An interesting post. On my bookshelves there stands “Chance, Luck and Destiny”, by Peter Dickinson. The book offers a fascinating glimpse into superstitions, witchcraft and other related matters. Kevin
Good to see a story from Chris who is always so generous in providing help to others. Kevin
A short story by Chris Graham
The light of the full moon reflected off the stark branches of the ancient oak, dead for the past six centuries, yet still standing, brooding alone on the hilltop.
A sweet looking young girl child with long curly blonde tresses stood, tied securely in front of it, the moonlight making her appear ghostlike as it shone onto her pale face and long white nightdress.
She was looking towards the village she had been brought from, each cottage showing candlelit windows surrounded by interwoven strands of garlic and a large consecrated wooden cross nailed to their doors.
As the last toll of the church midnight bell echoed into silence, she heard the first distant howl, then another, louder one in answer.
They were coming.
She had been discovered lost and abandoned in the nearby woods just the day before, so the village elders selected her to…
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“Will you join in death’s dance
And find romance
In Hades below?
Touch my skin
soft as snow.
My love will you go
Where the death lilies grow?”
Sun dappled lawns.
The vicar yawns
As Colonel Trickett
Defends his wicket.
The sound of bat on ball
mingles with a blackbird’s call
that floats
amidst ancient oaks
and the Colonel’s son takes Lucy’s hand
as the sun sets on Angleland.
Were high heels for they make you tall
But be careful lest you fall.
Situations are slippery as eels.
The ground feels
firm
but the worm
may turn
and swallow
the hollow
you.
Were high heels for you are pretty
And the citty
Is full of witty
Men
Who employ their pen
To record every slip
And trip.
Watch the pavement as you walk
For people talk
And reputations are brittle as bones
That break on stones …
Some Halloween reading …!
The day is almost upon us, and – as much as I personally despise Halloween – I thought I would get myself and my readers into the scary spirit of October 31st. Thus, I have some book and movie recommendations for you to burrow under the covers with on All Hallows Eve. Let’s go!
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I awoke to the rain
drumming on my window pane.
Opening my lattice I let it in
the purifying water that washes away sin.
The hypnotic sound
of rain falling all around.
All my life I have listened to the rain.
The same drumming
of water coming
from the sky
falling on you and I.
The rain has no end
But you and I my friend
May listen for a while
Smile
then pass on by.
I must confess to being a little disappointed on receiving the below reply, in response to my submission of several poems to a magazine.
“I read the poems with interest but nothing takes my fancy”.
It would have given me pleasure to see my work featured on a platform other than my own. There is within the heart of man, deny it though he will, a desire for the approbation of his fellows. I am no exception to this rule. I receive a warm glow every time one of my readers likes or comments on my work. Likewise I derive tremendous pleasure on reading reviews left by my readers.
The approbation of others is not, however what drives me to write. Despite the swearing at my computer and the shaking of my fist in frustration when the words fail to come (at the machine I hasten to add), I can not stop writing for I have an itch which needs to be scratched, scratched and scratched again. Thoughts run through my head and must find expression on the page. I can not help myself. I must put pen to paper and leave it to the gods to determine whether or not my words find a place in people’s hearts.
I would like to close by thanking all my readers for following me at newauthoronline.com and reading my work.
Kevin
Now that I have reached the Autumn of my years
and the grey has chased the brown away
shall I forget the undiscovered rose
whose perfume
hangs in the air
on a spring night
replete with pure delight?
Should I wear sensible shoes
And lose
The joy of walking
Barefoot on grass?
Shall I seek the fairies dancing
Or insist
They do not exist?
I must persist
In my search for bliss
For to be alive
Is to strive
for something more
Than to achieve the title “saloon bar bore”.
I am not a bee in a hive
A mere part of the whole
Lacking a soul.
Joy is my goal!
K Morris - Poet 