God Sees All

GOD SEES ALL
You are superstitious and you love the God you fear
Yet you lie in his face, every day, week, month and year
You tarnish the reputation of the good
You mould the people around you to believe
Yet all you do is lie to them, lie and lie and cheat
Yet those that are still in your life, believe your sodden lies
They help you tarnish that pure life
They won’t believe her cries of truth, they won’t believe her grief
But you’ve forgotten one thing my dear and that is
He that creates can see…
Oh he knows that you’ve done wrong and someday you will pay
For God doesn’t like liars, in his commandments he does say
Thou shalt not lie
But you do
And keep on doing so
Though you are Queen in this mortal life right now, when you are dead this won’t be so
No one believes that one of charity can be as evil as the devil
No one trusts the victim who says that she to you was servile
But he does
That’s all that counts
You can lie to mortals as much as you like, but in the end
God sees all, my friend

 

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Filed under Poems G - I

The Mysterious Toothpicks

There has been a great mystery stirring in my house in the last few days. Several toothpicks have been discovered on the floor by my desk in the living room and on the bookshelves in my bedroom and over the floor. The number of available toothpicks has been decimated each time I observe their little jars; one jar resides in the living room at my desk, the other in the bedroom on the lower middle bookshelf and the third in the bathroom up high above the medicine cabinet. The bathroom toothpicks are unaffected in this mystery.
I have come to the conclusion since my husband and child’s denial on the matter, that the culprit must be tiny human beings approximately an inch tall that currently have a wartime emergency and are using the toothpicks to become phalanx mercenaries in some sort of odd tribal warfare.
That is a sensible conclusion, given the evidence.

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Filed under Brain Drain & Dribbles

One random thought

I drew a skeleton but it came out as a cartoon style skeleton, wasn’t my intention, I had hoped for it to look like some serious gothic artwork, but no, it’s comical instead.
Then a few days later I drew a cartoon style hedgehog and the expression on its face is more sinister than my attempt at the gothic skeleton, funnily enough I put both of these into a drawer and forgot about them for several months, then when I was sorting through my drawers I came across the two pictures and put them into the art pile I made, both were cut out and around. I didn’t realise it until I walked away and came back with a drink, that they both, together looked rather comical. The hedgehog was between the legs of the skeleton looking upwards at it, the skeleton looking nervous and the hedgehog sinister, made me think of a silly idea for a short story about a demon hedgehog gynaecologist and this skeleton being its patient – however, this idea is too dumb; I am not going to do it.

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Filed under Wandering In My Mind

Irreparable

When the world falls apart into the wilderness I shall depart
My heart broken into shards
Irreparable
When my dreams are smashed and my hopes are dashed
I shall become numb
Irreparable
When lives that I love are stolen and lost
If I survive that holocaust
My life will be irreparable
When I wander in a daze, through fields that were once maize
I shall look into my past and see that it is irreparable
Irreplaceable
Shadowed by the dust of fallen men, women and children
Because of lascivious greed and fame
Powerful men, insane
Irreparable damage they skein
Can we build civilisation again?
Or is it all…
Irreparable?

 

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Corridors of my mind

I am wandering and lonely in the corridors of my mind
Heart broken into pieces, you drink my tears like wine
I suffer with your lack of patience
I am cursed with your temper too
My heart is bleeding for release
My mind is like a balloon
Will it pop under your incessant pressure?
Will it bang in its cocoon?
Is my destiny to be rescued?
Or is it to become a loon?
I don’t dare to choose my own path
I don’t dare to release myself
But how can I live with such evil?
How can I defend myself?
Only time will hear me
Will it act and save the day?
Will I be rescued swiftly?
Or doomed to fade away?
I am worried for my questions
I am scared of the future too
I don’t know what will happen to me
But I hope it happens soon
I remain in this tight spot
Until fate has turned the key
To lock me into madness
Or to release me till I am free
I don’t dare to judge what will happen
A clue of my future there is none
I just hope it happens swiftly
Release me from my mum
This was written on Good Friday 2017, 4yrs after I broke away from my mother. But, these are the thoughts that used to come to me when I lived with her. I always felt this desperate, especially as nobody ever believed me when I asked them to help me with her. Not many people believe what I say about her, but it is all true, no matter what they say.
I have no reason to lie and what hurts me the most is the fact that my own mother will sit back and tell me that those memories I share with people, good or bad memories, are false, she tried to convince me that I don’t know my own mind.
Such is the manipulation of someone who is abusive; they can manipulate even the minds of those of who believe them to be good people. They can wear any mask for any occasion they want, so if anyone in your life tries to tell you something negative about a person you respect, don’t shun it please, you never know anyone 100%.

 

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Gathering creative inspiration

Gathering creative inspiration
I once read somewhere, though I can’t remember where exactly that for your personal creativity to be as original as possible and for you to develop a noticeable personality for your followers you need to be selective about what you put into your brain. Therefore, you must be choosy about what you want to learn and what you expose your brain to… the kind of stimulus you give your brain will determine the kind of work you are likely to produce.
With the above being said, it has some bearing to me. I have noticed that I am not easily influenced by regular fiction or classics or best-sellers, though some of my favourite books and stimulus have been best-sellers, by and large most of my stimulus has only been heard of by people of certain small sub-cultures.
I regard myself as a fantasy writer with a bit of horror thrown in the equation or vice versa. I am not really sure if I write more horror or more fantasy; though I suppose the readers of this blog will perhaps state that I am neither really, but a poet; I have however said in the past, that I do not put many of my stories up on the blog because I am never really sure if they are finished or not and even then, I am unsure if publishers will publish them if they’ve been on my blog first.
The things that stimulate me or have stimulated me will be noted below, I shall include music, movies, programs, books, individual people, artists and more and this list shall grow and grow over the years.
It will not be written like a list because I would like to explain the lure.
The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey has been mentioned on this blog before as a favourite of mine. I am not fond of stories regarding winter because I have an excellent imagination even in the blazing heat of the hottest summers on record and I would be sitting down reading books with snow in, feeling freezing cold – but this particular story gripped me because not only did it teach me about farming life in Alaska, it taught me that the best stories in the world always end in a way you are not expecting it to. It was the first book I ever read where the ending made me feel numb and a little bit angry, but not in a bad way.
Monty Python has always influenced the humour in me and their influence is often shown in my family fantasy stories. I love their silliness and the seriousness their jokes come across as, it is like their characters are acting as normal as anyone would in the same circumstances and why would it be any other way? Monty Python and Terry Pratchett have been very good in teaching me that life isn’t always the same in every world and that there are many ways a society can live and it would be perfectly normal to that society to be that way… I mean… why not?
Of course Terry Pratchett will get a mention on his own with disc world being a huge favourite series for me, his humour has no bounds. In fact, his is the first piece of fiction that is over 20 pages long that my seven year old son has started to read. In the last few days I have been reading 12 pages a night of Sourcery. He is so thrilled by it that it isn’t proving to be a very good bedtime story at all for him, far too stimulating! My son is quite a serious fellow really, he has a sense of humour but I think most of it got squashed during the ventouse, though he tries to joke occasionally bless him. He does how ever find it amusing if not weird that there is a world in this book where bed bugs will wave goodbye when the mattresses run away and that luggage will walk away from time to time and hassle publicans for crisps.
Ransom Riggs is a new favourite of mine, I only started reading him in mid-march 2017 and I didn’t discover him through his debut book either, I discovered him through “Tales of the peculiar” and I am so glad I did. His stories aren’t just good, they are haunting. They feel like they have been around for centuries, I swear I knew these stories from somewhere before, they feel so familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it. I did my research, they are not copied, he is just so good that it feels old… the stories feel as old as Beowulf to me. They feel like they are part of societal fabric. I can see me developing an obsessive readership type love for this author if he carries on like this in the future! Part story-teller, part mesmerist I think.
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold is shocking, too shocking for some people to read beyond the first chapter, but to me it is a beautiful story if you can get over such a horrific subject. For me, it is about how a person’s spirit lives on even in death and how they can still influence the living by how they think and feel about the living – basically, the more the spirit thinks of the world, the more the world will feel the loss of the person. It also talks about the wonders of being dead; the freedom to create your own little haven and that paradise is whatever you want it to be, there are no real rules to paradise and the story ends in such a way that it shows that justice isn’t always done in a black and white way.
Susan Hill is a favourite, particularly her story called “The Man in the Picture”, it has a theme I adore more than most themes – a theme of a carnival, Venetian balls, Venetian masks with a dark veil. I love how it is almost like the picture of Dorian Gray, but with its own unique story. You can also sense a little of Roald Dahl’s The Witches in this story too.
The Nowhere Emporium by Ross MacKenzie is again a subject connected to mesmerism and carnival or more to the point circus acts and magicians as a matter of fact, mesmerism, circuses, carnivals, fantasy, comedy, horror, theatre, oddities, mimes, jokes, harlequins, jesters, pirates, gothicness, insanity and surrealist things draw me – they provide me with inspiration, which is another reason why I love the music of Nox Arcana as they provide music for all of these subjects.
I love the band Misfits and the insane clown posse, once again, circus and dark themes. I like Melanie Martinez as she is like someone who fell out of the suicide squad movie.
I like Batman purely for the villains, mainly Joker and Harley Quinn.
I used to watch WWF but I stopped shortly after The Big Boss Man died, I haven’t been updated with them since, I haven’t a clue what’s gone on since that big event. I wasn’t a huge fan of him, but I stopped watching it because I couldn’t get it on TV anymore in my area because my parents gave up digital. But I loved WWF and WCW because of certain themes wrestlers had, my favourites were, The Undertaker, the insane clown posse with Luna and the oddities, Kurgan, Giant Silver, I loved Gold dust and Raven, Vampiro, the misfits in action, mankind, Dude Love, Doink the clown to name but a few.
Up until 2015 I watched TNA on Freeview, I stopped watching when Mickie James left mostly, but I also liked Brian Kendrick.
There is an unknown author out there called Alex Weinle of which I won a giveaway of his debut anthology of short stories called “The Decapaphiliac”, he is excellent and is a new Neil Gaiman in my opinion, though there is absolutely nothing wrong with the real Neil Gaiman – this author is similar. I recommend them. He lured me with his fantasy, dark humour and the fact that he seems rather fond of cafes and market places like me.
I like dark humour a lot, I like Jimmy Carr and the mesmerist magician Rob Zabrecky, and they lean on the humour I tend to have the most, I have this Victorian quality about me, a seriousness that looks severe and when I am in a playful mood it can often be mistaken for insanity or instability.
Alice in Wonderland and the Wizard of Oz are as classic as I would go as far as literature is concerned, though I do love classic gothic horror especially by HP Lovecraft and the likes.
Neil Gaiman I am a fan of, the kind of darkness I love – Coraline, smoke and mirrors etc – delicious for the hungry mind.
Freaks the 1932 horror is wonderful too – I like it – to me it has a dark humour but also a moralistic undertone. Once again part of the pull for me is the circus theme.
Cirque de soleil also pulls me because of the circus theme, vampire circus, the night circus, Hetty Feather, Oz the great and powerful and the circus mesmerist feel of Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka.
I also like Victorian asylum themes; I love Dracula for that, Nightmare on elm street, Angels at my table, Chaplin the movie and once again, music from Nox Arcana with the album Blackthorn Asylum.
All these things, dark, mesmerising, surreal are what I love and what fuels my creativity.
I literally soak myself in everything that inspires me, if it doesn’t inspire me or grips me, then it goes, I don’t waste my time on it and my selectivity is unusual, it is strange and it is hard to find kindred in this type of darkness.
I just wish I would knuckle down and work harder and get brave enough to finally take the plunge and kiss my work into the black hole that is the post box and send it on its merry way to a publisher and onto your bookshelves, flying to you with black and white butterfly wings.

 

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Filed under About my work

Bog Monster

Creeping out the boggy marshes
Gurgling its cries of death
See its eyes a glowing
See its fangs and feel its breath
Its hair is made of algae
It’s skin as slimy as a frog
See it creeping towards you
The monster of the bog
Though you are paralysed in fear
Though your heart tells you to flee
Though your chest is thumping hard
You can only stand and see
Death creeping closer to you and me
A little sigh of triumph comes from its muddy lips
It touches your legs so softly with its iron fingertips
Its grip gets tighter and tighter
Your voice makes desperate calls
But it’s too late it has you
And into the bog you’re pulled
Though the monster has spared your friend
The spell is broken down
Your friend runs towards the bog to save you
But they’re too late, you’ve drowned
Their cries are heard throughout the night
The monster has taken your life
Your friend sits at the bank of the bog mourning
Stabs at the bog with his knife
But they don’t find the monster in there
It has gone to the deeper depths of Hell
It has gone down there as soon as it had got you
And taken you as well
Your friend he threw himself into madness
No one believed his story
No one ever will, you know
The ending was far too gory
Instead they locked him up and away
Never to see the light of day
And always it is this way
With the monster of the bog
And now this story is said and done
And now you will carry on with your life
As though this story was never true
And of course, you don’t believe in after life
But his ghost is watching from that bog
To ward off others just like you
Keep away from this monster’s bog
Because the stories of course are true

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Filed under Poems A - C

Rainbow bridge to dream land

There is a whirlwind in my mind because I’ve been lost for so long
There is pain in my heart that is why there is sadness in my new song
I once danced in a palace of dragons
I once twirled in garments of silk
I once spoke regally to my people, without shame and without guilt
But I was taken from my world and into the world of men
My reality was shaken badly, I became broken, and will I mend?
There is no answer to my question
There is no answer to my calls
There is no hero who has found me
I miss the parties and the balls
I sit amongst humans thinking
That my reality is just a dream
That I fashioned another life to cope
With this realities yells and screams
But I hear the other realm whispering
Calling out my name
They say to me, dear Empress, you are not indeed insane
We will find you Empress, anyway we can
But for now you have to stay strong, in the world of man
And I whimper at their message and I cry an ocean of tears
They have not yet found me, though it’s been eighteen thousand years
How I wish the rainbow was a bridge
A bridge that I could cross
And leave this world for the other
And lay on my bed of moss
How I miss my dream world
How I know they miss me too
I hope to go back there someday
I hope that day is soon

 

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Filed under Poems P - R

1000 words

Upon reading many websites this week I have noticed that some of them are absolutely right about one thing and that is, when you first initially write anything it is terrible, in fact so terrible you need to actually write about 600 – 1000 words before you do your actual writing; this can be done via journal, morning pages or whatever, but whatever you do you have to expect that the first 1000 words you produce each day will be crap, jargon and simply nothing but babble, much like this post.

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Filed under Writers block results

Creators Poem

I hold the moon and billions of suns in my hands, I love their endless glowing.
They shine gold and silver and blue and red and white and everything is on a wing, floating in my hands
And only I can hear them sing
I am veiled in midnight blue; I hold these wonders in my hands
I whisper life to everything, it is I who commands
I drift off gently in my sleep, careful not to drop them
My beautiful little jewels of life
I each day attend

 

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Filed under Poems A - C