Updated: Dec 9, 2019
My kid is in touch with "the poetry elves" and so I get a poem from them each day until Christmas. This incredible sense of kindness has touched me and moved me to start writing more poetry. I'll leave you one at the end of this message. In the meantime I'd just like to express the joy a parent feels when their child does something so considerate. It's like one of those Christmas miracles you see in the movies ...
A while ago I got inspired by my good friend Matt Wildasin (whose short stories you should check out) to start making paperbacks from my work. Amazon provides this feature, and I've known about it for a long, long time but formatting is hard and so I've never ventured down that road until only recently.
It is with great joy that I can tell you that my novella ALL THE DARK PLACES will soon be available to buy in a paperback format as the first one. In fact if you push the link you will see that you CAN already buy it there. I urge you to wait a while though, because I still haven't received my proof and don't know if my formatting attempts were successful. I will let you know, to be sure.
I had a spout of migraine attack yesterday. These come rarely for me and when they do they come with some heinous visual disturbances and are then accompanied by a slight headache that lasts about 24 hours. So instead of doing what I had planned I kept myself in the dark, thinking and for some reason a play (Blood Wedding by Federico Garcia Lorca) I saw as a teenager came to mind. So this morning when I woke up I started listening to this song.
I'll leave you with these beautiful, tragic tones and the poem I wrote (that I feel is not tragic at all!)
I see the silver pirouette reflecting in the water,
Alongside the moon
This water deep, cold, almost inviting.
A soft white veil lying on the bank.
It used to be mine.
There are no clouds in the sky,
The stars merely teardrops,
My lament long over,
the old shroud shed and left were it belongs,
At the bottom of the lake.
The drops dripping off my naked body,
Marking the dry ground,
The sound like the beating of drums,
On a faraway beach
The rhythm exciting, overpowering,
Soothing, moving - alive.
He is standing on a hill in the distance,
I see only the silhouette
And it's impossible to see if he is turned away
Or towards me.
The steps are heavy,
The path misleading,
But I’m strong headed,
The transformation within me stalwart,
My eyes mirroring the moon in the sky,
The heavenly tears.
I have no remorse,
Just blood that boils in my veins,
Wondering if this is purgatory,
The darkness surrounding me,
It cocoons me and pushes me away at the same time.
He stands there still,
The opposing feelings mirror in the water,
Mirror in the dark, tear filled sky.
My feet are heavy,
My mind set.
The hill is steep,
The trees blocking my way,
The darkness all encumbering.
I looked into the abyss
And saw an unlikely face.
Staring back at me.
The tears in the sky are not mine,
The dancer twirling on the other side of the lake,
But I keep climbing the impossible hill,
Challenging the darkness.
A soft voice chanting,
Joining the beat of the drums.
This is not THE way, they whisper.
The veil on the bank of the lake,
Seems to glow in the dark,
But it’s not mine.
I climb the hill,
The tears turning into eyes,
The moon the biggest of them,
The ominous presence disconcerting,
But the light emanating from my own chest
Guides my way.
I am no longer what I once was.
I am new
Born of the old.
I’ve never been the one to walk the treaded path,
Though sometimes I’ve walked beside it,
The deep grass tickling.
I might end up in the lake again,
Wet, naked and alone,
But this is my path,
The risk is mine.
The beating of the drums
Echoing in my veins,
In my mind.
The silhouette at the top of the hill still…