Dark Water… #Poetry

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Image by DarkWorkX from Pixabay

 

Dark Water

Standing on the edge of the abyss

Dark river below

Mind questioning

Do I, don’t I jump

See what lies on the other side

For a moment it was like flying

Before the dark water cradled my body

My mind caught in a vortex

Why am I not dead?

Am I to remain trapped?

In watery darkness for eternity?

Did my soul take the leap?

Is my body standing, looking over the abyss?

Can each live on, separate

Is my body empty of all it once knew

Will my soul journey on?

Learn more than the world knows today

Will I come back to my body with new ideas?

Changing myself, the world I will then inhabit

Would it be better to remain?

in the soft womb like darkness

Free from pain, decision

If I am to know, I must fight my way back…

©anitadawes

Coming Soon… Grinders  by  Craig Boyack @Virgilante

Announcing a new release from the master of speculative Fiction!

Over to you, Craig…

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I’m here to reveal my newest cover and talk a bit about Grinders. This time, I’m tackling a cyberpunk world. It’s one of those worlds where the Internet and being connected too much controls our lives.

One of the things I like about science fiction is the ability to project current events into the future. I call this, “Poking things with a stick.”

I poked a lot of things in this book, but most of them are in passing. Some of them show up in advertisements, which are invasive in this world. Others might just be a news blurb. There are times when I dive a bit deeper, and not everything is negative. Here is a small list of things that show up in the story:

  • Global warming
  • Plastic pollution
  • Helicopter moms
  • Cyber shut-ins
  • The energy crisis
  • New ways for package thieves to operate
  • Police who can’t carry guns until they are five-year veterans
  • Homeowner associations

There are a lot more, and most of them are pretty subtle. Cyberpunk is not known for deep plots, but I wanted one anyway.

Grinders is set about a hundred years in the future, in San Francisco. The main characters are cops assigned to the Grinder Squad. This is the duty nobody wants, and you almost have to screw up to get this assignment.

Grinders exist today, but I ramped them up for this story. These are people who surgically modify themselves, or each other, in basement surgeries, beauty salons, and tattoo parlors. Real world examples are those who implant chips under their skin to allow themselves to unlock doors or start cars without a key. There has even been one who injected dye into his eyeballs in an attempt to see in the dark. In that example, it actually worked but the results were temporary.

My story involves the downside of these modifications, why they’re illegal, and most of them are a bit more extreme than the real world versions. For example, you’ll meet Brandi, who has moth-like antennae implanted into her forehead. They aren’t just cute, they allow her to taste virtually everything. She’s almost like a bloodhound, only using the sense of taste.

Grinder Squad rarely ever does anything, but the new girl on the squad, Jimi, wants to bust a grind shop in the worst way. She feels like it could be her ticket off this crap detail and on to better duty.

One of my silly goals was to release the book in time for Chinese New Year. I’m not going to make it. I still need to finish my final pass, send it to the formatter, and get my promotional posters. It’s going to need a blurb, too.

I targeted this date because in the story, it’s the Year of the Rat. An important part of the story takes place at San Francisco’s annual parade. There are even a couple of rats in the story that play a pivotal role. Aside from that, I was born in the Year of the Rat.

Readers won’t actually care about my silly target date, and it’s more important to give everything the final polish. What I did get in time was cover art. So Gong Hei Fot Choi, everyone, and enjoy the cover. The story will be available before you know it, and I’ll announce that on my blog.

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We are really looking forward to this one, for the story is unbelievably imaginative. That’s always the case with Craig’s work, so I recommend keeping your eyes peeled for news of Grinders release. I know we are!

 

The Old Lantern… #Poetry

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Image by Jan Lüddemann from Pixabay 

 

The Old Lantern

The old lantern swung its yellow light

Outside number 9 Millpond road

When the moon was full

Alice gave birth to her son

Who screamed the night awake?

Wrapping him in the only linen she had

She walked out into the full moon night

The old yellow light fading behind her

Alice lay down and slept by the old woodpile

Would anyone find them, before the night

Stole their lives away?

An angel of the Lord found them there

Bright yellow moon lit their pale countenance

Their souls lifted from the poverty

that lay ahead of them…

©anitadawes 2020

The Outsider…

 

The Outsider…

 

When I found out that one of my favourite authors had written a new story, and that it was being serialised on tv, I knew I had something good to look forward to. Having to wait for each episode might stretch my patience into a wafer, as I don’t like to stop reading when enjoying a good book, but I was already hooked.

 

Stephen King is best known for horror stories like Carrie, It, and The Shining.

Based on the first two episodes, The Outsider is a classic King story and in structure and tone, it feels more like a murder mystery than a horror story. Mild spoiler alert: it’s both.

What’s the story about?

The Outsider tells the story of the gruesome murder of a young boy in the fictional town of Flint City, Oklahoma. Detective Ralph Anderson (Ben Mendelsohn) investigates, though it’s not a tough case to crack as mountains of forensic and eyewitness evidence point to beloved local teacher and baseball coach Terry Maitland (Jason Bateman, who also executive produced the series and directed its first two episodes). But Maitland has a solid alibi for the crime, which means that it looks like Frankie was murdered by a man who was somehow in two places at once.

 

The series is loyal to the novel’s dryly grim tone, with Mendelsohn perfect as the weary but honourable small-town cop and Jason Bateman coolly moving as a man who’s watching his life explode in front of him. The first two episodes play out pretty much like the beginning of the book, slowly unfurling the mystery: after the discovery of Frankie Peterson’s body, witness after witness can tie local coach and family man Maitland to the crime. He was spotted offering the kid a ride in his van, and then later seen covered with blood. The crime scene is finger-painted in his prints, his blood type was present, too. But Maitland was also captured on video in a totally different town at the time the crime was committed, attending a teaching conference with countless colleagues who can all vouch for his presence. And his fingerprints are found at the conference site, too.

It would seem that the coach was in two places at the same time, but this can’t be possible, even for Stephen King.  The title begs a question too, who is this outsider?

 

I will be reviewing The Outsider when the series ends…

 

 

#What do you see #Keepitalive #Poetry

What do you see # 13- January 20th, 2020

 

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Image credit; Pixabay

 

No Change

In the stone circle stands a chance

To split dark from light

Offering the world below, fire

The blue moon whispering a warning

They are too young, they are not ready

Let them find their own way

You come too far from the future

To understand their way of life

Why hurry things along

When you have no way of knowing

What they might discover by time alone

Your world is driven by speed

Theirs is not, they hunt for food

They live, they are happy

Some might call it fate

I call it interference

As it has been through the ages

Name one culture that has been

Allowed to walk its own path

Wars, famine, floods have changed so much

Of what might have been

For once, I would like to see

Where they would travel by themselves

Without interference

I hear you all shouting

It was meant to be…

©anitadawes 2020

The 2.40… #Poetry

 

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Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

 

My father, a staunch academic that never flaps.

At breakfast, I met a stranger at the table

He spoke at a speed I had never heard before

I could see a hint of panic in his eyes.

He didn’t ask, so much as forbid me

to take the 2.40 train from Paddington.

Asking why his voice became calmer

I don’t know if you have heard this story

Or remember it from the newspapers

One year ago, a young man just turned eighteen

died on that train in the third carriage

It’s said he may return on the anniversary of his death

To sit in the same seat for three weeks

In the hope of finding the part of self

we all leave behind on being born.

He waits for the other half, the missing piece

To sit on the seat opposite the door.

When the right person takes that seat

He becomes whole, having entered the sitter.

There are many tales of what takes place next

You have just turned eighteen, I am asking you please,

Take the earlier train to your next job?

Seeing how much this meant to my father

I agreed, and kissing his cheek, I left for work

I felt a little odd approaching the station

Standing close to the edge of the platform

I waited that afternoon for the 2.40.

I remember asking my father why I couldn’t just

Take my journey in the second car

Father said it was best to avoid the 2.40 all together

As curiosity gets the best of some people.

I could hear the train approaching

I stood where the third car would stop

I could see a grey outline of someone sitting

in the seat Father mentioned

There were no discernible features to this mass

Shaking my head, thinking my father’s story

Must have gotten into my mind

I felt a connection, a longing, something remembered

I remembered my father saying that a soul mate

Was not someone you search for in life

It’s the missing part of self.

I knew what this meant, for I had often felt

Lost lonely unsure even when falling

in love with a boy from College

A few minutes of happiness that doesn’t last

Leaving me with the feeling of being unwhole.

Now that I have felt that missing part

I would break my word

I will sit in that seat tomorrow at 2.40

Let the missing part enter

See what life will bring…

©anitadawes 2020

Circle… #Poetry

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Image by Pixabay.com

Circle

Old stories whispered on wet afternoons

Do they contain a kernel of truth?

Are the stones more than man has made?

Late at night when the moon is full

Energy pulled from the stones

Blue flickering light

Can the fate of Merlin be seen?

Dancing in the circle?

I see mischief by magic made…

©anitadawes 2020

#Writephoto ~ Keep #Poetry

Thursday photo prompt: Keep #writephoto

 

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Image by scvincent.com

For visually challenged writers, the image shows the ruined tower of a castle, seen through the cross-shaped window of another tower.

 

I am cast in stone

Chained beneath the castle walls

My soul yearning to be set free

The dark cross sentinels

Guard the three remaining towers

So many come,

they gaze upon my fallen walls

Never hearing my voice

No mind open to hear my plea

From the fall of Camelot

I have tried to let them know

There is a way to set me free…

©anitadawes 2020

 

#writephoto

A Conversation…

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Image by Andrew Martin from Pixabay

A Conversation

 

I knew I had to say something.

I had been avoiding this conversation for a while now, but now was as good a time as any.

“Could you stop for a minute and listen to me?”

A silence descended in the room and I knew a pit of doom had just slid open somewhere. I decided to plough on and get it all off my chest.

“I need to know what your plans are. Do you actually have any, or are you planning on wandering through life until something interesting turns up?”

Nothing.

Had I picked the wrong moment after all, or was I being ignored?

While I waited for some kind of response, I started thinking of different ways to force the issue. Maybe it was time I stopped working, give up the constant battle to create something worthwhile on my own.

Retire?

That idea was certainly appealing.

The silence was making my headache, the feeling of knowing I was on my own in this was depressing to say the least. I could feel myself getting angry. Angry enough to say something I would probably regret later.

I searched my frustrated brain for something, anything that might provoke an answer. I wanted to hurt or threaten to hurt but been there before and it never worked.

I knew I wouldn’t be spoken to until it was deemed necessary.

I was on my own, as always.

If I received an answer now, it would mean nothing, and I wouldn’t care one way or another…

 

©JayeMarie 2020

 

It’s lonely out here in the inter-ether…Talk to me people!