Published my first ebook to Amazon’s Kindle store. It’s a short anthology of a few poems and a few stories. It’s free until midnight tonight, so go check it out! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00J5UOMI2
The gray of stone, and green of moss.
Arches high and low. The forest where it lingers near,
and rivers where they flow. Once I dwelt as near
to them, as far I have now come. Yet though I’ve lived
here many years, my heart has not yet gone.
For I remember an isle in mist, and trees
that stretched so high. The moss it grew in banks
and hills, roving yon and nigh. The babble of brook
and forest scent, near brought me to my knees.
And now I wish that I had stayed; there among the trees.
For here I sit and reminisce, missing heart and soul,
an isle in Maine, surrounded by mist,
where I learned what my heart holds.
So I left off on Company of the Damned a while ago, and am just barely getting back to it.If you haven’t read it, you can find it here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3. The next scene isn’t ready yet, but this is a context piece I wrote while puzzling on the story, and in the grand fantasy tradition of making you read poetry by/about imaginary people, here it is:
With coats the shade o raven wings,
and hearts o powder black;
the sounds o sword and six gun sing,
the tones: scream, blast, hack.
The Company forever rides
and never do they tire;
behind, the orphans’ wails and cries
rise in a hellish choir.
A scourge, these killers do not hide;
their souls o smoke and fire.
– Wilhelmina Douglas, Poet Laureate of the Broken Union
My last post made me sad, so I’m posting something a little lighter: a limerick from one of my fantasy worlds. You don’t need to know anything about it to get it, though the curious may like to know that Remiacor is a large port city with a somewhat unsavory reputation.
A Soldier’s Limerick
I once knew a girl from Remiacor,
I gave her my love, and she gave me a sore.
It blistered and swelled and hurt like the Hells,
So now I don’t see her no more.
Eyes that shone with laughter;
silken copper hair; a smile
Venus herself would envy;
yet your image brings no joy.
Instead, the obvious pleasure
you once took in life
only highlights the injustice
of your death. That you
-who could dance in a storm,
or frolic in a prison cell-
should be entombed
in the dark, uncaring earth
so young, has shaken my faith.
So I weep before your grave;
seeing upon the tombstone,
roses not half so lovely as you.
I’m posting this (now that I finally have somewhere to put it) in memory of Amelia Butler, a very dear friend who died much too young. I hope that it does her memory justice, and that it will serve to remind everyone to stay in touch with those they care for. We hear it all the time: to say “I love you” or “You are special to me” every chance we get, because tomorrow does not always come. And while most of us acknowledge this sentiment, few enough of us really appreciate it. The last time I spoke to Amelia I was out of town on business and it was my last night there. It was late, and I was tired. I ended our conversation somewhat abruptly and promised to call her the next day, when I got home. I forgot. I called her a few days later, and left her a voice mail. I wasn’t worried, we had a habit of playing phone tag for weeks on end. It was a few more weeks before I found I’d missed my last chance to talk to her, and that will haunt me forever. So please, if you read this and have someone special to you that you haven’t told lately, call or text or email them; just don’t miss your chance.
This was my final project for a creative writing class last year. It was inspired by some examples of New Media work that our teacher showed us, such as Hotel Rot (though obviously in a very different vein). I loved the idea of giving a piece more life of its own, without altering the fundamental form of written poetry. I wanted to use visual and auditory elements to enhance the poetry, without distracting from it.
Clouds on the mountains, winter winds
call me to distant lands.
The flash of snow and sky so blue
take me by the hand.
The holly bough, Solstice night
pull me far away,
to places strange:
another world, or some far distant day.