Poetry

Mother Cosmos

Her skin is made of stars

and swirls of cosmic dust,

her hair as dark as the dark side of the moon.

 

The burning amber of her eyes

gives out the sun’s warm rays,

and her tongue whispers the galaxy’s mysteries

and the history of many a forgotten age.

 

During the day you cannot see her,

for she walks among the clouds,

holding council with Mother Earth,

but at night she rests and lets her gown

sprawl out across the sky.

books, Uncategorized

Flight Anthology Cover Reveal!

I don’t think I mentioned this in any previous blogs, but one of my short stories was selected by Elephant’s Bookshelf Press to be in their upcoming ‘Flight’ anthology, which will feature a multitude of authors from various parts of the globe.

Elephant’s Bookshelf Press has been publishing great books and anthologies since 2012, and I believe Flight will be its fourteenth book (or thereabouts – don’t quote me on that). They’re a small but enthusiastic team that love getting new and established authors onboard, and from my personal experience, they’re a joy to work with.

Flight is currently scheduled for release in mid-November, and I’m very happy to be able to share its fantastic cover with you:

Flight ebook complete

Look out for updates, as I’ll be posting order links as soon as they’re ready!

Poetry

The Thirsty Traveller

Once, I heard the trickle of a long forgotten stream

As I strolled along taking in the syrup of the noonday sun’s gleam.

My throat was dry, and so I stopped

To take a sip with cupped hands,

Realising too late that I’d been caught in black quicksand.

 

What fool was I

To have ventured without a careful glance?

Had I thought I was fair of fortune enough

To gamble with chance?

 

Some might now expect me to say I was saved

But sadly I must inform you that for me, a different end was paved.

Though my body soon disappeared underground

I now hover above the water

Guarding forever against any fools willing to clown around.

Poetry

Inner Working

Twelve keys lie on the ground, a thirteenth in my hand.

The doors, except one, have already been opened;

they spilt their knowledge over my skin.

A conclusion is not an answer, only the point at which we cease.

I could conclude here and now, and rest,

or use the thirteenth key and find the answer.

Is it really the answer I’m looking for,

or a way out of the answer altogether?

Why am I being asked what the answer is?

Because I’ve been told to find it.

That’s not a good enough reason for me.

Poetry

Second star

Like fairy dust on my skin,

your words are enough to always lift

me up.

Even when I’m down,

sunk to the bottom of the ocean

by Captain Hook

in his vain attempt to distract

himself from time

ticking,

ticking

away, like the strength of muscle and bone

as age sets in.

But he forgets he is in Neverland,

where time is endless.

So are we,

if we stay hand in hand.