A Poem…

I’m not sure what happens when I write (try to write) poetry, but I seem to lose my sense of humour! Previous postings of poetry included ‘Blackbird’, about growing old, time running out, and of how short our lives really are; and since published in Tick Tock.

This one is no cheerier!

 

Sometimes the Sun Rises

 

Sometimes the sun rises and,

You’re filled with a warming glow and

Smile at passing strangers.

A babbling brook runs through your veins

Frolicking like children at play.

A glassful of tickling like hares skittering the meadow.

Vision bright as stars, crystal unveiled.

I see your hot gold, heart gold,

Mother’s arms around a child gold.

And against the laws of physics an umbilical cord unseen,

Ties me to you

 

 

Sometimes it is darkness

Your innards rent like a scud missile

A sour, wet blanket of bleak mid-winter

Freezing your tears before they emerge

(Ashes cling to those that do).

Insides collapse and tumble.

The terrorist lurks in cloudy folds,

Scratching, picking, stabbing, pecking the sore.

Lost time, flat-line, black bells chime,

No safety line to pull you to the shore.

And the unseen cord,

Ties me to you

 

 

But Sometimes, the Sun rises and,

Your cheeks shine with roses,

At the chuckle of an infant.

Joy like a swelling tide floods your limbs.

Wagging the dog’s tail.

Rolling of giggling piglets in the slippering mud.

Comfortable as a sausage in its skin,

I feel your tender warm, sweet warm

Lover’s arms around a dearest warm.

And against the laws of physics,

No matter how far away,

An umbilical cord unseen,

Ties me to you.

 

END

rising-sun-pictures

 

So there you go, Have a Nice Day!

 

 

It’s Monday, what are you writing?

Good morning all !

First, let me slide this in here swiftly; new anthology, Tick Tock, is out now on Amazon. This is an eclectic mix of poetry and prose, sci-fi, fantasy, fiction and more, from Wirral Writers. I have three pieces included – The Scream of the Butterfly, Blackbird and Farewell. I hope you will enjoy it.

Now, it’s Monday, for some reason it is looked on with misery or a feeling of bleurgh! I fell into this trap during my mid to late twenties – but why?

It’s only another day to write something amazing!!!

Processed with VSCOcam with s2 preset

 

What are you working on at the moment?

Are you struggling to get that character with the rather bland personality to be a hero?

Is there a flaw in your timeline?

How many fluffy aliens does it really take to run a spaceship?

All relevant questions; to someone! And you know what? You’re the ones who have the answers – it’s your world, your people, grab them both by the short and curlies and shake the living daylights out of them until they comply. Bend them to your will. Be the boss, go on!

Now go write!

 

 

*Postscript – I am letting you know, so I don’t deceive my readers, some of my links  now connect to Amazon. If someone buys something via my link, I get some coin, not a lot, I’m not going to be able to buy a new washing machine, but I want you to be aware.

 

 

Blackbird – poem

Very soon there will be a new anthology heading your way (if you fancy this kind of thing). Tick Tock is an assemblage of stories and poetry by Wirral Writers, with  a variety of genres from sci-fi to fantasy, fiction to poetry. Not usually given to writing poetry (as those of you who follow regularly know), I was working on my allotment plot one day and was visited by my resident blackbird, I crouched down on the path and watched him for a while; before the stirrings of some lines and I had to go home and write. It took me as long to write this as it does to write a 1,000-3,000 word story.

Poetry is, I believe, the Tai Chi of the writing world – it looks short and simple, but it really isn’t; it has subtlety and nuances that stories do not need because there is more time to get your point across. Poetry doesn’t have to rhyme, (what is iambic pentameter even?! )

So, anyhoo, I decided to post my small offering here, as a taster, an hors d’oeuvre if you will, of the forthcoming book. I hope you like it:

Blackbird

 

In the tree when I arrive,

A lively, musical trill from winding greenery and bee busy trees,

Watching as I clear and rake, weed and prune.

Tipsy flower tops brush dust along my arms as I pass back and forth.

And in he quick hops, head tilts, raven-ous. With his golden spear he stabs and gathers

Wormlings from the wetted leaves.

 

On the wood-chip path I squat like a child.

I cannot see that dark omen they say you are, robed in black

Secrets carrying messages on wings fleeting, flashing, slicing air.

And between the foraging and bolting greens I catch his ebon eye and see myself there reflected,

I see my raked youth.

I am earthed-up.

 

Green I was and grey I am,

I have hopped and tilted at life

Gathering less than he.

 

This ant-thronged earth has irritated my senses, and while I itched,

Time has leapt beyond my grasp.

We are; he, and me

Short-lived.

 

 

Merry Booking Christmas…

So, this will be the final post for 2016. I am going to take a break from ‘social media’ during the Christmas period, starting after this post.

It has been an up and down year as regards my writing. I had three short stories accepted for publication; e-magazines and actual paperbacks, I completed a novel (100,740 words) that I had begun in 2014, and submitted it for consideration (awaiting response!) And also completed a story for Wirral Writers anthology (5,000 words) plus two poems – that we will be publishing early 2017. I had six rejections and am still awaiting to see if four other submissions have made the grade. I joined National Novel Writing Month, reaching the 50,000 word target, thus securing myself a certificate (that I couldn’t print my name on as it’s a PDF) and the knowledge that I can work without distraction; sort of!

It isn’t complete yet, that NaNoWriMo story; 50,000 words does not a novel make.  Chuck Wendig – terribleminds blog – has some great stuff to say about NaNo and writing in general; http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2015/10/27/why-you-should-do-nanowrimo-and-why-you-shouldnt/

I’ve lost count of how many word counts I have done ,and  worrying that I haven’t written enough words, or too many; how on earth am I going to cut that 13,000 down to the requisite 7,000? I am beginning to realise – I am a writer, this is what I do. Oh sure, I have a day job (a real job some might say). I used to be a painter – no not houses, a real painter! Did I sell stuff? Yes I did. Did I make a living from it? No I bloody well didn’t. And it looks like writing will be the same. I know quite a lot of writers now, in fact, I know more writers than I ever did visual artists, and none of them is wealthy. NONE. The world is not really geared towards creative types; unless you create a sit-com (preferably American!), an advert for silky legs or yoghurt that’s great for your gut bacteria.

But it’s the continuous trying that makes us what we are, not the fails, in the words of Michael Jordan, Sportsman:- “I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”

 

Oh, so it’s all about money?! I hear you say. No, it isn’t. I would be delighted to have a book published by an actual publishing house. I’d wet my pants if it got turned into a movie! The acceptance of my creativity is far more exciting and important than mere pounds, shillings and pence – but it would be lovely to have some! I look forward to writing something that I myself knew was as good as J.G Ballard or Tim Powers or Angela Carter, that would be this writers dream. Most of all though, creative types have heart, and that’s worth more than any cheque.
So, next year, keep writing, keep submitting and hoping and praying…

Maybe Father Christmas will bring me ‘genius’ for Christmas, or ‘excellence’. I never got ‘excellent’ at school – for anything. Maybe some publisher will take pity on me and give a  generous contract! (And if it doesn’t happen, I might go all Hellblazer on them)  Next year, maybe next year….

So in the words of a fictional character, “God Bless us, everyone!” (I just threw up a little)

And in the words of Bob Hope, “If you haven’t got any charity in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble.”

Success is marked by your inner self, not stuff. In that respect, I have had a remarkably successful year. (By the way, you can feel all fuzzy and warm if you buy books, that way, you keep authors alive!)

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy, Peaceful New Year,

A x

 

*set image: John Constantine from Hellblazer.

 

 

Remembrance Poem

I wish I could have thought of a better, more fitting title. I wish I could write poetry better. There’s nothing worse than feeling the urge to write something in response to a tragedy, and not having the appropriately honed skills for the job. But the urge was too great.

Aberfan 

Black. The valley was turning black

Where the basilisk slumbered.

 

The beast’s heel slides,

Starting slowly, rising fast,

A tremendous speed.

Turning itself into a pitch-dark wave; wet, wild,

Down towards the mountain

Down towards the village

Diving into the mist.

 

Roaring like a jet plane,

Screaming through the fog.

Scales glistening black.

It gorges itself on trees, on rocks, on homes.

Swelling to fantastical enormity

In its murderous descent.

 

Gathering speed,

It tips the sky

Arcing over the Green Hollow,

Dashing itself against the saint, slain martyr.

Its tail lashes the church bells tongue,

Black-dusted.

Vomiting death.

 

All. Is. Silent.

Nature is speechless.

 

Bent beneath the disregarding sky

Headlamps lit,

Raw hands rake polished bile.

Salt the spoil.

Pierce the calcified hide.

 

And within the belly of the beast

A boy waits.

With death on his shoulder.