Where did 2016 Disappear to?

So another year has swept silently by, taking with it many of my heroes into the ether that is the afterlife. Although last year for me seemed to be a never ending stream of loss and disappointment,  It was also a very productive one. I completed a number of projects. Some of them were ghost writing projects for others, but I have also moved the follow up to Five Daughters Of Spite along considerably.  Moving on from the theme of Spite as an entity, this collection reflects upon those human emotions that hold us back and chain us to our mundane existence, More details to follow shortly, but I hope to have this second collection of poetry published by the second half of this year.

The prodigal writer

I was surprised to see that I had neglected my blog since July 2014. The time since then has been a bit of a blur for me, a number of challenges have meant my writing had taken a back seat. In order to write, one has to read and also gain life experience. I'm fortunate in that in my new role as a consultant I get to travel quite a bit so reading and gaining new experiences have been in plentiful supply.  It made sense to me that the writing drought should be broken by taking part in the flash challenge that is the prediction, as that is the place where I first started taking my writing seriously.
My first piece in about 12 months is over at  http://predictionfiction.blogspot.co.uk so why not take a look or have a go yourself, new writers are always welcome, as well as lost sheep returning to the fold.

No Sight For The Saved

I'm more than a little Excited today, because  No Sight For The Saved has been launched, an anthology of work inspired by a great artist of the horror genre Niall Parkinson. I'm a big fan of Niall's work so I'm incredibly proud to be one of the authors chosen to be in this anthology. Each written piece is inspired by and accompanied by an image of an original art work by Niall. Grab the opportunity to own a great book on kindle.

No Sight For The Saved - Amazon UK

No Sight For The Saved - Amazon USA

Days of madness starts tomorrow

The schedule for Days of Madness has now been published. My offering  "The Talking Hand" goes online on Wednesday the 19th. However I am totally overwhelmed by the talent that surrounds me that I would urge that you visit starting tomorrow to read some great original fiction. Days of madness

Great News

The authors of this years Days of Madness (DOM) have been announced over at Chris Allinote's Leaky Pencil.
I'm very proud and honoured to have been chosen to be amongst some very fine company, some fantastic talent for whom I hold a great admiration.

You can keep up with the madness over at http://chrisallinotte.blogspot.co.uk which starts 15/03/2014

The Winter of Eternity from Five Daughters of Spite

The Winter of Eternity

 The wind sweeps through this forgotten seaside town,

everyone has left now the sun is not around.

Every bone in pain, my body a colander to the wind,

bent double in wretched agony, I move on.

I scour the beach and town in search of you,

through places you’ve likely never been.

A delicate yet frantic search,

for the girl that no one’s seen.

Your face etched into my retina,

my eyes exhausted of their tears.

This loss has ripped the soul from me,

and drained me of my years

If I had held your hand more tightly,

taught you to defend yourself from harm.

To run from things unsightly,

and avoid those speaking words that charm.

Would our world be any different?

Would you still be with us now?

Or would this winter of eternity

Still be upon us now?

William Davoll (C) 2012

From the The-Five-Daughters-Spite  Available on Amazon

Invisible

As it's Mothers day today, this is for all those mums that will be forgotten, tucked away in hospitals and care homes up and down the country.

Invisible

Invisible like a pebble in a moat, I lay and wait all day.

Reality is a slur in my mind; my perception’s almost blind.

A lovely man holds my hand, till noon every day

He tells me he’s my husband and I often wish he’d stay.

The daytime nurses chat with everyone but me!

I call out, but they don’t hear, they shut my curtains so I can’t see.

At night they leave me laying in my soaking wet nightdress,

they disconnected my panic button, so I can’t alert my distress.

My son arrives, every day he brings me something from the shop.

If he knew what’s been going on, he’d make this cruelty stop,

but he has his own troubles, and worry clouds the beauty of his face,

so a mothers love cannot reveal the depth of my carers disgrace.

Judge ye not, lest thee be Judged

I'm extremely proud to have been awarded pole postion at Phil Amblers Prediction by last weeks winner R R Kovar.  Hearty congratulations also to runner up Clarkythecruel. Now I must face the trial of judging next weeks entries and selecting a winner, a though task when the entries are of such a high standard. Why not drop in and see how I  get on in my  time slot in the nice purple velvet judges chair So while I settle into the still warm cushions, I present my winning piece.

Shabby Chic

She didn’t like the curtains at first, but had to admit she was a convert now the swag was pulled tight around Sebastian’s neck. The disgusting vermilion material suited the gasping pallor of his pleading face. As life departed, a damp patch bloomed in the crotch of his tightly packed Italian slacks. She smiled a cold calculated satisfaction, “£10,000 for curtains and a tub of crimson emulsion.” She muttered to herself. Thanks to his dodgy stepladders, the whole thing looked like a mishap. At least Sebastian finally lived up to the promise of his slogan, “Rooms to die for…”

Bloody hell I won.

I was absolutely bowled over not to mentioned surprised to win last weeks flash prediction amongst a strong field over at Phil Amblers Blog. Congratulations to John Xero for winning runner up, with an excellent piece. 


Consort

It started off with stomach cramps, a bitter malady that bent me double. When the final facet of my agony manifested, it forced me onto all fours shrieking like a dog. Finally the homunculus issued forth from betwixt my thighs tearing my manhood as it left my body. I looked at the cat face of my newborn. Cloven hooves, assuring me of his immortal parentage, as he took to the wing the brackish scent of sulphurous brimstone wafted across the air.
Consort with the devil? Aye I did Sir, now I am jointly both father and mother to his child.

Joint Runner up at Phil Amblers Prediction

I'm truly honoured to be jointrunner up along with the extremely talented Sean Adams at Phil Amblers weekly Prediction, This weeks winner was Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw with her fine entry quite literally  to die for   Congratulations to Veronica and Sean.

This weeks words were Cockle, Shake, & Lily I spent the week mulling over what I should write then as fate would have it, I came home to discover a cockle shell in the plant pot on my doorstep, thus my piece was born.

The Mighty Have Fallen

They started turning up all over our estate about a month ago; we thought they were cockles at first. Those that tried eating them shook in agony, as their mistaken delicacies devoured them from the inside out, leaving nought but soft soapy bones.

Nothing stopped them, even the government failed. Where they came from, no one knew. Tower block Lily knew though. Every night she cackled on the rooftop, her sightless eyes wide and milky grey, looking to the sky as she guided wave after wave of the conquerors to earth, as they fell silently from the sky like snow.

In Memoriam - Terry Holter

Today is yet another anniversary of the passing of my good friend Terry Holter. I didn't realise how good a friend he was, or the measure of his wisdom at a time when I had the opportunity to tell him. He fought his illness with dignity, and still had time to help others with their day to day problems. although I wrote the first verse of this poem last year, long after his passing I had Terry the fighter in mind when I wrote it. 

At that time I was still angry at his passing. On this anniversay I don't want to feel my anger at his life cut short, I want to feel the peace that I know he must feel now watching over his family and friends.

Rest in peace my friend, I carry your wisdom in my mind, and your compassion in my heart.

A Cowboys last ride

He’s riding through Death’s valley, on a mission heading south.
In another world above his bed, a sign says “Nil by mouth”
He’s catatonic, and a cowboy riding right up to Death’s door.
He’s gonna kick him up the arsehole, and give that shit what for.
He’s an angry desperado, who’s going to set the record straight,
He’s much too young and vibrant to breast them pearly Gates.
Sadly Death can never lose if a fight is to the Death
So bear that thought in mind when you draw your final breath.

Our rider slows his horse to a canter then with pride 

dismounts and takes his hat off, with a smile that’s big and wide.

He knows his fight is over, but a better life awaits, every negative is left behind along with earthly hates.

His life is celebrated with his family and his friends, because they celebrate his memory his life will never end.

He’s free to ride the prairie for as long as he dictates, until he wants to head to the homestead that’s beyond those pearly gates.

Bathtime for Alice

This weeks entry for Lily Childs Friday prediction a brilliant fun writing competition held every week take a look and why not join in. Alice is the protagonist in a longer project I'm working on. After a month of drought on her story a poem came forth.

Bathtime for Alice

Alice likes painting arms, in shades of pumping red.

It’s what her demons bid her, from deep inside her head.

Swallowed by an institution, for a child that was never born.

The shocks designed to help her forget, and leave her memories torn.

Strapped naked in the bathtub, all she can do is lay.

She’s easy pickings for the warders and the vicious games they play.

Like a missionary in a stew pot, they know not what they brew.

They ramp the voltage upwards and her thoughts become a stew.

Sin, No Sin, the evil souls come in!

The Morning after the Peace before. Wins this weeks Feardom Flash

I'm really pleased that my poem was selected as the winner for last weeks Friday Flash competition @ Lily Childs Feardom. BTW if you haven't already you can get Lily Childs latest book Magenta Shamen Stones the crows for Kindle @ Amazon. I'm reading it at the moment, and I'm hooked.

The Morning after the Peace before.

Quietly dawn rises, and she’s full of surprises.
Yesterday’s peace has been taught to beg.
Death lifts from the field like an affectionate veil,
The first life’s taken out, with a scrape of her nail.
No football today both teams are away, the shooting is for their own goals.
Then the bleakest of hell, screams out of the Mustard shells.
Skin burning like it’s on hot coals.
We hide under ground where our bodies were found, with all of our masks caught adrift.
The protection of boy’s from the horror of war is no time for talking bout thrift.

                                  -~-

PAX Ex-

False Idol

She raises me on pedestals like a pharaoh, or a king.
Nothing ever touches me; I’m her hero, my praise she’ll sing.
She thinks I stride my chosen path to sweep all fears away, and will not ever suffer strife; I’ll scare the demons away.
In truth I’m just a man, a fraud, no god like powers. I work hard to remain her idol, by putting in the hours.
Fair faith such as hers makes the cynic in me glad, her surging spirit carries me, and makes me proud that I’m her Dad.

On Forbidden Love

She loves me, she loves she not.
Her chiding words draped me in sorrow.
Her smiling chastisement “there's always tomorrow.”
My gift of Flowers strewn, and left to decay, like my hope for her forbidden love.
Together on her silken bale, I found them locked a grotesque entanglement of betrayal.
An end to their love, as they put an end to mine, through shattered vase and flowers, for my courtships wasted hours.
The crimson spray of their demise illuminating cream linen, with splaying lines,
A tear for every Petal fallen, I am the Publisher of my passionate crime.

I finally submitted something to a print anthology. GULP!

I took the family out for a picnic and ramble through a local forest last weekend. As the kids went off and played, we got to discussing plans and where our lives were going.  I mentioned to my supportive and beloved wife that I'd had an idea kicking around since last year, but I'd done nothing with it and now the deadline was a week away. Thus began my roller coaster week, where I resurrected a stagant idea with a strong central character, and went from a 200 word precise to 5168 in five days. I've discovered that I have some bad capitalisation habits not to mention I evolved a nervous tic where I thought closer but typed closure through the whole document. What would Freud say. Luckily a patient wife proof read it for me twice, and it's now submitted. Now comes the pacing.

My Entry for Lily's Friday Prediction

My entry for Lily Childs Feardom 

Cul De Sac

Invisible like a pebble in a moat, I lay and wait all day.
Reality is a slur in my mind, my perception almost blind.
A lovely man holds my hand, my husband so he says, arrives early and stays till he’s shooed away.

At night they leave me laying in my soaking wet nightdress, they disconnected my panic button, so I can’t alert my distress.

My son arrives. If he knew, he’d make this cruelty stop, but worry clouds the beauty of his face, so a mothers love can not reveal the depth of my carers disgrace.

I didn't mean to kill him, it just kind of happened. I've been gently rocking back and forth in my chair arms wrapped around my chest in a attempt at self comforting, thinking what have I done, what have I fucking done, FFS. If I had a few extra words to give I might of been able to save him, but no I had to go for the Killer line and making his last words cyptic or pure comedy if your not aware of Epsteins sculpture. Tench will be back. I wrote this piece for Lily's Friday Prediction


Case closed
Tench stood watch under the spire of Coventry’s bombed out Cathedral, looking every bit the undertaker, cold and alone. What he grudgingly needed right now was the high gloss of Selling’s humour to keep him going. He felt something sharp hit the back of his neck and a wet numbness began to roam down his spine, making him shudder. As his end came near, He laughed in realisation, Epstein had used a milk bottle to fashion the devils shaft. “The Devils penis is a milk bottle!” were his final words. St Michael smiled down on him, then perfect oblivion.

~End~

Coventry Cathedral displays the sculpture of St Michael vanquishing the Devil by Epstein on the wall next to the entrance steps. Daringly Epstein envisioned the Devil as being naked. Having personally spent hours waiting on the steps of Coventry Cathedral for one reason or another I had a morbid fascination with the Naked DEvil, it finally Dawned on me that Epstein had used a milk bottle to create the penis, causing me to exclaim the very line used by Tench.

Lily's Friday Prediction-8th July-2011

I didn't intend to write this then I was flicking through some old photographs at the weekend and discovered a picture tucked inside a note book with just the title and a date written. On my walk into work this morning this kept coming back to play.

Toxic Girlfriend 1993

My head is tangled in a toxic space where you define what goes, you’re the kind of girl that cuts off your face but only to spite your nose.

When you gatecrashed your way into my life, you were like an incision to my heart.

I went from a life so promising, straight to the end with no middle part.

Your desires are set to suffocate; you’re a covering like a septic crust.

You’re not dealing with a full deck love, your aces are missing, and if this were blackjack I’d be bust.

this weeks entry for lily's prediction

I'm on the cusp of getting a Kindle 3G, but my inner voice says hold on theres a discount around the corner with the Kindle 3G with Special offers bound to come to the UK soon now Fathers day is over.

Well at least it's brilliant week over at Lily childs feardom with a fantastic new piece from Lily, a DVD recommendation and the brilliant Friday prediction here's my entry.

Khyams Box

He dared to open Khyam’s box, the gilded letters bore her warning “What does not start has no end”

Watching the sands float through the hour glass within began to hypnotise him.

“Each of those granules is a Soul” Khyam whispered into his sub-consciousness, “See how the sand is never emptied from the top, that’s because a new soul is born, to replace those lost, you are lost too Cabannon”

Cabannon felt the ebb and flow till it overwhelmed his being, his soul billowed in the breeze, till he too became dust, swept away by Khyams tsunami of the soul.