Struggles with free form poetry

It’s not often I get a change to sit and write some verse. I find it takes a lot more concentration than if if I’m writing prose, and I don’t often find the time, or indeed the quietness, around me to help with the process.

So I’m pleased I managed to get a few moments to scrape together the verse below. Of course, I’ve no idea whether it’s any good or not, but offer it up as a sacrifice to the great blog reading world.

The idea is simple enough – trying to imagine what man might become if he finally travels to the stars only to find he truly is alone in the Universe. It’s certainly not a poem for the optimists.

I’ve not got a proper title yet, though ‘Species in a Bottle’ sprung to mind.

Through the hush of vacuum I/We travelled so far, far

Searching the next horizon always

Until there was no more horizon to search

And all that was left was the black.

I/We were not always thus.

Once I was not I but many We’s.

Way then I/We struck out from the misty rock

That had born me/us.

We sallied forth to

Our near companions

With the thrill of youth in our blood

And the certainty that

Amongst the billions of stars

There would be many like us.

In those first years our solitude hindered us not

We played within the voids between worlds

Turned their deserts into oasis

Plundering treasures as we progressed.

The Universe was our toy thing.

We blossomed like bacteria

Upon its surface.

Until the day came when our misty rock died.

The blow orphaned us; left us stunned.

Uncomprehending we paused and stared into the timeless abyss.

We knew the sun had to one day claim our world

But the shock spun us inward.

We came together

To shun death forever

Knowing we were alone and vulnerable.

We became I

And I/We voyaged on

The collective memories of We bound within.

This lonely blip upon the void is me/us

Crossing this forever nothing

Without destination

Vainly sending out message after message to the neverness

Longing to be answered

Knowing the only reply

Is the echo of my/ourselves.

Through the hush of vacuum I/We travelled so far, far

Searching the next horizon always

Until there was no more horizon to search

And all that was left was the black.

Check out Shadowtime blog – it’s neat

Came across this neat little story from a fellow writer doing gread stuff through WordPress. Check it, and other tales out at http://shadowstime.wordpress.com/the-twittering/. There’s fab artwork to go with the story, too.

I’ve got a new story on WeBook

I’ve just submitted onto Webook a new version of a story I wrote four years ago. I took a fresh look at it, dusted it down, and decided it was worth a punt to the wider world.

It starts…

As in all unremarkable towns in all uneventful shires, people kept out of the public eye and lived and worked civilly with one another. When the story broke the population of the sleepy town of B_ were stunned to find dreadful things happening in their midst; that one of their own folk could turn out so bad as to have perpetrated all the deeds attributed to him; and in the publicity that followed, many of the citizens damned the man for all he was worth and longed for the cameras and reporters of the national press to get bored with the story and leave them to their anonymity.

George Armsley, an unassuming man with a hunched-up back and a peculiar scuttling gait, really was up to no good. For years he lived alone in his terraced house in Portman Street; always a loner, after the death of his parents in a freakish accident he became a recluse. His neighbours considered him pleasant enough, all the same. He would greet them with Hello’s and How-do-you-do’s whenever he met with one of them in the street, and appeared to be above-board and honest. These same neighbours did remark sometime afterward that he never seemed to have had a job as such, but they put that down to the disability caused by his hunch. Only with hindsight might anyone have guessed that Mr Armsley was in any way sinister. That is, until the unthinkable happened during an otherwise perfectly normal night, when someone ran into the local police station in a very frightened and hysterical manner indeed.

If you are interested in reading more, check it out on:

http://www.webook.com/project/Luciana-and-other-tales

A wee poem -thought I should post some proper content

Right, here’s something that’s not on webook. This is a couple of years old and I guess was inspired by the birth of my daughter and an irrational fear of losing her. How that resolved itself was in this little fairy tale poem.

Lilli Loo (Scots for Lullaby)

Puir mammy sits beside the hearth
The fire is roarin fu
Her broo is doon upo her hauns
Nae suir o wit tae do

For babie cries within his cot
His lungs ca piercing sair
His mammy’s tether tied in knots
She cannie dae nae mair.

Daddie will frae work return
Afore this oor is done
She maun get up an chiel placate
Must sooth tae sleep her son.

Ootside the babie’s cries ring oot
Ayont his hame’s stane wa’s
An passin strangers turn their heids
Tush-tushin at his ca.

Look! Upo their step arrives
An auld maid garbed in black
Her back’s a bent agin the wind
Her hood is flattened back

A bony haun she raises up
An knocks upo their door
Her gnarled fingers tap-tap-tap
- She waits then raps aince more.

Mammy thinks she hears a sound
Behind her babie’s birl
But the oor is early yet
For faither’s freenly smile.

Up she gets an maks her wae
Taewards the quiet soond
Afore she can bid the crone ‘guid-nicht!’
The carlin’s in her room.

Auld frazzled face wi cheeks sae gaunt
An threaded whisps o hair
The woman’s ees are dark, dark, dark
An stare, an stare, an stare.

Her voice wad be an angels
Whae’d climbed up frae the Pit
Still mammy listens intently
As the words pass frae her lips

‘Ma dear Ah couldna help but hear
Yon chiel o yours complainin
Ma hert fair rang wi sympathy
- Ah ken yer situation.

‘Ah hae lived upo this warld
Mair years than Ah remember
Mony a chiel hae blown this wey
That Ah hae made surrender

‘Sae wipe yer broo an calm yer breath
An ease back by the fire
An let me tak command o him
- He’ll syne begin tae tire.’

“Guid lady mony thanks tae ye
Whae’s brocht me help unbidden
But could ye please tell tae me
Yer name amangst the livin’?”

Auld hag taks babe in her airms
- He’s smiling and gurgling noo -
An says while rockin the totty lad
‘They ca me Lilli Loo.’

The lady urges mammy sit
Then sits a-doon herseel
The logs upo the fire spit
An a seems michty weel

Feel the heat upo yer face
Lass, feel yer tension ease
Babie stretches safely snug
Upo Lilli’s soothing knees

Lilly’s voice is lifted up
A soun sae clear an true
Lilli o the lullabies
Sings My wee croodlin’ doo

In mammy’s heid the tune plays sweet
Her foot tip-taps in time
Lilli rocks the babie roon
He’ll be sleepin syne.

Heavy are his mammy’s ees
Syne a her troubles wane
An dreams begin tae crowd ahind
Willie WInkie’s games.

Deep she gauns intae her sleep
Far doon tae dreams o mirth
Quiet crackles through the room
Frae fires deep inside the Earth.

Until the door thuds off its latch
An faither steps within
Mammy on her stool sleepin
Lilli naewhaur tae be seen

An no! Faither looks aroon
An whit a yell he ca’s
Mammy wakes wi a stairt
An off her stool she fa’s.

Faither is by babie’s cot
Empty bar his sook
An naewhaur within the hoose
Lies faither’s little Duke!

Dread an fear together spread
A veil across the couple;
Whaur was the wee sma man
Whae’d gied them o this trouble?

Nae inside the hoose, an nae
Oot in the street
The couple quickly drew a blank;
They traced not Lilli’s feet.

Forever lost the little man
Agin his cries won’t ca
His happy laugh beside the hearth
Was lost tae yin an a’.

An Lilli o the dirty deed?
She’s aye listenin for her cue
O a babie sair an ca’in oot
An needin Lilli Loo.

My interests and current work.

The type of writing I do mirrors what I enjoy reading. So my work  is mostly, though not exclusively, in the sci-fi/fantasy/horror areas. I’ve got a small collection of short stories written in Scots rather than English, and a bit of poetry scattered around various places. Some of that has been published in anthologies.

I’m currently working on my first novel – it was a short story, but seems to have grown legs. Nothing wrong with that; its scope was always too large for a short story anyway. I’d say I’m about half way through the first draft. One day I might even get it completed and try and get it published.

What’s great is I’m getting a lot of help and advice from a Webook friend. It’s a great community for aspiring writers to get involved with. And it’s fantastic to know you are not the only person in the world struggling to put the ideas in your head onto paper.

If anyone is interested, take a look. It’s at www.webook.com.

Added links to this blog

I’ve added some links to the blog.

Two of these go to projects on the WeBook community; the first to my short story collection ‘Luciana’ (http://www.webook.com/project/Luciana-and-other-tales), the other to the ‘New U’ project (http://www.webook.com/project/New-U) where I have a submission called ‘Home’.

I’ve also linked to my new geocities web site at http://www.geocities.com/clarkalan89. There’s nothing stories or poems on there yet, but I’ll be looking to remedy that over the coming weeks and months.

I’ve linked to GoodReads too, as its another community I spend a lot of time on; and finallyI’ve put in some links for my family, ’cause I really couldn’t leave them out.

If you are passing through, please drop by some of these sites.

Thanks

Alan

Hello, Blog Readers of the World

Yes, I know the title isn’t very original, but as I am dipping my toe into the blogging universe for the first time, I thought I’d tread lightly. The main point of this first post is to tell whoever is interested what I hope to discuss on here: writing. I am a keen amateur writer of short stories and poetry, and one day hope to ‘graduate’ to writing novels. (Not that short story writing or poetry are in any way lesser art forms, of course!)

In my dreams I’d love to drop the word ‘amateur’ from the above paragraph; maybe one day that dream will come true, but all I can do just now is practice, practice, practice…