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Hi folks

I’ve been wrapped up in work these last weeks so please excuse the delay with posts.

I intend on publishing a collection of my own short stories that I’ve amassed over the past 13 years. I will use Smashwords  to do this as it seems to be one of the few online publishers offering a fairly decent deal to the authors. As far as i remember they also give you an ISBN number and are targets for future talent via Barnes and Noble, Amazon, etc.

Smashwords also offer a service to have your book cover illustrated and designed, but they also offer authors like myself who are working with images and photography the dimensions to DIY it. I have not made my own yet, but recently I helped a friend with his and after some hours of screen sharing via Skype we managed to find his image of a four legged, masked girl with  a flying piglet on her lap…

Yes, of course, I did think it was a wind up when he first requested this image but soon realized his sincerity and here is what he got.

 

1919 - Outside blog

Anything can be created from imagination

I write this information here on the off chance that any of you writers and poets need book or CD covers. I have a nice stock sitting here (samples here ) not doing much apart from being eye candy for the net.

I’m also aware that cutting a living from being a wordsmith is not so great, so I will discount each case as it comes by as long as you’re being honest. The more you earn or claim the more you donate for my time and efforts please.

You know where I can be found.

Good luck with your missives and metaphors.

Power ti yer pens

 

Image

 

There is no crime if I don’t show it
For it’s a long time since I’ve been poet
Since January, one poem has parted
From my heart for another departed
Then career and need (and laziness)
Swapped verse and rhyme for video lens
Where interpretation of life and things
Choirs majestic to butterfly wings
Sunset’s flames, porpoise and minks
Driftwood beaver, daughter and teacher
Have been my new poetic features
Almost a lap around our sun, inspires I to return,
Ball’s point hurtles over this paper
As I pay homage to Lady Poet and my Saviour
With my guilt panged traditional behaviour
I’m instantly filled with power and the pride
That she’s always smouldering deep inside
Awaiting connections between our senses
She suggests to us possible verses
Through verb and metaphor she immerses
Repair from grief, to us poets, she blesses
Interrogates inner so outer confesses
Causing zoom and macro, elegant presses
Unfaithful? I don’t think that is really true
Judge for yourself at a screen near you

The sky between us

Trondheim’s yawning fjord

Embellishes a late February’s dusk

This lilac, pink, roseate ghost

Banners horizon’s ceiling

When earth’s shadow

Fuses night from day

An intricate pastel pause

Which is aptly named

Belt of Venus

Wakes divide a few short paragraphs

As fishing boats and ferries acutely slice

This temporary azure sheen

Three silver birch trees lead eyes

From this kitchen window on the stone hill

Up high

The verve of a seer sits on his zenith

Where he’s fed, content and

naturally enlightened

 

This week’s post is short and sweet and something to think about from a guy called Edward De Bono who wrote a book I read years ago  ‘Lateral Thinking’

The trouble with creative thinking in art
is that it is so easy to stop halfway
Indeed the less talented have no choice
Escape from the old ideas becomes a virtue in itself
Originality is all
There is an enthusiasm to step down from the limitations of accepted order
into the limitless potential of chaos
But too often this step is regarded as an achievement in itself rather than only the first stage towards achievement
the true purpose of lateral thinking is not to wallow in formless chaos
but to emerge from it with an effective new idea
The new idea is likely to have a classic simplicity of form
It is likely to have an orderliness which is far from the formlessness of the chaos from which it emerged
The ideal aimed at in lateral thinking is the simplicity of extreme sophistication
The simplicity of an idea that is very effective in action and yet elemental in its form
It is the simplicity of richness
Not of poverty
It is the simplicity of fullness
Not of emptiness

Image

both of us united in a common fear of each others talons

War´s influence
(allegedly, if you believe in astrology)
arose to the South of Jonsvatnet (John´s water)
while I, for a few seconds
cut circles in its path of temporary shine
with the metal fish at the end of my line
Bail arm trip, retrieval slip
then lightning dynamics
Of pike´s waspish violence upon it!
The decoy minnow
Anything but slow as old esox
gave her acrobatic show
with ariel attempts to escape me
After pulling, tugging, plenty of shrugging
twenty minutes later I assumed the victor
But,
as I lifted her water clear
she anticipated me and bit me shear!
My curse was anything but ”Oh dear!”
She either, never shed a tear
but both of us united in a common fear
Of each others talons
Somewhat gently
I set her down in the shallows
Carefully plucked back my hook
Then gave my bloody finger a sook
With a swish of her shovel sized tail
off she cruised with a humoured look
Towards the pillar of Mars
Both she and I perforated with scars
Made our ways home
Under early August’s returning stars.

 

A few notes about this piece, which I will get around to fitting in here with the poem.

Mars was at its closest to Earth in 60,000 years this night.

*Esox Lucius is the latin name for a Pike
A bail arm is the piece on a fishing reel. It catches and gathers the line as it rotates.
The last line is to do with the fact that there is no night between late May and early August where I live. The Arctic Circle is another 400 km`s north, from Trondheim, where you get the famous midnight sun.

Light forks 2

The night alights wi thunderous frights.

The arteries ae the heavens show thursels.

Ma heid felt heavy before the whips ae hell announced,

like two fleets ae super-tankers colliding;

thur collective contents ae summers heat, sweat ‘beads

fell in cacophonous applause on the bouquet ae warm tarmac.

Gulls laughed at I, mental bammer guy who wi a screen strained eye

couldnae miss bein eye-witness ti a rare midsummer storm hiss.

Head drifted an gawped above, whilst feet strolled, happy, quicker, stourrie;

then stopped.

Eyes watched, mortality questioned, but stood bold.

Waitin and watchin an darin itself,

to come oot  frae underneath that railway bridge,

and stand back oot in the Wester Hailes car park.

At that rate ae spate, a thought a’d huv ti wait,

fir the RNLI, or, at least until a saw that bhoy wi the ark!

So take heed, coz ye’ll be potted mead

if ye get hit wi one ae natures mega sparks

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