Today was strong sun and shadow. After a few days slaving over a hot keyboard, time to take in the real thing……
As if you didn’t already know enough about me, here is a Little Bit More 🙂
This little fella, Ghosts Treading Water, book three in the Spanish Spectres series, is now out on Kindle, and should be out in paperback any day now. Maybe even today….
Full list of books available at https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B076SZMKX7
Sometimes all you can do is sleep and dream…..
I have made an Amazon Author Page; part of my new resolution to spread the word a bit about my books. It will be updated when I know the ISBN of a couple of my other books, but it’s a start…..
Hardy is the first plant I’ve not killed off; not only have I not killed him, I grew him from a pod. He is a wild child, anarchic and threatening to take over the room. A welcome member of my strange little family.
One of the posts I accidentally deleted/mangled/ while messing around with my blog and trying to get my head around the whole thing:
Learning/practicing is always very messy for me. I will get there *nods*
I’m caked in history, upside down on your street,
my silhouette cutting singers in black and white,
dizzy between the streets, amassing description.
I come clean, blow a path through talcum powder
and cheap hotel bars of soap, use chicken bones
to lure you, but it isn’t high school and
you are provoked into fury. I’m afraid it won’t be
played out when my tap shoes confront your
steel-capped boots in the elbow of corridors.
We roll in coffee grains, smelling so good
I decide to repeat this game with subsequent lovers,
to scatter coffee in all of my rooms.
I smear myself in Vaseline and am arrested
when I use you without permission
in my stick dance, my stroll dance.
First published in Ink, Sweat and Tears: http://www.inksweatandtears.co.uk/pages/?p=11722
All over Jack
Jack, torn of corner, bitten, no heart. You promise
wealth, beyond the disputing pack, say certain wisdom
can be bought. I demand a wedding feast with broken
ribs, a Honeymoon, masks, whips, riding boots, and Venice.
Hitching up trousers for kisses outside the Greek shop.
you ask how long before police recognise my glossy robes,
pelt of rat. I feel as split open as a pomegranate, red orbs,
waiting to be pricked, my juice spilled extravagantly.
First published in issue 16, Under the Radar magazine, Feb 2016