Tag Archives: reading

Loveless

As a child she tottered on her mother’s heels.
So high
Struggling to reach the sky
Now her fate she seals
With deals
Done over the phone.

Alone
With guys
Her trade she plies.
Empty thighs
Open
And saccharin words are spoken.
But can one deceive
Those who yearn to believe?

She has his measure.
A man of pleasure.
Not bad
Just a sad
Boy
In search of a new toy.
He has No desire to destroy
But seeks for joy,
Angling with his hook of gold
For fish it is impossible to hold.

Gazing back
Down childhood’s track
She perceives a lack
Of love.
The light above
Is not red.
No drugs fill her head
Yet the dead
Thud
Of empty love,
Of skin against bone
Screams “Alone.
You are young.
Your chance you flung
Away
Without a care
To lie with your clothes
Heaven knows
Where.
‘Twas in work not play,
You lost yourself there”.

A strange experience have I had

On Friday evening, I popped into my favourite local, the Railway Bell for a pint or two. While there I fell into conversation with an acquaintance who mentioned my book, “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, (http://moyhill.com/lost/). I enquired whether he would like to see the book (I had a copy in my rucksack) and was told one was on order from his local bookshop. While I was delighted to learn that I had another customer for my work, I had to suppress a smile as the publisher holds no stock. Consequently my acquaintence’s order will find it’s way to Moyhill who will, in turn pass it on to me for fulfilment. I will then send a copy of “Lost” to the bookstore. How much simpler things would have been had my drinking companion gone direct to the horse himself!
The above does demonstrate that my book is showing up on all the correct systems, hence the bookstore being able to order it. I am, however still left feeling that I’ve been through rather a surreal experience!

Kevin

Selling Print Books

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What is the point of having your book (or books) available in print? Surely the future is digital. Print books moulder unread on dusty shelves while we all browse our Ereaders, tablets and smart phones? Below is my experience of selling the print edition of “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind”, my latest collection of poetry, (http://moyhill.com/lost/).
I have given away copies of “Lost” in return for honest reviews in both print and electronic formats. Friends and several libraries have also been recipients of my book. Apart from free copies, I have sold a number of print books (8 at the last count). I usually carry several copies of “Lost” in my rucksack and if the conversation turns to books or what I do with my time, “Lost” is mentioned. At this point in the conversation I hand over a copy of my book, people flick through and (as mentioned above) have, on a number of occasions purchased a copy.
While it is true that I could bring up “Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” on a Kindle or other device, in my experience most people still prefer the physicality of a book and are more likely to buy when faced by a hard copy work. I may have lost out on opportunities to market “Lost”. For example I recently gave a poetry reading at the Poetry Cafae in London’s Covent Garden. Being unsure as regards the rules of selling books at such events, I refrained from doing so. However several other poets did mention (and sell) their work and I shall not neglect a future opportunity to market mine.
What about sales via the internet or through brick and mortar bookstores? As mentioned earlier, “Lost” is available on the Moyhill site. In addition it can be found in my local independent bookstore, Bookseller Crow, (http://booksellercrow.co.uk/). While I am extremely grateful to the publisher for creating a dedicated webpage and to Bookseller Crow for stocking “Lost”, as of today (14 April) no sales have been forthcoming via the publisher or the bookshop.
Why should the above be the case? In my local bookshop “Lost” has to compete with thousands of titles and while it has an eyecatching cover (for which I’m grateful to David Cronin of Moyhill), my book has to compete with many other works possessing well produced covers. Another reason explaining the lack of sales in my local bookstore stems, I believe from the fact that poetry is very much a niche market and works of poetry do not sell in the same quantities as fiction. While I publicise my writing via this site (newauthoronline.com) my presence is not that of a Carol Ann Duffy and if most people haven’t heard of you it becomes largely a matter of chance as regards whether they will browse (let alone buy) your book. In short “Lost” is a small tree in a big forest and it is a matter of chance as to whether a wanderer stops to rest under it’s branches and enjoy the scent of my tree.
Turning to Moyhill, they are an excellent company and I cannot recommend them highly enough. However my book is one of many on the publisher’s website and it is, again largely a matter of chance whether a browser will alight on “Lost”.
The advantage of selling face-to-face is that readers can engage the poet and/or author in conversation. They can browse your book, ask questions and even request you to read a short passage. Likewise, with poetry readings, if a person attending likes what they hear, they are more likely to purchase the poet’s work than if they passed by his (or her) work in a bookshop.
The obvious disadvantage to selling face-to-face is that you, as the poet/author can only ever reach a tiny percentage of your potential readership, none the less a sale remains a sale!
In conclusion, in my experience, selling print books as a little known poet is perfectly possible, however sales largely flow from face-to-face interactions with potential readers/buyers. Having a website and/or blog is a great way to get your name out there and generate interest in your work, it will not, however necessarily lead to significant book sales. Despite not having sold books via my local bookstore, I remain grateful to them for stocking “Lost” and I’d certainly recommend getting your work stocked (if you can) by a bookstore.

(“Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind” is also available as an ebook and can be found HERE) 

Joy In Melancholy

Excess of sadness
Leads on to madness.
Yet
Is it better to forget
Regret
In Hades river
Whither
We are all bound?
The place where the sound
Of weeping
Is never heard amongst the sleeping
Dead.

We are led
To seek happiness here
Yet, I fear
We hear
Not the joyess melancholy of the birds
Who’s song surpasses man’s paltry words.

Sadness and joy are our lot.
We have got
But a short space
To look upon nature’s beauteous face.
Let us live life to the full
For in Hades only the dull
River doth wait
To take
All we are away
From the sun’s bright day.

A Hug

A hug spontaneously given.
Emotion
As an ocean
Wells up.
My cup is full
Yet the dull
Feel
Of an unreal
Embrace …
A girl’s pretty face.
Another time
Another place.

I have striven
To stand aloof
From the truth
And feeling
Yet my emotions are reeling
From a simple hug.
The fug
For a moment clears
And the truth rears it’s head.
Better an empty bed
Than meaningless words said
In pretence
And sense
Lost in arms
That hold no lasting charms.

I Am?

I am overly introspective.
Can you turn
Detective
And discern
The thoughts that churn
Around my mind?

You may find
A butterfly dancing in the sun light
Or a bat that flies at night.
Perchance a heart you will find,
Sometimes cruel
At others kind.

Whatever you should discover
I shall take cover
In verse,
At times verbose
More often terse.
A poet I am, I could do worse.

Evening Walk

Breathing in the fresh evening air
I wander along
Conscious of birdsong.
The birds sing without a care
And soon I will be there
With her.

I dare
Say there
Will be a conversation
Over our meal.
What do I feel?
Anticipation
At the thought of what I know will come?

The birds Continue to trill.
The evening will
Run
Away in laughter
And drink.
I think
On The dull thrill
Of what comes after
A passing triumph, lost in a disaster.

Of Butterflies and Men

Once butterflies
Would excite
And delight
The boy.
His heart would overflow with joy
At the sight of his new toy.

The boy’s passion grew.
He thought it true
That butterflies would stay.
To him they did flit
For a moment on a flower sit
Then pass away.

He came to disdaine
Butterflies for they caused him pain
Yet the boy knew well
He was under their spell
And could not refrain
From sorrow and pain.

Listening to the rain
Running down the drain
He thought on how life passes us by.
With the butterfly
We dally
Then die.

They Dance on the Edge of a Ledge

The audience watches askance
As they dance
On the edge
Of a ledge.

Feet moving faster.
The music and laughter.
What follows after
Cool reflection or disaster?

She stoops but who conquers?
The situation bonkers.
A man old enough to be her father.
They would rather
Not think
On those who wink
And titter.

A bitter taste
Is a man’s disgrace
Yet still men dally
With silk and lace.

Deception

Many skirt
The issue.
The time is short
And dearly bought.
A tissue
Of lies
And midnight sighs.

A girl growing up forsook
The straight path and took
A step down a perilous track.
One may turn back
But many lack
The will.

In the still
Of night
Delight
For one.
A soul is gone
And time rolls on.

Greying hairs.
She swears
All is not lost
And counts the cost
Of fixed smiles
And denials
No longer believed
By those she deceives.