Poetry

Gifting season

Surprise!

 

A moment of passing,

threads of an old tale.

 

That’s all it took.

And it brought me back to myself.

Threw back the years.

 

With you, I’m how I was then.

That same core is still here, working the cogs

through the grime and the grit.

They’re tarnished, they’re beaten, they’re dented,

but when you held up the x-ray mirror,

I could see it was still me.

 

The me I always want to be,

but fear to let out in case

she gets hurt, ridiculed.

 

You unfastened her chains

and released her

regardless.

 

And she found she was safe.

You made her safe.

 

You.

Poetry

Overflow

I’ll hold up the spoon to feed you

letting the syrup spill over the sides

to fountain down to the spoon below

catching and spilling, catching and spilling

a movement, motion, continual flowing

but the nectar will reach you in the end

it can only be controlled so many times

before it makes its escape and delivers to you

the hope that you dared wish be allowed free

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Unofficial Detective is free until the 14th!

Hi guys, just a quick post to let you know that book one in my Half-Wizard Thordric trilogy, Unofficial Detective, is free for four days starting today. So if you’re looking for a new ebook to read and love fantasy and cosy mysteries, you can check it out here.

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My book is free!

Hey guys, from today untilĀ 03/10, my debut, Unofficial Detective, book one in the Half-Wizard Thordric series, is free on Kindle.

Unofficial-Detective-Promo-Paperback.png

And I’m also rather pleased to announce that a few days ago, it received its first review on Amazon.com, and it’s a five star! Exciting times, if I do say so myself.

Poetry

Wiped clean

There are times I look up and find the sky absent. The screen is off, no background to display. My hands immediately try to find the power button, encased in cardboard boxes filled with drippings of life. I suspect moisture is making the circuit trip up like a gangly teen with flapping shoelaces. But I can never bring myself to tear out the heart to have a look. Maybe I’m just too soft. Or maybe, there’s actually a part of me that enjoys the absence overhead.

Poetry

Next, please.

Crafting, a menu that extends to the farthest craters of the moon. Drawers inside of boxes, containing tiny keys – silver, brass, gold. Locks in high places, just out of reach, tucked behind ears for later thinking. A pot of molten language, sifting, bubbling, evolving. Curses turn to common tongue, tongues that cease to pause and hear. Words tiptoe away down to the shadows.