Introducing Eric Daniel Clarke – Pre-Order Shorts Now #Guest Post

Dear All,

I am delighted to introduce Eric Daniel Clarke – whose book, Shorts – a take on poetry’ – will be published by Potter’s Grove Press on May 12th.

I met Eric in our world of blogging two years ago. Eric is a brilliant writer. He is an English gentleman and a true friend. And … Eric has the coolest and the most endearing hat I’ve ever seen. I am in love with Eric’s writings and with his hat. Please visit Eric’s blog Believing Sight Unseen.

Eric Daniel Clarke in his own words:

‘Shorts – a take on poetry’ the first book of my transition from scientist to writer will be published on May 12th by Potter’s Grove Press. Writing poetry came as a surprise to me. I’d a novel in mind, ‘Believing Sight Unseen,’ it still is; competing hard with the immediacy of poetry.

 I started writing late, creatively, that is. Until 2012 I wrote disciplined non-fiction, lived a scientist’s life of peer review and publication. I worked at boundaries; of the physical and life sciences, of industry and academia, of research and mentoring, of observation and extrapolation. 2012 to 2017 the transition made, not easily, not smoothly, easing out of science, finding my way to write.

Turned out my approach to writing not so different to the way I did science – a little unconventional – using words in place of molecules to explore boundaries; real, imagined, of my mind and yours. In short, PowerPoint bullet points became verse – I like to keep things tight.

You can pre-order Shorts on Amazon here.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

All’s well that ends well (a collaboration) – a stunning piece by Rachel and Watt #Guest Post

My Dear Readers,

A stunning piece by two magnificent writers: Rachel and Watt.
I am thrilled to have them as my guests today.
Below, please read their comments on collaborating with each other, and their piece All’s well that ends well.

Rachel: regarding Watt and I’s writing, it has always been a remarkably easy process.  We both admired each other’s writing, and in his words: “It’s easy to tread each other’s tracks without losing our own essence.  When we write together, inspiration seems to brush shoulders with us like it might with an old friend, and words gather themselves effortlessly and travel to the mind.”

All’s well that ends well

Over time, real time, life has segmented me in sides and faces with very vague definitions.  I sense that there are things about me that are routinely yet obscurely fed to a vending machine which gives me newer passions, different interests in return. Maybe I can trace it back to “when” but “why” is draped in nights when I lay awake with a dream in mind, and the next morning seems to blur it into a background that slowly fades into wallpaper that needs to be torn down because it’s just not as pretty anymore.

The ‘why’ is so much harder than the ‘when,’ but December raises the downy hair of yesterday on the back of my neck. No embrace for the girl of that calendar month, just a sigh of resignation and despair that rustles all the other pages of the calendar. My eyes see a whole year of good intentions and failed dreams that cling so desperately to that wall and under my skin. It’s like the realisation that last New Year’s hope was just an impulsive mistake and I forgot to make any brightened resolutions.

And it becomes an yearly abstraction, a push that plummets fractions, breezeblocks, out of an otherwise linear tower of reality. I look back at the lost pieces, and with what may be an illusion of growth, smile. That ache seems so small, unimportant, and what I have now seems okay for a minute. Maybe longer. Depends on the length of the song I listen to, and the longevity of the setting sun.

I can only say it in a whisper but this year has magnified the aches that have lingered for a lifetime. There’s a desperation in looking for the missing pieces in the fading colours of the sunset. In the hungry chaos of noisy gulls, I try to collect my crowded thoughts into groups of words that might ease my chapped lips and pour my coffee in the morning. I string them into necklaces and charms made of sentences – poems of moonless Septembers and melancholy Sundays. That way I can at least look at tomorrow without shielding my eyes.

There is something about words strung together in a sensible philosophy. Its incomparable to have had times in your life that sharpens its blunt edges and cuts into parts of you, refreshes everything somehow, and becomes strange to look at. Like gawking at your reflection on the mirror plated wall of a hair salon, while the barber keeps trimming your hair in a really bad way but all you can do is investigate your face and strike your eyes with a gaze they obviously meet. Just to realize, that it’s all there what needs to be, what isn’t, will grow back with more original strands and fibres. There’s always a road to walk towards everywhere, and since ‘all roads lead to Rome’, why does anybody worry.

Please continue reading on Rachel’s site here
or on Watt’s site here

I truly hope you enjoyed their magnificent work.

A gentle reminder that my book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, will be available for pre-order on April 14th; publication date April 20th.

Love and good health to everyone.
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

a fabulous poem by Mogamat Shafiek Reggiori #guest post

Dear Readers,

A fabulous poem written by Mogamat Shafiek Reggiori. I am honored Mogamat accepted to be my guest. You can find Mogamat on Twitter @ShafiekReggiori

Bio:

Mogamat Shafiek Reggiori, 4th generation South African with an Italian background. Born Cape Malay. Loves to write poetry. The kind that touches an essential part of your soul. Love ballads being one of his favorite creations. Occasionally revisits long time Fantasy Scifi novels in the throes of creation. M. S. Reggiori is a soul whisperer that enjoys indulging with creatives of all genres. Read his words and he’d kiss the day you came. A dream of his is to be a distributor of God’s wealth, hence he would donate parts of his book proceeds to CANSA ORG (the South African Cancer Foundation).

Tonight I will sit on Signal Hill
Above Bantry Bay
& watch the Sun go down
Creating that champagne sky
While the world slows
Or perhaps its our voices inside
That quieten into
These viscous moods, we rely on

All turns bronze
If but for an hour
While yours slowly awake
Into a tepid dawn
That magic hour, spreads
Before both

& I cringed within
Crying happy tears
Down my rosy cheeks
For an hour
We’d share the sky
Between our two worlds

Well much the same
Halved by night
Would you watch it rise
It came from here
From me
There is a message written
Deep within
Its luminous beams
Let it rove over your skin
As if my soft warm lips
My hour calls for waffles
Beneath the Poplar trees
& I’m thinking yours
For warm steamed tea

If I could walk that path
Between us, this life’s roses
Like a bridge across the sea
I would run it
A hundred mile sprint
To the very edge of my will
I’d kiss you & release
A thousand butterflies
Into your sky
& I’d never again let you go
I’d hold you, so you could drag me
Into your prevalent day
Until the Sun burns the night away
But I’d stay, I want to stay

 

INTO THE HUSH OF THE QUIET WINDS: Love would remain a vital part of my soul Paperback

Amazon 

@short-prose-fiction

Meet a young author: Andrew McDowell #guest post

Dear Readers,

Andrew McDowell, the author of Mystical Greenwood in his own words:

“Though I know why I write , pinpointing what first inspired me to start writing is still difficult to answer. As I’ve said before, as a child I relished in my imagination, putting myself in different worlds. I’ve always loved stories, both written and dramatized. Plus, due to my Asperger syndrome, throughout my life I’ve had a variety of strong interests which I pursued learning more about. Maybe it was a combination of all these factors coming together at the right time. Certainly now as a writer, I want to keep trying different forms and genres, to keep learning and growing.”

Visit Andrew’s site here 

Mystical Greenwood, Book I of One with Nature

Publisher: Mockingbird Lane Press

Dermot is a fifteen-year-old boy living in the land of Denú who has always longed for something more in life. His life changes when he encounters a gryphon and a mysterious healer. Drawn into a conflict against one determined to subjugate the kingdom, Dermot and his brother Brian are forced to leave their home.

 A legendary coven must now reunite, for they are Denú’s greatest hope. In the course of meeting unicorns and fighting dragons and men in dark armor, Dermot discovers a deep, sacred magic which exists within every greenwood he crosses through, but his own role in this conflict is greater than he suspects. Can he protect those he loves, or will all that’s good be consumed by darkness?

@short-prose-fiction

Sunday Hues #Guest Post #in mind and out #poetry

An exceptional poem written by my fabulous friend Rachel. She blogs at [in mind and out]

My most sincere thanks to her for accepting to be my guest.

This afternoon wears my sadness
in her palest eyes of Sunday blues
she said she’s not a languid Friday,
with arms stretched out in forever
she is the …

Continue reading here. 

Shadows by David Wesley Woolverton #Guest Post

My Dear Readers,

“Shadows,” a guest post by a very young and talented writer David Wesley Woolverton. David is an aspiring author who has just completed his graduate studies in creative writing at the University of South Alabama. His interests include trains, books, and daydreaming.

Sometimes Nesrin just looked at her own shadow...” please continue reading here.

@short-prose-fiction

The Garden of My Youth #Guest Post

A beautiful poem written by one of my friends, Virginia. I hope you enjoy it!

 

The Garden of My Youth

by Virginia Mateias

(translated from Romanian by the author’s daughter)

*

With barren feet I step on withered roses.

Out of warm blood-drops,

Memories will bloom

As I walk in the long since deserted house

Straining to hear

My grandmother’s echoing chants,

My earthly father’s forgotten voice.

From specks of dust and wind

I shall reassemble my Mother`s smile,

As my eyes dance away from cracked walls

Then turn to the sky above;

To the aloof,

Benevolent,

Nostalgic sky.

Sunset to sunrise,

I will walk the gardens

Till sleep comes for me and finds me

Hidden In a deep fissure

Near a tall window

Because, you see,

I have always needed high, large spaces.

Afterwards, my child will come

In search of me and of a smile

Embedded in bricks and mortar.

The house itself shall fall apart,

Cars will enter the rose garden,

And a new highway will be built over it;

Only then, will my family and I, utterly freed from space

Will move to the sky,

To the best place to look upon

Strange people we have never met

With detachment,

Condescendence,

And nostalgia.

*

In the spring of 2000 the poet, actress, and journalist, Virginia Mateias published her first literary work: a poetry volume in Romanian entitled “Persistenta Memoriei” (The Persistence of Memory). Virginia was acknowledged by her literary critics as “an authentic and spontaneous poet.” “The Garden of My Youth,” translated in English by her daughter, is a poem from her new book “In Umbra Ingerului” (In the Shadow of the Angel). 

Virginia’s biggest passions: nature escapades, and travelling with her daughter on the footsteps of lost civilizations.