I’m very pleased to announce that I have a poem “Where The Heart Is,” is Home: Hundred Word Horror by Ghost Orchid Press. Ghost Orchid Press [link] is a small indie press located in the UK, and Home is their debut anthology.
“Where The Heart Is” is an acrostic poem inspired by Edgar Allan Poe. Longtime readers of my work on places like my Patreon [link] will note that acrostic poetry is one of my favorite types to write. And where better to put a beating heart than under the floorboards?
Get Home HERE [Amazon link]
This year was a dumpster fire; plague ravages the planet.
Hospitals filled, political corruption, the world ending
Isolation, dinners alone, climbing up walls trying to manage,
but sometimes it feels like this is not worth mending.
These dark days surround us–are there darker days ahead?
What’s coming down the timeline, what blood soaked
horror waits to fill our world with dread (and the dead.)
In hopeful words I write I keep my heart and mind cloaked
but in horror stories I found solace; pen to paper to bring fear.
It was something else to be scared of, I could close the book,
when things got too intense, I could control novels. I must hear
the news, even when trying to step back, I had no choice but to look
Though there was some good, this year has been mostly pain;
there’s been so much loss, and next to nothing in gain.
This poem was originally posted on my Patreon [link]! Patrons get this post, and all others like it, three days before the rest of the world does, as well as access to exclusive writings. A huge thank you to my patrons; you’ve inspired me to keep writing, and helped me get things like coffee and a new mouse for my computer.
Trembling in the night time air,
half dozen gulls fly away. This
evening I wait for the moon and the
stars. They shall light my way, to an
enchanted land under the sea.
A clock strikes midnight, the
currents recede, the tides low.
Long ago I dreamed of this place,
and now I shall attend to my fate.
In this still night, I shall stride to
meet what I am meant for, the
siren song of leaving this wold behind.
And the sea shall claim everything,
least of all my doubts and fears.
Least of all, it shall claim all I hold dear.
This poem was originally posted on my Patreon [link] in October.
Trying to see if this
even works? *clicks
save* Now I can take my
time in publishing, rather than hope
I get it right, and don’t piss off whatever
neutrons within the wires, between the stars,
grind my typing to a halt.
This is both a poem expressing frustration at WordPress for not letting me save things easily, and testing that it lets me add things like tags now. Odd that dropping my plan down to WordPress.com, instead of my own domain and hosting, fixed the issue.
That…might actually be what the cause of it was?
roads that are
never really was;
a silence so
This poem was originally posted on Monday to my Patreon [link]. Patrons get all posts three days before the rest of the world, as well as access to exclusive posts!
Trying to write, but
the dog demands I pet him;
typing will be slow.
For the trees are turning
and we are yearning
like we did so long ago.
Lights set everything aglow
evening turns to night,
now the stars alight;
ghosts whisper in the snow
lingering songs sweet and low.
On raven wings we fly
when we can reach the sky;
in dreams we dare not speak
now we hover near the creek.
Ghastly whispers and song
linger here, linger long.
In autumn’s untold chill
ghosts whisper on this hill.
Half in sunlight, half in shade
tonight I am not afraid;
so this night my soul shall fly away!
This poem was originally posted on my Patreon [link] back in September.
My joking description of this poem is “I got possessed by the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe,” since it’s so different than what I typically write. While I love writing acrostic poetry, it’s typically more stream-of-conscious style poetry, rather than a specific rhyme scheme like this poem has.
As I wrote the first few lines, I realized the poem was rhyming. I stared at my screen for a minute, then shrugged and started deliberately writing it that way. I’m still really proud of this poem, and it was a good way to stretch my poetry writing muscles.