NaPoWriMo: Nikki Morgan

April is National Poetry Writing Month. In celebration of poets everywhere, and to encourage those who are just embarking on their literary journey, I will be posting poetry (not mine) each day for the month of April. Please take a look and enjoy this special art.

Nikki Morgan

Bio

I live in Walsall, West Midlands (UK) with my husband, two children and our mad Staffordshire bull terrier.  After leaving Birmingham University in 1998 with a First Class Degree in Ancient and Medieval History, I took a series of administration jobs that weren't really very fulfilling and, to be honest, I was terrible at.  I had my first child and decided to stay at home to look after him.  This is when my life as a writer truly began; I found love as a mother and rediscovered my love of writing and life.

Debut Novel

My debut novel, Blackthorn - A Tale of Fire and Fury, is a young adult novel set in a dystopian future where humans have been subjugated by their Faerie overlords.  It follows the story of Drake Blackthorn, the last Dragon Rider, and his desire to get revenge on the man who murdered his father.  It is available, for free, at smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/249328

A sample of Blackthorn can be red at Authonomy:

http://authonomy.com/books/43572/blackthorn-a-tale-of-fire-and-fury/

and my new book can also be sampled there:

http://authonomy.com/books/48571/silver-bullet/

I can be contacted at nmorgan160@gmail.com

or at http://nikmorgan.com

or at http://www.facebook.com/BlackthornATaleOfFireAndFury

The Flight of Ideas

A heron lands in the glass-like mirror of my mind.

The water shifts, fracturing the light,

Reflecting my empty eyes,

And those of fearful passersby.

The canvas is blank, 

I start to paint;

Trying to capture the moment past

When all was calm, clear and sedate.

But the heron, seizing his fish,

Flies,

Rupturing the darkening sky.

A petrol-black beetle

Scuttles

Across the painted cornfield

And smudges the line

Between truth and lies.

I run it through with my knife.

It bleeds;

A river runs red,

But still life is all I see in my head.

The smell of oil paint deadens

Dead senses;

Acrid, pungent and oppressive.

The canvas screams under thick dark paint.

The swirling lines of earlier paintings,

Become trapped

Under layers

Of angular,

Fierce,

Jagged,

Lines.

My mind’s exhausted, trying to tell,

What’s real?

But nothing is left,

Inside my head;

Not even tears.

NaPoWriMo: Stephanie Whipple-Chown

April is National Poetry Writing Month. In celebration of poets everywhere, and to encourage those who are just embarking on their literary journey, I will be posting poetry (not mine) each day for the month of April. Please take a look and enjoy this special art.

Stephanie Whipple-Chown

Hi, my name is Stephanie Whipple-Chown and I am 22 years of age. When I was in my preteen years I went through a difficult stage in my life, where writing became my way of ‘letting loose’.

I have currently compiled a short book of poetry, with which I am hoping to to publish someday, but in the meantime I continue to write poetry in my spare time. Poetry is an art and a way of expression for me. When I write poetry it is often written due to an event in my life. I try to write poetry in the hopes that others may find some similarities to the situation or event that they themselves have been through as well.

I hope you enjoy my poetry and for future readings, you can add me on Facebook where you can find more poetry in my ‘notes’.

Enjoy the reading!

Stephanie Whipple- Chown

This is the Day!

Written By Stephanie Whipple- Chown (For Cody Griffin)

She stands against a wall,

Tries to stand up tall

The fear, it is seen there

She tries to hide, but it’s everywhere

She’s heading home, after a long day

Runs into someone, through the grey

Almost as if, it was meant to be

The story unfolds, through destiny

As it unfolds, so do the tears

Once able to hide them, and her fear

He tells her it is okay, stands by her

Helps her to ease her pain away

Wonders how much, she should trust

Hoping the feelings are not that of lust

He makes her feel precious and wanted,

Tells her that’s she’s pretty and should flaunt it

He opens up to her, he lets loose

There’s much more to life than the noose

Aggression it’s there, she tries to hide

But he sees through it, she unwinds

He understands, family frustration

The fear one has of penetration

Those who have hurt her, they will pay

His love for her is bright, as the day

She loves him, this makes her cry

Not because she is sad, but he has opened her eyes

She will stop at nothing to stay by his side

He has taught her to love, to always try

Love, a feeling that makes you fluffy

Often releases emotions, eyes are puffy

It is a commitment, a joining if you say

But she takes his hand, this is the day!

NaPoWriMo: J.S. Watts

April is National Poetry Writing Month. In celebration of poets everywhere, and to encourage those who are just embarking on their literary journey, I will be posting poetry (not mine) each day for the month of April. Please take a look and enjoy this special art.

J.S. Watts

J.S.Watts lives and writes in the flatlands of East Anglia in the U.K. Her poetry, short fiction and book reviews appear in a diversity of publications in Britain, Canada, Australia and the States including: Acumen, Mslexia, Polluto and Silver Blade and have been broadcast on BBC and Independent Radio. She has had three books published. A full poetry collection, "Cats and Other Myths" and subsequent poetry pamphlet, "Songs of Steelyard Sue" are published by Lapwing Publications. Her novel, "A Darker Moon" - a dark literary fantasy, is published in the US and the UK by Vagabondage Press. Further details at: www.jswatts.co.uk  and on Facebook: www.facebook.com/J.S.Watts.page

Where does your inspiration come from:

My inspiration comes from all sorts of things, but mostly from the world around me. Sometimes, something I see or a particular location will spark a poem, as happened with "Autumn at Kneesworth". Often it's a coming together of lots of different thoughts and ideas, rather than one or two, that ignites the poetry. The book "Songs of Steelyard Sue" was written as a poetry sequence, telling the story of an every(wo)man character through individual poems. My interest in fantasy, myths and science fiction shaped the overall book, though the separate poems were written at different times and had different sparking points. Indeed, my interest in myths and legends influenced both my poetry collection "Cats and Other Myths" and my novel "A Darker Moon". Perhaps my inspiration comes as much from what I can't see as what I can.

Star Flowers

A thousand bright stars scattered

across the meadow’s grass,

twinkling white in the depth of the green.

A field of night spread across the sky

sprinkled with clover suns,

small midnight blooms.

I fall asleep

inhaling starlight.

J.S.Watts.

Autumn at Kneesworth

One last hope flares in the trees,
embarrassing them with unexpected emotion
to their reddening tips.
A conflagration of the senses.

Down in the black spaces of the elm
and below the sluggish stream,
I am looking for myself in places
I don’t usually go.

Am I hiding in the memory or the action,
what I did or what I do?
Am I now or only in the going forward?
Where will I find me in the stasis that follows?

Maybe I am hoping to find next year’s me
waiting in the dark.
Maybe I am just trying to evade
this season’s arson

because it is difficult
to believe in spring
with this year’s hopes
burning down around you.

J.S.Watts.

The Making of Steelyard Sue

Blodeuwedd of the scrap yard,
though they made me with iron, not flowers.
Bent and buckled metal: hub caps,
valves and pistons, spare parts, abandoned junk,
all have a home within me.
Rust blossoms instead of corn cockles
and red horse chestnut.
No one will die for love of me.
No one will tell stories.
Small birds are wary,
scarecrow of the rubbish heap,
but at night a thing
with yellow saucers for eyes
and hooks for feet
perches within my lonely ribs
and shrieks defiance at the moon.

From “Songs of Steelyard Sue” by J.S.Watts (Lapwing Publications 2012)

NaPoWriMo: Cass McMain

April is National Poetry Writing Month. In celebration of poets everywhere, and to encourage those who are just embarking on their literary journey, I will be posting poetry (not mine) each day for the month of April. Please take a look and enjoy this special art.

Cass McMain

Cas McMain grew up partially cocooned by the beautiful middle Rio Grande valley of New Mexico, surrounded by cottonwood trees and wildlife. Married for over twenty years to her best friend, they share their home with a couple of dogs and several cats.

Her lifelong passion has always been houseplants, with over 200, she finds these leafy wonders represent patience and constancy.

Recently, her writing muse has again been speaking to her. Samples of her writing can be found both on her blog and on Authonomy. 

The Ex 

A different man 

(a different) 

different walk, talk 

(totally) 

different rights 

(different) 

different wrongs 

(alas) 

A different you 

(me too) 

Man 

you are so 

(different) 

these days. 

NaPoWriMo: J. Eric Laing

April is National Poetry Writing Month. In celebration of poets everywhere, and to encourage those who are just embarking on their literary journey, I will be posting poetry (not mine) each day for the month of April. Please take a look and enjoy this special art.

J. Eric Laing

J. Eric Laing was born and raised in the South but now lives in New York City with his wife and their two wonderful boys.

He is the author of five novels: Cicada (general fiction), Seep (horror), The Night Watch (thriller), Scissors & Tweed (young adult), and The Crooked Man's Mile (general fiction), as well as a collection of short stories simply titled Shorts.

Mother’s Eve 

Smelling like minnows, 
Dungarees hang on little limbs 
Muddy head to tooth, 
Breathing honey breath 
Because, young, they can. 

Still plump with their moment, 
Woman plays behind 
Naked prints leading to the tub 

In a path of love and giggles. 
She seeks, cherubs hide. 
And when found out, 
All three chocolates dipped. 
Held by the heel and healed. 

Licked until shiny, 
Clean as the mantle clock, 
The babes soon sleep tight as clams. 

Father Fishing 

Both mechanisms creaking, 
Reel and bones, 
My old man of the river and sea 
Forever shines above my dumb hook. 

Dried Sparrows 

Where have the winter children gone? 
Their laughter withered with spring, 
Thawed damp on dry lips. 

When will the crisp air drown again? 
So much like flies stuck in honey, 
Sweet deep breaths at last. 

Old enough to never have been, 
Each to each nothing ever gives. 
Not a parting kiss, nor embrace of wit. 

The years now we’ll stack neatly, 
Corners creased and folded over, 
Like so many boxes of dried sparrows. 
When the Circus Came to Town 

How oddly every child smiled 
When the high-wire broke and the funny fat clown 
Tumbled and tumbled down. 

For, rushing to his demise, 
His lips twisted up for the night’s first time 
As he broke both neck and frown. 

April's Fool: NaPoWriMo, Camp NaNo & New Releases

April is going to be an insanely busy month. April Fool's aside, today marks the beginning of both NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) and Camp NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month - spring edition). Am I foolish enough to try both at the same time? You bet ya!

Of course - I'm not crazy enough to attempt it on my own - I do have my sanity, family life, and the outside world to consider. NaPoWriMo will be brought to you by a series of wonderful poets, complete with bios, pictures, and links to where you can read more of their work. You didn't really think I was going to subject you to my poetry, did you?

While these poets are entertaining you, I'll be diligently writing the third and final installment in the "Liminals" series. Where are the first two books? They are patiently awaiting polishing and tweaking for continuity (I'll give you more on that later).

To further keep you entertained - I'll also be releasing my third women's fiction novel, "Money, Masks & Madness".

In the meantime, watch this space for the promised poetry - or maybe write some for yourself, after all, that's what NaPoWriMo is really all about.

What's in a name?

 “What’s in a name?  that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;”

                                         William Shakespeare

Recently I started posting teasers from my new book “Money,Masks & Madness” on my Facebook fan page. They’re just little snippets, not meant to be spoilers, but intended to entice readers into wanting to read the book upon its release in April. So far, I have done little more than reveal the names of a few characters and their relationships to each other. The novel touches on the lives of five sisters: Iris, Daisy, Rose, Lily and Tulip. It centres on the youngest sister, Tulip and her personal and professional struggles.

From the prologue. 

Imagine my surprise when a distant relative of mine wrote to say: “How much do you know of our Yeoman family history, Jennifer? . . . Your great, great grandfather had siblings . . . Flora, Rosa and Lily! It just naturally runs in the family, I guess. My husband had an Aunt Daisy!”  

Lily Yeoman

Part of me believes the names I chose were a coincidence. When I started writing the book, I had wanted the sisters’ names to connect them, hold an echo of flower-power and not be dated.  However, this isn’t the first time I have inadvertently borrowed names from my family history. In “Remember Newvember”, the main character’s name is Willow Pillbean – a surname we can trace in our family, but while I was writing the book, I didn’t know that.

Flora and Ted Coombs

I know very little of my Yeoman ancestry. Intrigued, I asked Susan if she knew anything more and was rewarded with beautiful pictures of my great, great, great aunts and the promise to tell me more if ever we get the chance to meet in person.

Rosa and James Harris

Tulip’s story is the first of the five Garden sisters to be told. Next I plan to write about Rose, followed by Lily. Knowing there’s a family connection to these names, I have a feeling both Daisy and Iris will be getting their own stories in the coming years.