so the spider hangs – New Book

My new book is now live!

It’s a short story concerning an Earth Angel, Love, Life & Death, Nature, the Universe, Imagination, Reality, Awakening and Existence.

It’s available here at …

LULU

Barnes & Noble

Amazon UK

Amazon.com

And other online stores.

~

The image with the prism rainbow is a reflection from my window and I think it looks pretty neat especially as it gives the shadow some light and fits pretty well with the story.

Thank you.

Edit.

I forgot to add some snippets from the book, so here they are 🙂

There is a silent calm travelling through his life, it permeates his being, his actions, his connections: he is a tree amongst the noises of humanity. Sometimes he thought of himself as wandering in soulless oblivion, then he thought of himself as wandering in search of she who understands. She who is equal to his silence; she who is the shadow to his tree, or he the shadow of hers.

~

Sitting one time in the silence and deathly stillness of an emerging sunrise he had a moment of acuity, for there on the horizon time was being born. He became aware of how mighty is silence and stillness and of how, even for a few seconds, this gap in time was magical and eternal. He lived in this moment and came to see the endless possibilities of thought.

~

The raven in the sunshine gleams in its blackness. Its bulky shadow gives flight to its consciousness and thus its intelligence. Its beak points while those eyes, looking beyond what mere humans can see, penetrate the arena and off into the fields of time and mystery where the knowledge of all things become known. The raven in the sunshine gleams deep in the pleasure of its secrets, and at once he sees the beauty of it all, but seeing is not having. He can hear the distant musicians. He can see the collection of art. He can see the butterfly dazzling the flower with its own beauty. He can see the clouds as they move in their silent caress of the universe. He can see the colours of humanity, and at once the pain of it all struck him with sharp needles of confusion.

~

Naked are the stars in winter as they caress the evening sky with their immense solitude, like so many leaves blinking when they fall and flutter in the breeze as moonlight kisses them. He lays upon the ground watching the rhythmic blinking where he drifts into an unconscious moment of trepidation. Dare he allow himself to sink into the flesh of life shining above him? Dare he allow his soul to touch those many deaths and births? Dare he begin to forget her so he can begin to know her? Dare he and if he dares, how does he begin?

Rainwater

With each step
we write our lives
with quills dipped in rainwater
for as soon as it is written
it fades under the glare of happiness
or is washed away by storms of solitude

The mere act of dipping
is enough to send ripples along to the roots of Gaia’s smile
where she drinks in the questions of us mortal masterpieces
for as soon as it is written
our souls, our spirits, our hearts and our minds become
lost in the frustrations of being unable to comprehend
the reasons why we are given such beauty
only for it to be washed away

The act of being kind to the rains as they fall
brings its own rewards
for when we write our lives
with quills of love
we shall be given
in return
the truth of how to live in the now moments
of how to flow over storm-crusted stepping stones of haste
and of how to write with rainwater
and know there are no answers except for those we create

When we write with rainwater
the sun shines
and the storms rage
as we breathe
know and feel
the beauty of existence

~

Another poem from before that seems to resonate with the way things are going nowadays.

From 2017 published in After the Rain.

Darkness begins

Darkness begins
when the appreciation of love
falls away

it settles upon us
becomes a comfort
a knitted shadow
a perfect fit

We never truly believe
never quite fully
in the life of love
for to do so would negate
the existence of life

and there is the darkness
whispering
its secrets

Pool on the sill

I hear it’s November
but the rains sound the same

The birds, I hear
and see as they drink from puddles

I hear my radiators
clicking, groaning
so it must be a chilly November
but it all feels the same

I see it’s grey out there
and suddenly the birds are silent
as I watch dribbling condensation
pool on the sill

I swim in that pool
and feel a tremendous hankering
to evaporate.

Eye of the storm

It’s
understandable I suppose

we reach a point
where nothing exists

we reach that moment
when birds fail

and the trees
already slow in their time
inhale the heartbeats of life

One dares not
open the door
for fear of the shattering

and the not knowing
of what lies
beyond the silence

 

clouds

to understand
to be aware
to acknowledge

clouds
those blankets
of peacefulness and violence

we reach beyond
to that shroud
whence we came

perhaps to understand freedom
perhaps to be aware of love
perhaps to acknowledge our failures

And there are those clouds
gone in a whisper
in the time it takes to write a poem