Tag: poetry

To be Published February 2–Nocturne: Poems of Love, Distance, and the Night, a callous and disinterested lover.

NocturneOn February 2, 2018, I will release my latest work, my only book of poetry.  It will be available initially only in e-book via Amazon and Kindle, but a print version will be released soon thereafter.

These poems were written from about 1985 to 1993, during which time I was an officer in the US Navy. This was a time of rapid and frequent change for me in many ways, including geographically, emotionally, professionally, and romantically.

During this time I had several lovers, who were always of good character and heart. They doubtlessly loved me more than I deserved, but I had an overpowering drive to experience as many women as I could. It was never a matter of heartlessly notching my proverbial bedpost, but honestly enjoying women for who they were. All these women were sincere in their feelings, beautiful in body and spirit, and honest with their emotions.  I suppose that what prevented me from forming a permanent attachment to any was a subtle, congenital character flaw of a need for solitude that inevitably won out over a need for a solid relationship.

As time passed, I enjoyed the hunt for women more and more and was more and more satisfied with one-night stands that I could find in local bars. My original sincerity gradually faded as I grew to identify more and more with the nightlife and the night itself. I lived for the night. Dawn was the unwelcome end to my adventures.

What stimulated my interest was my move to my first duty station at Naval Air Station Whidbey on Whidbey Island in northern Puget Sound in 1985. I fell quickly in love with the beauty of the San Juan Islands, Puget Sound, and the whole of the Puget Sound culture. I traveled as much as I could on weekends and, whenever I could, I would drop in on some small, out-of-the-way bookshop, where I became familiar with the works of local writers such as Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver.

Something about that northwestern literary voice alleviated much of the professional tension I was feeling and I began to devour more and more of the northwestern literature, which became a stepping stone to a new literary world as I expanded my reading to the Beats, W.S. Merwin, and many others around the world. Soon I dabbled in writing poetry and found it at least as enjoyable as reading it, because it allowed me to ideas and feelings that had no other escape.

Somewhere around 1993 I began developing an interest in photography, which allowed me to express myself in other ways in which I could interact more intensely with my environment. Over the following years my love for photography supplanted my love for poetry, and then, true to my fickle nature, fiction began to supplant my love for photography, though the attraction to film and darkroom still lingers like the fond memory of a former lover.

Over the past year, I have begun contemplating my retirement from my current career and have begun to work at establishing myself as a writer for my second career. As part of that transition, I decided to collect as many of my poems as I could find and to publish them as my first serious literary accomplishment. Some of these are based on actual events; others are fiction designed to capture the spirit of the moment.

In reviewing them, I detected a theme. Therefore, I arranged them not in chronological order, but in an order that tells what I perceive as the story of my spiritual and emotional development during those years.

I made none of the photos contained herein. They are all public domain photos from online stock agencies. However, I selected each one carefully for capturing the intended spirit of the poem preceding it.

To be Published February 2–Nocturne: Poems of Love, Distance, and the Night, a callous and disinterested lover.

NocturneOn February 2, 2018, I will release my latest work, my only book of poetry.  It will be available initially only in e-book via Amazon and Kindle, but a print version will be released soon thereafter.

These poems were written from about 1985 to 1993, during which time I was an officer in the US Navy. This was a time of rapid and frequent change for me in many ways, including geographically, emotionally, professionally, and romantically.

During this time I had several lovers, who were always of good character and heart. They doubtlessly loved me more than I deserved, but I had an overpowering drive to experience as many women as I could. It was never a matter of heartlessly notching my proverbial bedpost, but honestly enjoying women for who they were. All these women were sincere in their feelings, beautiful in body and spirit, and honest with their emotions.  I suppose that what prevented me from forming a permanent attachment to any was a subtle, congenital character flaw of a need for solitude that inevitably won out over a need for a solid relationship.

As time passed, I enjoyed the hunt for women more and more and was more and more satisfied with one-night stands that I could find in local bars. My original sincerity gradually faded as I grew to identify more and more with the nightlife and the night itself. I lived for the night. Dawn was the unwelcome end to my adventures.

What stimulated my interest was my move to my first duty station at Naval Air Station Whidbey on Whidbey Island in northern Puget Sound in 1985. I fell quickly in love with the beauty of the San Juan Islands, Puget Sound, and the whole of the Puget Sound culture. I traveled as much as I could on weekends and, whenever I could, I would drop in on some small, out-of-the-way bookshop, where I became familiar with the works of local writers such as Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver.

Something about that northwestern literary voice alleviated much of the professional tension I was feeling and I began to devour more and more of the northwestern literature, which became a stepping stone to a new literary world as I expanded my reading to the Beats, W.S. Merwin, and many others around the world. Soon I dabbled in writing poetry and found it at least as enjoyable as reading it, because it allowed me to ideas and feelings that had no other escape.

Somewhere around 1993 I began developing an interest in photography, which allowed me to express myself in other ways in which I could interact more intensely with my environment. Over the following years my love for photography supplanted my love for poetry, and then, true to my fickle nature, fiction began to supplant my love for photography, though the attraction to film and darkroom still lingers like the fond memory of a former lover.

Over the past year, I have begun contemplating my retirement from my current career and have begun to work at establishing myself as a writer for my second career. As part of that transition, I decided to collect as many of my poems as I could find and to publish them as my first serious literary accomplishment. Some of these are based on actual events; others are fiction designed to capture the spirit of the moment.

In reviewing them, I detected a theme. Therefore, I arranged them not in chronological order, but in an order that tells what I perceive as the story of my spiritual and emotional development during those years.

I made none of the photos contained herein. They are all public domain photos from online stock agencies. However, I selected each one carefully for capturing the intended spirit of the poem preceding it.

To be Published February 2–Nocturne: Poems of Love, Distance, and the Night, a callous and disinterested lover.

NocturneOn February 2, 2018, I will release my latest work, my only book of poetry.  It will be available initially only in e-book via Amazon and Kindle, but a print version will be released soon thereafter.

These poems were written from about 1985 to 1993, during which time I was an officer in the US Navy. This was a time of rapid and frequent change for me in many ways, including geographically, emotionally, professionally, and romantically.

During this time I had several lovers, who were always of good character and heart. They doubtlessly loved me more than I deserved, but I had an overpowering drive to experience as many women as I could. It was never a matter of heartlessly notching my proverbial bedpost, but honestly enjoying women for who they were. All these women were sincere in their feelings, beautiful in body and spirit, and honest with their emotions.  I suppose that what prevented me from forming a permanent attachment to any was a subtle, congenital character flaw of a need for solitude that inevitably won out over a need for a solid relationship.

As time passed, I enjoyed the hunt for women more and more and was more and more satisfied with one-night stands that I could find in local bars. My original sincerity gradually faded as I grew to identify more and more with the nightlife and the night itself. I lived for the night. Dawn was the unwelcome end to my adventures.

What stimulated my interest was my move to my first duty station at Naval Air Station Whidbey on Whidbey Island in northern Puget Sound in 1985. I fell quickly in love with the beauty of the San Juan Islands, Puget Sound, and the whole of the Puget Sound culture. I traveled as much as I could on weekends and, whenever I could, I would drop in on some small, out-of-the-way bookshop, where I became familiar with the works of local writers such as Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver.

Something about that northwestern literary voice alleviated much of the professional tension I was feeling and I began to devour more and more of the northwestern literature, which became a stepping stone to a new literary world as I expanded my reading to the Beats, W.S. Merwin, and many others around the world. Soon I dabbled in writing poetry and found it at least as enjoyable as reading it, because it allowed me to ideas and feelings that had no other escape.

Somewhere around 1993 I began developing an interest in photography, which allowed me to express myself in other ways in which I could interact more intensely with my environment. Over the following years my love for photography supplanted my love for poetry, and then, true to my fickle nature, fiction began to supplant my love for photography, though the attraction to film and darkroom still lingers like the fond memory of a former lover.

Over the past year, I have begun contemplating my retirement from my current career and have begun to work at establishing myself as a writer for my second career. As part of that transition, I decided to collect as many of my poems as I could find and to publish them as my first serious literary accomplishment. Some of these are based on actual events; others are fiction designed to capture the spirit of the moment.

In reviewing them, I detected a theme. Therefore, I arranged them not in chronological order, but in an order that tells what I perceive as the story of my spiritual and emotional development during those years.

I made none of the photos contained herein. They are all public domain photos from online stock agencies. However, I selected each one carefully for capturing the intended spirit of the poem preceding it.

To be Published February 2–Nocturne: Poems of Love, Distance, and the Night, a callous and disinterested lover.

NocturneOn February 2, 2018, I will release my latest work, my only book of poetry.  It will be available initially only in e-book via Amazon and Kindle, but a print version will be released soon thereafter.

These poems were written from about 1985 to 1993, during which time I was an officer in the US Navy. This was a time of rapid and frequent change for me in many ways, including geographically, emotionally, professionally, and romantically.

During this time I had several lovers, who were always of good character and heart. They doubtlessly loved me more than I deserved, but I had an overpowering drive to experience as many women as I could. It was never a matter of heartlessly notching my proverbial bedpost, but honestly enjoying women for who they were. All these women were sincere in their feelings, beautiful in body and spirit, and honest with their emotions.  I suppose that what prevented me from forming a permanent attachment to any was a subtle, congenital character flaw of a need for solitude that inevitably won out over a need for a solid relationship.

As time passed, I enjoyed the hunt for women more and more and was more and more satisfied with one-night stands that I could find in local bars. My original sincerity gradually faded as I grew to identify more and more with the nightlife and the night itself. I lived for the night. Dawn was the unwelcome end to my adventures.

What stimulated my interest was my move to my first duty station at Naval Air Station Whidbey on Whidbey Island in northern Puget Sound in 1985. I fell quickly in love with the beauty of the San Juan Islands, Puget Sound, and the whole of the Puget Sound culture. I traveled as much as I could on weekends and, whenever I could, I would drop in on some small, out-of-the-way bookshop, where I became familiar with the works of local writers such as Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver.

Something about that northwestern literary voice alleviated much of the professional tension I was feeling and I began to devour more and more of the northwestern literature, which became a stepping stone to a new literary world as I expanded my reading to the Beats, W.S. Merwin, and many others around the world. Soon I dabbled in writing poetry and found it at least as enjoyable as reading it, because it allowed me to ideas and feelings that had no other escape.

Somewhere around 1993 I began developing an interest in photography, which allowed me to express myself in other ways in which I could interact more intensely with my environment. Over the following years my love for photography supplanted my love for poetry, and then, true to my fickle nature, fiction began to supplant my love for photography, though the attraction to film and darkroom still lingers like the fond memory of a former lover.

Over the past year, I have begun contemplating my retirement from my current career and have begun to work at establishing myself as a writer for my second career. As part of that transition, I decided to collect as many of my poems as I could find and to publish them as my first serious literary accomplishment. Some of these are based on actual events; others are fiction designed to capture the spirit of the moment.

In reviewing them, I detected a theme. Therefore, I arranged them not in chronological order, but in an order that tells what I perceive as the story of my spiritual and emotional development during those years.

I made none of the photos contained herein. They are all public domain photos from online stock agencies. However, I selected each one carefully for capturing the intended spirit of the poem preceding it.

To be Published February 2–Nocturne: Poems of Love, Distance, and the Night, a callous and disinterested lover.

NocturneOn February 2, 2018, I will release my latest work, my only book of poetry.  It will be available initially only in e-book via Amazon and Kindle, but a print version will be released soon thereafter.

These poems were written from about 1985 to 1993, during which time I was an officer in the US Navy. This was a time of rapid and frequent change for me in many ways, including geographically, emotionally, professionally, and romantically.

During this time I had several lovers, who were always of good character and heart. They doubtlessly loved me more than I deserved, but I had an overpowering drive to experience as many women as I could. It was never a matter of heartlessly notching my proverbial bedpost, but honestly enjoying women for who they were. All these women were sincere in their feelings, beautiful in body and spirit, and honest with their emotions.  I suppose that what prevented me from forming a permanent attachment to any was a subtle, congenital character flaw of a need for solitude that inevitably won out over a need for a solid relationship.

As time passed, I enjoyed the hunt for women more and more and was more and more satisfied with one-night stands that I could find in local bars. My original sincerity gradually faded as I grew to identify more and more with the nightlife and the night itself. I lived for the night. Dawn was the unwelcome end to my adventures.

What stimulated my interest was my move to my first duty station at Naval Air Station Whidbey on Whidbey Island in northern Puget Sound in 1985. I fell quickly in love with the beauty of the San Juan Islands, Puget Sound, and the whole of the Puget Sound culture. I traveled as much as I could on weekends and, whenever I could, I would drop in on some small, out-of-the-way bookshop, where I became familiar with the works of local writers such as Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver.

Something about that northwestern literary voice alleviated much of the professional tension I was feeling and I began to devour more and more of the northwestern literature, which became a stepping stone to a new literary world as I expanded my reading to the Beats, W.S. Merwin, and many others around the world. Soon I dabbled in writing poetry and found it at least as enjoyable as reading it, because it allowed me to ideas and feelings that had no other escape.

Somewhere around 1993 I began developing an interest in photography, which allowed me to express myself in other ways in which I could interact more intensely with my environment. Over the following years my love for photography supplanted my love for poetry, and then, true to my fickle nature, fiction began to supplant my love for photography, though the attraction to film and darkroom still lingers like the fond memory of a former lover.

Over the past year, I have begun contemplating my retirement from my current career and have begun to work at establishing myself as a writer for my second career. As part of that transition, I decided to collect as many of my poems as I could find and to publish them as my first serious literary accomplishment. Some of these are based on actual events; others are fiction designed to capture the spirit of the moment.

In reviewing them, I detected a theme. Therefore, I arranged them not in chronological order, but in an order that tells what I perceive as the story of my spiritual and emotional development during those years.

I made none of the photos contained herein. They are all public domain photos from online stock agencies. However, I selected each one carefully for capturing the intended spirit of the poem preceding it.

Update on my Poetry Collection Nocturne

inside-og2-2-a
Official Author’s Photo from March, 2015

The last few days I have been working almost continuously on collecting the poems I wrote from 1985 to 1996 into a volume I call Nocturne.  I am almost finished with the first draft.

I first collected them together about two years ago and submitted them to a publisher, who I thought would be ideal for them.  I knew from the beginning that their usual wait time for a decision was about six months, but I was willing to wait, because I thought they would be excellent for it.  You can probably guess the rest.

I was not in a hurry, so I waited.  I would check back every few months and they would say that a decision would be soon; they were still working through their backlog.  Eventually, they turned it down.

Not being high on the priority list of my life, I took my time in finding other potential publishers.  I looked for ones (primarily in the Poets and Writers website) that would respond in less than three months.  I submitted it simultaneously to a couple of publishers about a month ago.  I am awaiting their responses.

However, now I am preparing to publish Nocturne myself on Kindle.  At the same time, I am developing a print version.

Both potential publishers should respond in January.  Unless one offers a terrific deal, I will publish Nocturne on February 1.  My Kindle version will feature lots of (public domain stock) photos that I have selected to heighten the poignancy, which the version I submitted to the publishers does not.

In the meantime I will be refining the Kindle version and studying the best strategies for pre-release publicity and marketing.

Wish me luck.

 

 

 

 

The Saturday Night Special: “The Bells” by Edgar Allan Poe (1850)

Edgar Allan Poe, circa 1849
Edgar Allan Poe, circa 1849

I.

         Hear the sledges with the bells--
             Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
       How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
           In the icy air of night!
       While the stars that oversprinkle
       All the heavens, seem to twinkle
           With a crystalline delight;
         Keeping time, time, time,
         In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
    From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
               Bells, bells, bells--
  From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

         Hear the mellow wedding bells
             Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
       Through the balmy air of night
       How they ring out their delight!
           From the molten-golden notes,
               And all in tune,
           What a liquid ditty floats
    To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
               On the moon!
         Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
               How it swells!
               How it dwells
           On the Future! how it tells
           Of the rapture that impels
         To the swinging and the ringing
           Of the bells, bells, bells,
    Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
               Bells, bells, bells--
  To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III.

         Hear the loud alarum bells--
                  Brazen bells!
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
       In the startled ear of night
       How they scream out their affright!
         Too much horrified to speak,
         They can only shriek, shriek,
                  Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
            Leaping higher, higher, higher,
            With a desperate desire,
         And a resolute endeavor
         Now--now to sit or never,
       By the side of the pale-faced moon.
            Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
            What a tale their terror tells
                  Of Despair!
       How they clang, and clash, and roar!
       What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
       Yet the ear, it fully knows,
            By the twanging,
            And the clanging,
         How the danger ebbs and flows ;
       Yet, the ear distinctly tells,
         In the jangling,
         And the wrangling,
       How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells--
             Of the bells--
     Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
         Bells, bells, bells--
  In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!

IV.

          Hear the tolling of the bells--
               Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
       In the silence of the night,
       How we shiver with affright
  At the melancholy meaning of their tone!
         For every sound that floats
         From the rust within their throats
              Is a groan.
         And the people--ah, the people--
         They that dwell up in the steeple,
              All alone,
         And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
            In that muffled monotone,
         Feel a glory in so rolling
            On the human heart a stone--
       They are neither man nor woman--
       They are neither brute nor human--
              They are Ghouls:--
         And their king it is who tolls ;
         And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
              Rolls
            A pæan from the bells!
         And his merry bosom swells
            With the pæan of the bells!
         And he dances, and he yells ;
       Keeping time, time, time,
       In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the pæan of the bells--
               Of the bells :
       Keeping time, time, time,
       In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the throbbing of the bells--
            Of the bells, bells, bells--
            To the sobbing of the bells ;
       Keeping time, time, time,
            As he knells, knells, knells,
       In a happy Runic rhyme,
            To the rolling of the bells--
         Of the bells, bells, bells--
            To the tolling of the bells,
      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells--
               Bells, bells, bells--
  To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

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’

Announcing the Advent of “The Chamber” Magazine

imageBeginning in January 1, 2017, this will be the location of a new on-line quarterly magazine for short stories, poetry, and other short works of the horror genre.  You can find the guidelines for submissions on my current Submissions and Announcements page, which will remain the same, with the only exception being that the word limit for submissions for “The Chamber” will increase from 1,000 to 2,000 words.  The deadline for submissions for issue #1 passed on December 1.  However, please feel free to submit for issue #2, which will be published on April 1.

I am creating this magazine primarily because it is not fair to my contributors to submit a work for publication, when that work will be at the top of my blog posts for only a day, and then that author and his readers will have to wade through a morass of unrelated blogs to find that one post.  To remedy this, I am creating a separate page on my blog for my new magazine, “The Chamber”, where each quarter’s selections will appear on a separate page for eternity (or until WordPress folds, or until I give it all up and wander off to buy a bar in Key West, or etc.)  Issue 2 will appear on April 1st.  Send submissions for Issue #2 per the Submissions and Announcements guidelines, but specify Submission for “The Chamber” in the subject line, if you want your work published in The Chamber, or Submission for The Blog, if you want to be published in the regular blog.  I will continue to publish submissions in my regular blog until December 31.

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 an Inquisitor 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.

Announcing the Advent of “The Chamber” Magazine

Phil Slattery Self-portrait, August, 2016
Phil Slattery
Self-portrait, August, 2016

Beginning in January 1, 2017, this will be the location of a new on-line quarterly magazine for short stories, poetry, and other short works of the horror genre.  You can find the guidelines for submissions on my current Submissions and Announcements page, which will remain the same, with the only exception being that the word limit for submissions for “The Chamber” will increase from 1,000 to 2,000 words.  The deadline for submissions for issue #1 passed on December 1.  However, please feel free to submit for issue #2, which will be published on April 1.

I am creating this magazine primarily because it is not fair to my contributors to submit a work for publication, when that work will be at the top of my blog posts for only a day, and then that author and his readers will have to wade through a morass of unrelated blogs to find that one post.  To remedy this, I am creating a separate page on my blog for my new magazine, “The Chamber”, where each quarter’s selections will appear on a separate page for eternity (or until WordPress folds, or until I give it all up and wander off to buy a bar in Key West, or etc.)  Issue 2 will appear on April 1st.  Send submissions for Issue #2 per the Submissions and Announcements guidelines, but specify Submission for “The Chamber” in the subject line, if you want your work published in The Chamber, or Submission for The Blog, if you want to be published in the regular blog.  I will continue to publish submissions in my regular blog until December 31.

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.

Today is the Deadline for Submissions to Issue #1 of “The Chamber”

Beginning in January 1, 2017, this will be the location of a new on-line quarterly magazine for short stories, poetry, and other short works of the horror genre.  You can find the guidelines for submissions on my current Submissions and Announcements page, which will remain the same, with the only exception being that the word limit for submissions for “The Chamber” will increase from 1,000 to 2,000 words.  The deadline for submissions for issue #1 passes today, November 30.  However, please feel free to submit for issue #2, which will be published on April 1.

I am creating this magazine primarily because it is not fair to my contributors to submit a work for publication, when that work will be at the top of my blog posts for only a day, and then that author and his readers will have to wade through a morass of unrelated blogs to find that one post.  To remedy this, I am creating a separate page on my blog for my new magazine, “The Chamber”, where each quarter’s selections will appear on a separate page for eternity (or until WordPress folds, or until I give it all up and wander off to buy a bar in Key West, or etc.)  Issue 2 will appear on April 1st.  Send submissions for Issue #2 per the Submissions and Announcements guidelines, but specify Submission for “The Chamber” in the subject line, if you want your work published in The Chamber, or Submission for The Blog, if you want to be published in the regular blog.  I will continue to publish submissions in my regular blog until December 31.

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 Flash to the Past: “The Listeners” by Walter de la Mare (1912)

Walter de la Mare June, 1924 from the National Portrait Gallery
Walter de la Mare
June, 1924
from the National Portrait Gallery

‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller’s head
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
‘Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:—
‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

The Saturday Night Special: “Red is the Color of Blood” by Conrad Aiken (1918)

RED is the color of blood, and I will seek it:

I have sought it in the grass.

It is the color of steep sun seen through eyelids.

 

It is hidden under the suave flesh of women–

Flows there, quietly flows.

It mounts from the heart to the temples, the singing

mouth–

As cold sap climbs to the rose.

I am confused in webs and knots of scarlet

Spun from the darkness;

Or shuttled from the mouths of thirsty spiders.

 

Madness for red! I devour the leaves of autumn.

I tire of the green of the world.

I am myself a mouth for blood …

 

Here, in the golden haze of the late slant sun,

Let us walk, with the light in our eyes,

To a single bench from the outset predetermined.

Look: there are seagulls in these city skies,

Kindled against the blue.

But I do not think of the seagulls, I think of you.

 

Your eyes, with the late sun in them,

Are like blue pools dazzled with yellow petals.

This pale green suits them well.

 

Here is your finger, with an emerald on it:

The one I gave you. I say these things politely–

But what I think beneath them, who can tell?

 

For I think of you, crumpled against a whiteness;

Flayed and torn, with a dulled face.

I think of you, writing, a thing of scarlet,

And myself, rising red from that embrace.

 

November sun is sunlight poured through honey:

Old things, in such a light, grow subtle and fine.

Bare oaks are like still fire.

Talk to me: now we drink the evening’s wine.

Look, how our shadows creep along the grave!–

And this way, how the gravel begins to shine!

 

This is the time of day for recollections,

For sentimental regrets, oblique allusions,

Rose-leaves, shrivelled in a musty jar.

Scatter them to the wind! There are tempests coming.

It is dark, with a windy star.

 

If human mouths were really roses, my dear,–

(Why must we link things so?–)

I would tear yours petal by petal with slow murder.

I would pluck the stamens, the pistils,

The gold and the green,–

Spreading the subtle sweetness that was your breath

On a cold wave of death….

 

Now let us walk back, slowly, as we came.

We will light the room with candles; they may shine

Like rows of yellow eyes.

Your hair is like spun fire, by candle-flame.

You smile at me–say nothing. You are wise.

 

For I think of you, flung down brutal darkness;

Crushed and red, with pale face.

I think of you, with your hair disordered and dripping.

And myself, rising red from that embrace.

###

This poem is from Gothic Romantic Poetry, which adds this note about Conrad Aiken:

“Conrad Aiken came from a  wealthy, and well known family who were from New England but moved to Savannah, Georgia. His father was a respected physician and surgeon however for no apparent reason Conrad’s father

Conrad Aiken October 3, 2013 (photographer unknown)
Conrad Aiken
October 3, 2013
(photographer unknown)

suddenly  seemed to change his temperament and became difficult to get on with and violent. Then early in the morning of February 27, 1901, he murdered his wife and shot himself. Conrad (who was eleven years old) heard the gunshots and discovered the bodies. After this tragedy he was raised by his great-great-aunt in Massachusetts.

“To read more about the life of Conrad Aiken read his autobiographical novel Ushant (1952), one of his major works which is an excellent source of information. In this book he speaks candidly about his various affairs and marriages, his attempted suicide and fear of insanity.”

Announcing the Advent of “The Chamber” Magazine

imageBeginning in January 1, 2017, this will be the location of a new on-line quarterly magazine for short stories, poetry, and other short works of the horror genre.  You can find the guidelines for submissions on my current Submissions and Announcements page, which will remain the same, with the only exception being that the word limit for submissions for “The Chamber” will increase from 1,000 to 2,000 words.

I am creating this magazine primarily because it is not fair to my contributors to submit a work for publication, when that work will be at the top of my blog posts for only a day, and then that author and his readers will have to wade through a morass of unrelated blogs to find that one post.  To remedy this, I will create a separate page on my blog for my new magazine, “The Chamber”, where each quarter’s selections will appear on a separate page for eternity (or until WordPress folds, or until I give it all up and wander off to buy a bar in Key West or etc.)  Issue 1 will appear on January 1st.  Cut-off date for submissions will be November 30 (I don’t want to work over Christmas).  Selections will probably be made by December 15.   Send submissions per the Submissions and Announcements guidelines, but specify Submission for “The Chamber” in the subject line, if you want your work published in The Chamber, or Submission for The Blog, if you want to be published in the regular blog.  I will continue to publish submissions in my regular blog until December 31.

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.