
The release of Delevan House is only a month away! And trust us when we say there will be far deeper articles shared on Brazen Folk Horror about the …
The Making of Delevan House #19
The release of Delevan House is only a month away! And trust us when we say there will be far deeper articles shared on Brazen Folk Horror about the …
The Making of Delevan House #19
December 21, 2022, is the Winter Solstice. It’s the shortest day and the longest night of the year. In Celtic Traditions, Winter Solstice sees the …
Brazen Solstice 2022
I’m sweeping the circle. The bones and remnants of word fusions are being expelled to make way for new spells. This collection is set for release in Hogmanay 2022. The preorder is live now.
Digital ARCs will be available well in advance of release, if you are a reviewer who’d love a first look at Clan Witch: Found Shadows, my mailbox is open for enquiries to be added to my priority early reader list.
Synopsis (subject to tweaking)
Do readers buy poetry from undead poets?
There’s nothing quite like picking the prose and verses of the dead like vultures. There’s freedom in that unpicking, with no one alive to contest, at least not the mind which birthed them.
Sinclair consumes written and spoken as she does in its lyrical form, dressed in music and paint. Dancing to the beat or screaming into the voids of despair. Here, Sinclair presents Clan Witch: Found Shadows, no music, no paint, just words. A mix-tape of drabbles and anarchic free verse poetry..
The writer still lives. Perhaps you’ll read her unruly verse before the witch is dead.
Thrice fallen Sickening ‘love’ Love because There’s no Other word. Senseless unhinging; The soul’s Unwelcome apprentice Staggering eclipsing Penumbra of logic Piercing passions Affection infatuation Desires yearning For more than Mere skin. Oh, the skin… I can taste Your salt Remnant thoughts Linger quiver Each baptism Triggered by Scent — drowning Flooding my Nostrils and Unsuspecting brain As if She were Credulous. That kiss Staggering surprising Rattling knees The gliding Purple satin Caressing Hardening nipples His scent Intoxication annihilation The thorn in my heart Dousing my Spent body Invading tuberous-spores Washing winds Of ‘love’ Over goose-bumped Prickled skin Soaking my Soul in Heady wine Must touch Every part Of you Feel you move From the Inside Sink teeth Lick clean The elixir Of your Delicious dermis Worship at Your voice Wince, Quiver, Shiver Melt with Your touch Deep dive The waters Of those Eyes Cliches spin The broken Record of Human need Mine Greed for Contact Every inch Of fabled Chaos Chords Intensely tethered Holding me Hostage In bondage Abundant In my Gullible heart To the rest, stone. Each of You ferment Within me Blending a Fine concoction My own Special cask. Exclusive reclusive. Did you Know of My love Like that Superseding rejection Deflection, lies Your love’s Demise How even Now, and At the end of Each of Our times; All time I'd share My deathbed With All Of you Thrice over As one I'd welcome Your wives And embrace Them with The love That’s always Been more Than I Can handle Coursing through The nucleus Of every cell I’d open The damn For your Sweet loves Rippling it Out; a Tsunami blanket Of eternity In each Of your Arms of Ages Covered, devoured The love That never Dies… Except for Those times That mine saw it Vanish from Your eyes. It still Lives here… The apparition Of yours To my Widowed love Caressing my bones until They are Crumbs of History Dust on The wind. Unseen like That word Again… Love. I’ve opened My legs Danced with Tongues Split open Veins And my (Death) bed Would lay Open for You to Fill. Welcome mat Gormless Gullible Obsessively loyal Lovesick heart.
Pressing, softly through the cracks
Fragments of consciousness
Piston hissing speckled the dead-night
Moving electricity aside
She slips in like butter
Melting and reforming to what I once knew
She was melancholy like my heart
Sullen of soul
My scion mirror
The tunnel formed
Attuning the station
Between pre and post mortem
A hollow in this verse
A meeting place
We spoke about mortality
Not with words
It was all there, though
Moths fluttering in the air
It’s been a while…
Since we shared space
Since we shared time
She keeps reminding me, though
Those are figments...
Of faux comfort
Fool’s restraints
Flimsy, weak cortex
It’s not everything
Not even close
The cat’s body is in the next room
Upon the pink bedspread
His marbled fur of coppers and black
Still as the void
I can look if I want, she tells me
He won’t stir yet
But I can’t leave
Paralysed in the serenity
Permeating from her form
There’s so much more to that cat
The sun seeps in
Glimmers strain against the sides
Dagger sharp
Fragments tear the space asunder
I’m here again…
She’s gone.
© Natasha Sinclair
My drabble, Beneath the Mangoes, written for Insignia Stories upcoming Mythical Creatures of Asia anthology is featured on Insignia Stories site today! Original Post linked below.
Today’s Mythical Creatures of Asia drabble features the kapre, from Filipino mythology. Natasha Sinclair has three drabbles in this anthology, and is…
Mythical Drabbles: ‘Beneath the Mangoes’ by Natasha Sinclair
We fell in love; free-falling into some unknown abyss. Her eyes were like staring into the universe; secrets intrigued, inspired, ghosts whispered. I was entirely enthralled, spinning through the dazzling, cataclysmic void of her soullessness.
Shelley said she was different from the others. When she eventually came out of the metaphorical coffin, I was hardly surprised. She feasted on me for hours when I bled. Thinking it just a kink at first, I went along with the proverbial flow. There are worse things than being with a vegetarian vampire; Shelley loves eating out, I can only oblige, she needs me.
Shadows engulf mother Earth, shade and still-cold stretch through half the globe as Batara Candra embraces her most impossible love, Batara Surya. Two halves of a singular coin. Coming together only briefly once every eighteen years. A passing lingering embrace that ripples waves of darkness, causing tides to threaten to turn, waves of anarchy and torrents of cold panic; what if they never let go?
Doomed love or doomed planet by total eclipse — an impossible love where no-one truly wins. Love must pass through the penumbra, saving this world from suffocating darkness or burning light.
Until next time, my love.
Concoction V2 is set for release, worldwide, on 17th January 2020!
I am really excited to get this collection of 12 short stories out there. The collection is diverse as each of the three writers take such a different approach to writing a piece. This is a cross-genre collection, which does make it a difficult one to market but I didn’t want to restrict the writers to come at a story to fit a confined space in this case – hence the Concoction Anthologies.
Available for pre-order now! Please check it out.
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/997993
My first mini collection has been published and is now live. Paperback and eBook available worldwide.
Link below.