Newly released for the death of 2020 – The Sirens Call eZine is out now! Celebrating a world of horror and dark fiction from around the globe, Sirens Call Publications have put out issue 52 containing 130 pieces of Horror and Dark Fiction. All honouring the theme of death. I am chuffed to have one of my own stories Snake appear in this issue. Snake first appeared in Concoction: A mini Anthology of shorts which is still available in print and ebook from Amazon worldwide. To get your hands on The Sirens Call eZine – where you can read online or download your copy FREE – head to their site:
Gnashing and gnawing at my innards Viscera shredded; trauma tombs embedded Stitch in bells, weigh down the nauseating flapping Jangle a euphonious jingle Steady placement of chinked shield Conceal agonies.
U-bend blocked There my guilt brims Shame for wishing away rapid cell division Liquor and voluntary scalding Natures way away Life folding poured out Out of Order; terror of disorder
For two, a freshly dug hole The morning after Mourning follows Nipping at heals with the snow A hollow in another garden There, a piece of my heart lays A depression for my first’s succession
She wants to see my torment on display To harvest in morbid grief games Pretend she’s just the same Catfish loss-mother Conspiring tiring Yearning to reap from the suffering leaks of my soul Observe my lamentations trapped in a fishbowl To don a cape, be in control Prodding my wounds, infecting
Imitation empath storing stories Catalogued, indexed, held hostage Latching of grief vampires Sucking ephemeral life’s marrow Chipping stones off my bones
An archaeologist scraping the shovel No delicate brushing of bristles Attention desperation Desecrating my pain Self-appointed steward on my cradles grave.
Rolling rumbling tumbling of the muscle Steadfast working out the dead
Waiting through waves Expulsion from womb to world; inner-outer dimension switch
Existence given visibility Life unviable; dead tangible
The ticking clock veiled agony; pulse-quickening within the neck Swimming through minutes in viscous shards; stark, exposed in wait
A sudden burst to cemetery-serene-silence Shock of expectations met, tension swells and pops within the void
Her body expelled, revealed Limp, still, disturbingly perfect
Few eyes lay upon her — none with such desperate thirst as the child-loss-mother Tattooing details to memory Cerebral and uterine imprints Memories outlived instantaneously
Tiny fingers, toes, torso, fused eyes, jaw, ears… All except the beating of the heart Virgin lungs void of air in this, her death hours stare
My pathetic heart beats so hard it chokes the throat The muscle has pried itself from within its cage, making way up to swell in the gullet
Don’t take her away… Emotion sickness swells drowning from the inside Even dead, she’s still the baby; even dead, she’s my baby, still
Must give her honour of life…somehow Gemini mother; creator, reluctant reaper
Now her death feeds life Entangled in root tendrils within the earth Forever reaching within and upward
The true heart of something that doesn’t have to beat Her cycles visibly viable
Bleary eyes can’t always see their praise of stars Despair wracked the heart for a time
Peace isn’t only for the dead…
She sways in the wind now; dancing grace Energy shared, scattered through leaves and bellies of beasts She worms and she soars through them
Not the life imagined; energy shifted, realigned Heart-wrenching, gut-punching beautiful
Small poetry collection being released very soon, currently just awaiting the printed proof for final review before it goes live!
“This is a small eclectic collection from an Independent Scottish writer.
If you’re looking for inspirational poetry, words of deep wisdom, even good poetry, this book is probably not for you.
The contents are inspired by various topics including; mental ill health, relationships, lust, consumerism, commercialisation, veganism, family, death, politics and history.
While this collection is admittedly somewhat disjointed, it is also truly organic.”
Laying the last body down on the bed, I studied them both, side by side. My beautiful loyal white pups. They looked as if they were peacefully sleeping. Dreaming still. You’d never know by this sight that I had snapped their necks. Still warm, the serenity of death. My wrist hurt. It was almost over now. There was nothing left to hold me back. I stepped up on to the vintage blue weaved wooden stool. Reaching above I put the prepared noose over my head to my neck and jump forward. Swinging and choking, why didn’t my neck just snap?
