to her backyard.


Blueberry tart and tears

“What’s wrong?” The girl asked, watching the lady step back inside and lock her door. She was muttering something under her breath when the girl asked again. “Are you okay?” concern showing from a mask which beheld no emotion. It travelled in waves to the lady, she felt it in her bones. Looking over, she smiled back quickly, calmed by her presence.

“Nothing I hope. We’re safe inside her my dear, I just felt some bad energy from outside just now, that’s all.” She said, putting the cane back to where she found it and coming back towards the fire. “I’ll let you know if it builds to anything we need to be alarmed by. But this little cottage can handle a lot thrown its way.” She came back over towards the fireplace, the flames roaring nicely still. “Why, you’ve drunk all your tea. That calls for more, and a little cake too I imagine.” She said, taking a little blueberry tart out of the tin by the tea tray.

“Who was at the door?” The girl asked, curiously.

“That was a little rub of a boy called Timothy Sanderson. He came around today in the hope of tales and stories. But alas, one is being invented now as I sit here with you and might just be finished in time for him tomorrow when he comes back again….and gets the correct day.” She said, sneaking a blueberry tart for herself from the tin.

“I could feel his warmth for you, but also something else. Infatuation?” The girl asked. The lady couldn’t help but laugh at this. Bits of the cake spraying onto the copper coloured rug on the floor.

“Oh my, that would be his growing fascination with a little girl called Stacey Izzana. He really does have it bad. No, me he sees as the crazy old woman who tells stories and feeds the other children chocolates and biscuits when they should be eating fruit.” She said, eyeing up another cake in the small little tin.

“He seemed like a pure soul.” The girl sad, tasting her own cake.

“Yes, they all are the ones that come here. Eager minds looking for adventure and intellect. These books fill them with both, and I’m happy to be the tool in which to help with that.” She leaned forward slightly, inching to the edge of her seat. “But you, you my dear are an Imamiahi are you not? It is you that will bring us that adventure, and the change I’ve felt coming for some time.”

The girl finished her cake before replying, all the while looking deep into the soul of the lady before her. She knew where she was heading of course, before she even left Europa. She knew the journey would be the way it was and what type of soul who would great her when she stepped out of her cocoon. Best laid plans. But the lady surprised her still. The house and the energy was not something she’d come across before. This woman only wanted to help. It was a selflessness that she had not come across in her previous encounters. She could read the makeup of another being like you would read the ingredients on the back of a cereal box. Formulating and registering the light levels that contained within. But much like the box, it could not tell you the taste, the character or how it might make you feel. Inside the girl felt something she hadn’t felt before.

“Yes, I’ve been called that in the past. You are a kind person, I know that; I can feel it.” She said, blue tears leaving her eyes, falling upwards to the ceiling.

“This, this feels like home.”

To be continued……
(read the other parts here)


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Sweet Whispers (poetry book)

For those who haven’t downloaded this yet for free, please do. By the the amazing Singledust.

‘Sweet whispers is poetry inspired by words spoken between two lovers in the early hours of waking as hearts warm together. It is also taken from an intense dialog between lovers against the back drop of snow and words of unrequited love.’

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White/Blue – Between the jars (I)

(Between the jars – Sidebar to fable)

How to bottle the weather:

The lady of the jars has many of nature’s wonders stacked and stored in her secret room, away from prying eyes (though she keeps the door unlocked). This magical art was not taught to her by anyone in particular. Which perhaps is a shame, as she does like company. Instead, she learnt how to do this from the Guāng-shu, her own little magic bible that was passed down through her family. Pages have been ripped out, new pages added. A suspicious crystalline stain permeates one of the sections towards the back which refuses to be cleaned. Though passed down through her family, the book was never intended to end up in her hands. This may have been to save her from her fate, or because of the doubt in her abilities. But through a series of events that still surprise her to this day, the book was hers when she was old enough to read. And read she did.

Jars fill her little cottage there by the stream. She is forever getting new vials, and jugs and glass jars delivered. Not so much through her proficiency of usage; but lately, more to her failing eyesight which refuses to be remedy by the wearing of glasses. Which leaves the broken jars tipped away in the rubbish, and many a swear word emanating from her little house.

To bottle the weather….

1.    Pick a day that the weather you wish for is at its most potent. The intensity leads to longer shelf life.

2.    Set your jar in a pool of water (this conducts the elements required for storage).

3.    Place a ‘Tan-ya’ stone in the bottom of the jar (imitation stones will not work).

4.    Recite the incantation located in the Guāng-shu.

5.    Channel the power down into the bottle, sealing it quickly. This may take some time depending on the nature of it. NOTE: Hurricanes are decidedly tricky.

6.    Once bottled, swirl the jar until the Tan-ya stone breaks like an egg. This seals the condition inside and prevents escape or leakage.

7.    Store in a cool place where sunlight cannot enter.

As impressive as bottling the weather is, her favourite bit of magic has to be the ‘Dragon’s tongue’. A single little red flame that ignites and burns within one of her little jars with the ability to burn the strength of the smouldering centre of the earth. This she keeps tucked under the blanket in her bed.
Her own little wizardry water bottle.

Read – White/Blue

Novel indulgence

Burn those books, to fan this flame.
Reaching and groping for a reason.
Oh what lies, between these thighs?
And what lies within.
Voids of sin and saccharine.
Humbly taken from the shelf of life.
Dusted and rusted beyond all sense.
Yet still I thumb the page and pluck each word.
Giving myself over, to a conversation with just me.

Graffitied heart

“If Graffiti changed anything it would be illegal”

A Little side project; a small little book of Rhymes and poems. Graffitied heart is out now in ebook and Paperback. Though it may seem pricey, the Paperback is fully illustrated and is in glorious colour. I hope you enjoy it.

‘A well-travelled heart sees it all, from street to street and wall to wall. 
Soaking in life’s wonderment, from euphoric highs to the deep laments.
This heart is stained, bruised and scarred. Still beating, just graffitied; and bursting to show you what it’s seen.
Graffitied Heart is a little book of rhymes and poems, going through the alphabet of existence. And as with all lives, they can be humorous, horrifying and heartening. A compendium of complexities for your enjoyment.’ 

For more info on other titles, click here.

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Out Now – The Gospel of No One

Just a reminder, The Gospel of No One is out now in ebook and paperback forms.

THE GOSPEL OF NO ONE

Be careful of those who open their diamond hands.
Chewing opium smoked souls and offering hearts.
These will be those closest to you.
Forgive them, we know not what we do.
Swimming in the sin of a century.
Crawling once more on the back of time.
A miseducation of things once told.
Scratched on tablets, ground down like baby teeth.
But the skies won’t fall.
And though walls grow tall we strengthen our desire.
To avoid smashing galaxies and fragile pieces of others.
Every time you try to be what they expect, the honey sting;
the disdainful look of Lucifer drops all that is tired.
We become more inspired.
And make way for the inevitable bliss.
In Zion.

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For more info on other titles, click here

A Call to arms

This weekend The Gospel of No one is available for e-book download and paperback purchase (In all territories). I hope you like my new novel, it’s a hybrid work of fiction and poetry based on religious themes and spirituality (and a little bit of horror too, as there always is in life). And as always, if you have any feedback, questions or comments; please let me know by any means.

However….This is my ninth book released, and please forgive the following rally cry:

Reviews, comments and feedback are the life savers of the authors world, as i’m sure you are all aware. For those who have read, downloaded or purchased any of my previous titles, please can I ask you to sound off in reviewing them at Amazon or Goodreads (The links should take you to my author pages). Even if it’s just a… cough cough (5) star selection/click on the options it would be really helpful getting my work out there and for more eyes to devour them.

And please be honest, if you didn’t like anything; let me know as it’s all creative critique. Of course, if it’s just name calling…then that’s just mean.

And in the world of reciprocity, my last poetry will be given away free for download this weekend (again, all territories). I’m very proud of this book and would like those who have not purchased it yet; to read, enjoy and share. Click the cover below for the link:

Echoes cover


Just an added reminder. I do not write for the dollars and cents. With donations to Room to read, this work is more of a passion than profit. Room to read promotes children’s literacy and gender equality in Asia and Africa. If you would like to get involved, or donate, or share a link to tell others; please visit their site by clicking the image below. Thank you.

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Little Black horn

 

Horn

LITTLE BLACK HORN

He’s a wounded animal. A dying breed who I keep here with me. I never intended him to stay after the first night. There is no selfishness with Little Black Horn. This is what I’ve named him. He’s a dying breed. I was draped over him, trailing my fingers down the prominent blue veins on his arms.

‘What are you thinking about?’ He asks me. I’m not thinking about the accident. That is what he is implying. I’m not thinking about how frail you have become.

‘That we really should be eating something. You know I want to, but we can’t be laying on top of the bed all day.’

‘Then how about we lay in it?’ He begins kicking the duvet down around our ankles.

‘I really need to eat. Let me cook us something special.’….


(Highly recommended and free this weekend. Click the images for link. For more information on Harley Holland, visit his blog here.)

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‘The Last Man’ – Book

Fantasy Novel suggestion:

Farris Mathalion did not believe in the old stories, not until her own brother was kidnapped by monsters to send her on a fantastical journey. She travels both within the mind and without, taking a path of harrowing adventure and personal enlightenment as she strives to rescue him.

THE FIRST MAN is the first volume in a two-part young adult/fantasy series that can be read on many different levels; whether the reader appreciates the excitement of the many fast-paced action scenes, the surreal beauty and mystery of new worlds, the philosophical musings of the guides along the way, or the spiritual path of overcoming reality that Farris finds before her.

She will travel through the seven kingdoms of the earth, each woven into the deep mythology of the land she passes, and each representative of one aspect of spiritual enlightenment.

In the first volume she passes through the surface world as well as the lands of fear, pleasure and illusion below the earth. She is accompanied in her journeys by a variety of strange creatures, including her faithful pet goat Bumble, Gloria the magical fish, and a romantic interest that makes uncertain love and looming betrayal pervasive themes throughout

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Tobias Wade writes fantasy and horror stories (both of which styles are excellent). For more information, visit him on Goodreads or his own website.

Land of the free and the home of the brave

Her eyes flickered from the calendar on her desk to the phone quickly as the device in front of her rang out shrilly. She knew who it would be on the other end of the line, she pictured them, slumped against the phone booth while the hot July sun glared in through the tampered glass. Her arrangements were all unfolding as she had anticipated, each one of her children doing exactly what she had expected them too. All was coming together, there was just one thing left to arrange and this phone call, she hoped, would finalize that. She let the phone ring once more before lifting it from the cradle, placing it up onto her heavily powered face.

She did not speak, she waited for their voice.

“Mame?”

“Yes.” she said, curtly.

“It’s all arranged. She said she will be there for the 4th of July.”

“Good, thank you Perkins. She is aware of the situation I trust?”

“She is aware yes. She wasn’t surprised at all, but it’s strange as she…” He began, but was interrupted.

“Excellent. See to it that money is arranged also.” She said, and hung the phone back quickly into the cradle, her mind now dancing over the weekend arrangements.

In a phone booth in downtown Boston, Robert Perkins held the phone to his ear, trying to hear against the traffic which sped past him outside his glass shell. He heard Veronica Van-Black, his employer, hang up the line her end; yet he finished off his sentence that he had begun, as if trying to figure it out still himself.

“…it’s strange, she said she was already there.”


This fourth of July, come and spend the weekend with the Van-Blacks who will delight you with wit, suspense, good food, séances and murder. A good time to be had by all, except maybe one.
Keep it together – out now in paperback and eBook. More stories here.

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Something for the weekend

Looking for something to do this weekend? Don’t forget, Echoes in Space: Cosmically collapsing poetry is out now in eBook format. Click here to get yours today and spend the weekend wrapped in stars and decaying words.

Looking for something to do next weekend? Don’t forget, Echoes in Space: Cosmically collapsing poetry is out now in paperback. Click here to get yours in the next few days and spend the following weekend wrapped in the celestial bodies and wandering words.

(‘Echoes in space’ is available worldwide…follow your regional amazon moon rabbit.)

For those who have been kind enough to download this already, may I encourage you to write a review on Amazon and Goodreads to spread the word.

Thank you. Here are some freebies:

SHINE

Crushed to Diamond dust.
Inhaled in the right light.
When the moon is bright.
Deep into your vines I travel.
Filling your soul with stars.

 

Sweet Whispers

From the dust into dreams. Singledust has a new poetry book out now, I encourage all with an imagination to take a peek……

Sweet whispers is poetry inspired by words spoken between two lovers in the early hours of waking as hearts warm together. It is also taken from an intense dialog between lovers against the back drop of snow and words of unrequited love.’

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