Massive thanks to @behind-the-veil-of-sanity for this! I can’t say much yet as I haven’t had a chance to read too far, but I can say it’s not just a poetry book. It’s a work of art. It’s a reminder of why a real book is, to me, superior to an ebook – as is sort of mentioned in the preface. And, on a personal note, when I first saw the cover it made me smile as I’ve been dying to get back out into nature (and I’m working on it).
So yes, I just had to post about this because I’m genuinely excited to read it 🖤 and I really think other people will be too. October 23rd I believe – get it bought!!
I’m just very happy to have friends who don’t mind being exposed to my experimental outlet. The word is just one aspect of I want to explore. Writing for the page is different to writing for other media. The page, as a three dimensional object also enables me to express ideas I couldn’t otherwise.
My new poetry collection will go on sale on October 23, 2021. There’s plenty of pages, lots of words, and various symbols to get your head around. Crayons are optional.
More often than in years passed My well of wise words has turned dry, As I toss the bucket in and slowly Draw it up I expect nothing but hollow air, Nothing but the dusty remains of Something I once cherished,
A surplus of matter,
A stray comma and a full stop later Behind a pile of abrupt line Endings, I find a single No,
No – this will not do,
Even a journeyman aught to carry More in their wicker Basket,
I'm all too mindful to find another Well, another source of Inspirational sorrow, Too much time wasted in worry Over duplicity and calls for petty Plagiarism,
No longer a lurking man Seldom tumbling in search of The golden nuggets To light my day or drown my night, Lesser so I speak my mind in matters of love, in matters of Like And their inevitable disconnect ...
My alter egos howl Wanting attention I cannot provide, The true self sits and Ponder, The thoughts wander Between white ceilings and The purpose of barren walls,
Turning deaf ears to all A wax filled finger to every soul That matters, to all that Encroach, in truth to all Still a-breathing
No – this will not do,
Today I will rave In twilight I will rage Tonight I will escape and Paint this weary town
More often than in years passed My well of wise words has turned dry, As I toss the bucket in and slowly Draw it up I expect nothing but hollow air, Nothing but the dusty remains of Something I once cherished,
A surplus of matter,
A stray comma and a full stop later Behind a pile of abrupt line Endings, I find a single No,
No – this will not do,
Even a journeyman aught to carry More in their wicker Basket,
I'm all too mindful to find another Well, another source of Inspirational sorrow, Too much time wasted in worry Over duplicity and calls for petty Plagiarism,
No longer a lurking man Seldom tumbling in search of The golden nuggets To light my day or drown my night, Lesser so I speak my mind in matters of love, in matters of Like And their inevitable disconnect ...
My alter egos howl Wanting attention I cannot provide, The true self sits and Ponder, The thoughts wander Between white ceilings and The purpose of barren walls,
Turning deaf ears to all A wax filled finger to every soul That matters, to all that Encroach, in truth to all Still a-breathing
No – this will not do,
Today I will rave In twilight I will rage Tonight I will escape and Paint this weary town
