The Gunsmith’s Song

I narrowed the world with scorching air,

a cave I stalked into earth’s bosom lair

echoing with its iron song

where no foreign hand belong.

I weighed my lungs in the choking air,

it laid the foundation bare

with the sinking burden of its flight—

a flash of light, and swift goodnight.

Years drift through the sulfurous after-air

Buried at the point of its timeless snare

Bent, unbroken on its stark crescendo

Lost to a brother I should never know.

(And for the more fantasy/full book inclined, don’t forget that there’s just one more day to get in on the FLASH SUMMER SALE currently involving The Hollow March, the first novel in my Haunted Shadows series. Don’t let it pass you by!)

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May Means Binary Explosions

Don’t mind the O

it’s just the last stop before the crow

spring-topped shower in all its finery

coded delicately for its binary

debut, in the showers and flowers

rising up like sandy towers

no blood where they lay,

just another seedling for the play

of petals on the fettered den

the nightly contrition of the zen

tools trailblazing incisions

into springtime’s timeless revisions—

they’d say we’re all within a trance

if our bulbous natures didn’t love to dance.

Predelictions

Awake

–            Alive

–                     And still

–                     Flightless

–            Forged

Forsaken

In rote

–            Renaissances

–                                    Written

–                                       Generations ago—

–             Genuflect

Genetics

In the Beginning

Génesis

Génesis (Photo credit: ‘J’)

Common is the misperception

God broke the Darkness with the Sunlight and the Trees.

More accurate to say the World’s conception

began with Words:

“Let There Be Light” was simply

Nature’s Poetry.

 

(Hello all! If there are any Fantasy lovers amongst you poetry people, I would also recommend checking out my announcement from earlier this week. At Faith’s End, the sequel to The Hollow March, has just been published and is now live! Check it out if some of the shiny bits and pieces on this site catch your fancy.)

To Write: Love and Creation

Writers hold worlds in their hands. (Not my creation!)

Time is the writer’s friend. Strange to hear, I’m sure, but it’s true. Deadlines and date may be the staple of the craft, but for all the stress time heaps about our heads, it remains our greatest treasure. Day after day, we practice our craft, we hone it, as one would any other skill. We are possessed by it, in libraries and open mountain air, beside the hearth fires or lounging in the bustling street-side cafe. We love it. We hate it. Time strengthens the bond, strengthens the craft..

And lets us create:

“You must write every single day of your life…You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads…may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.”
~Ray Bradbury

Stooped Celebration

"The Bootmaker," image property of Rob Hanson.

Stooped celebration

Thread by thread

Stringing out the walkers

Life of leather—

Toiling at the standing grace

Of other souls.

 

Breaths ride the strands,

Divinity locked in rasping labor;

Noon passes stained glass

With a smile—

the hands know but the one song,

they cannot sing it with regret.

* My latest work for One Shoot Sunday. Based on the prompt from my interview this week with HDR photographer Rob Hanson. Be sure to check back in next week as well, for part two of the interview and more of Mr. Hanson’s lovely work.

Quotes for the Writer

This week’s Quotes of the Week are ones that appealed to the poet in me: the first made that poet sing, and the second made the poet grin for the sad truth of it. I know I’m not seeing any money in the future of it, but then, I knew that going in. If you’re writing just for money, after all, you’re doing it wrong…

Rainer Rilke. From Wikimedia Commons.

Jules Renard. From Wikimedia Commons.

“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for the Creator, there is no poverty.” ~Rilke

“Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money.” ~Jules Renard