A Conversation between the Spice Trader’s Daughter and her Lover, a Fortnight after She Burned at the Stake

by Sophie van Llewyn In the courtroom, the sound of what they wanted to hear was blinding. But not for me — I saw the inquisitors for what they were, children with shiny scalps, overgrown beards an…

Source: A Conversation between the Spice Trader’s Daughter and her Lover, a Fortnight after She Burned at the Stake

Today is the Deadline for Issue #2 of “The Chamber”

The deadline for submissions for issue #2 passes today.  However, please feel free to submit for issue #3, which will be published on July 1.  The deadline for submissions for Issue #3 will be May 31st.

Send submissions for Issue #3 per the Submissions and Announcements guidelines.

Why call it “The Chamber”?  The word chamber has numerous sinister and macabre connotations: a chamber of horrors, a torture chamber, one chambers a round into a rifle, etc.  A chamber can also be where a sorcerer, an alchemist, or a member of the Inquisition stores his library.  It is with this last connotation in mind that I am developing my Chamber for the storage of my selection of sinister and macabre works from the best up and coming authors that seek to contribute to my blog.

So, start editing your best, most powerful material and see where this new venture takes us!  I want powerful, hard-hitting material that leaves its readers gasping and awe-struck at the end.

A Short Analysis of Dylan Thomas’s ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’

Powerful reading:  A reading of a classic poem ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’ is probably the best-known villanelle in English poetry. If you’re not sure what a villanelle is, don’t worry – it’s not importan…

Source: A Short Analysis of Dylan Thomas’s ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’

‘I am the master of my fate’: A Short Analysis of William Ernest Henley’s ‘Invictus’

A summary of a classic poem ‘Invictus’ is a famous poem, even to those who haven’t heard of it. This is because, although the title ‘Invictus’ may mean little to some (other than, perhaps, as the t…

Source: ‘I am the master of my fate’: A Short Analysis of William Ernest Henley’s ‘Invictus’

Guest Blog: The Occult World of Phillippa Schuyler by James Goodridge

  The Occult World of Phillippa Schuyler  by James Goodridge The circumstance was the visit of my son and his girlfriend visiting for the holidays Christmas 2016 a brutal year in the world of …

Source: Guest Blog: The Occult World of Phillippa Schuyler by James Goodridge

The Farmington Writers Circle Meets Again on March 9.

zola_leandreThe Farmington Writers Circle meets again on Thursday, March 9, in the Entertainmart (formerly Hardback) Café at 7:00 pm.  The topic of the night will  be how to grow a twitter presence using hashtags and by following other twitter users.

Everyone is invited.  There is no charge and no membership requirements.

Preceding the meeting, starting at 6:30 pm, one of our members will be reading from his/her works.  The reader and his/her works will be announced once finalized.

The Farmington Writers Circle is a group of local writers who are interested in exploring and developing new means of marketing and publicizing their works.

For more information, contact Phil Slattery at phil@philslattery.com or via @philslattery201 or via this website.

Northwoods

Interesting and ominous, foreboding.

dunes-1157923_1920

By Anthony Cardellini

If you walk along the corner where Northwoods Drive meets Northwoods Street in Lake Tahoe you will see the beginning of a trail. The trail is long and winding and it goes into the woods and ends above the lake which sits in stillness. Today a rabbit is on the trail. Frightened by cars it leaves the Northwoods corner and passes the boulders and goes by the tree with carvings and hops beyond the swing and throws itself into the lake. For a minute the lake seems disturbed but blink and you’ve missed it because it’s already still again.

View original post

Breakfast Alfresco

Interesting perspective.

vulture-623449_1920

By The Urban Spaceman

Last year was lean-times. Plentiful rain and warming sun nourished verdant fields of rice and millet and sugarcane. Herds of sacred cows and droves of goats grew fat with wheat and calf and kid. The farmers and their families feasted every night.

This season is better. Drought-boiled soil dries to dust, crops shrivel yellow and brown, streams run bare to bed. Starvation haunts the sacred beasts, their bodies withering to fly-swarmed leather and sun-bleached bone.

The vulture’s sharp eyes catch the stumble of another dying cow. He spreads his wings and swoops down to enjoy his breakfast.

View original post