R. Harrison's Blog, page 34
January 19, 2016
Sea Violet
H. D., 1886 – 1961
The white violet
is scented on its stalk,
the sea-violet
fragile as agate,
lies fronting all the wind
among the torn shells
on the sand-bank.
The greater blue violets
flutter on the hill,
but who would change for these
who would change for these
one root of the white sort?
Violet
your grasp is frail
on the edge of the sand-hill,
but you catch the light—
frost, a star edges with its fire.
These aren’t actually violets in the picture, but it is an evocative image nonetheless.
January 18, 2016
Frankenkitty #indiebooksbeseen #newbook
I released the book I’ve been putting little bits out on with weekend writing warriors.
Poor Mr. Snuffles, all nine lives gone in the squeal of a tire and the screech of brakes. His person, Jennifer, is in tears at her loss. Her neighbor, Mrs. Jones, a German war bride and about to move into assisted living has a treat for her. Being the grand-niece of a certain Transylvanian doctor, she has a treat for Jennifer. The good doctor’s laboratory notebooks. Thus begins the convoluted story of how a cat becomes Frankenkitty, upsetting the status quo ante in a sleepy college town. Mayhem abounds in this young-adult themed novelette.
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To Rosa
Abraham Lincoln
You are young, and I am older;
You are hopeful, I am not—
Enjoy life, ere it grow colder—
Pluck the roses ere they rot.
Teach your beau to heed the lay—
That sunshine soon is lost in shade—
That now’s as good as any day—
To take thee, Rosa, ere she fade.
(yes, that Abraham Lincoln)
January 17, 2016
Dartmoor story IX #amwriting #WIP
The start of the story can be found here.
Following from the last section
A new chapter. Sylvester insists on attending Sunday service, and Elizabeth makes a new friend.
Mrs Grace smiled at him, her Lucy often needed the same reminder. “I’ll send them along, and just hope they don’t wander off on the way.”
Meanwhile, Lucy and Elizabeth were quickly becoming friends. Lucy asked, “Elizabeth, have you had much time to explore?”
“No, I only arrived a few days ago.”
“First-rate! Then I can show you around. There are so many places around here that are right out of Coleridge or Wordsworth. It will take your breath away.”
“Given that I came here to help cure my consumption, I’d rather keep by breath.”
“Are you well?”
“So much better than I was. The country air must agree with me. I’d love for you to show me your favourite places.”
“I know just the place, and it’s near Barnecourt.”
Two hours later, after Lucy had changed into rambling clothes, and they had walked to Barnecourt, and after Elizabeth had changed, they walked down the farm lane to the base of Hunters’ Tor. Lucy said, “We won’t go all the way to Manaton, but the stream, you simply must see it.”
Elizabeth remained silent as she drank in the beauty. While she had visited woods and farms during family outings, it had never been on her own, just walking with a companion. Eventually as they approached the stream and could hear it gurgling over the rocks she said, “Nothing like this in London. It’s both quiet and noisy at the same time.”
When they reached the side of the stream, they sat and listened to it as the water flowed over the stones. Mayflies fluttered noiselessly around, while the sun peaked through the canopy above and showed beams through the misty forest air. Lucy pulled a slim volume of verse from her pocket and began to read. “This one is by Coleridge and I like to read it here.”
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.
Lucy sighed when she was finished. Coleridge was so romantic, so beautiful, so fitting to this quiet stream.
“What’s an amaranth?” Elizabeth, ever practical, asked after they had been silent for a few minutes’ contemplation.
“Some flower or another, I suppose. The poet says they bloom.”
By now, flies, midges and mosquitoes had joined the mayflies that were hovering around them. After a few, well-placed slaps, the two decided that it was time to move on instead of remaining there to feed the wildlife. Even if it was a romantic place. Lucy led her friend by a different route on the way back to Barnecourt.
They crossed over one of the stone stiles that separated field, and were picking their way carefully through the muddy pool of sticky dark bovine muck that often accompanied stiles, when Lucy stopped and pointed at the far end of the field.
“That’s new!’
“What is?”
“They look like fresh graves.”
“Can’t be. Not here. Not in North Bovey.”
The two young women ran over to see what it was. Traced on the ground, using sand and ashes, in front of them was a nearly perfect pentagon, with a five pointed star inscribed inside. A goat’s head, recently killed, sat on a stake in the middle and stared at them. It had a particularly annoyed and disapproving look about it, as though the two women were not quite the quality of company it expected to associate with. The crows and ravens had already begun to deflesh the skull, which left it with an especially macabre expression. Four of the corners had flat boards sunk into the ground. The boards had characters written in an obscure script on each as well as one of the pentagons with its inscribed star on it.
“Do you know what they say?” Lucy asked.
“No,” Elizabeth replied, although had she looked at the bracelet her uncle gave her, she would have recognized the lettering. “It looks like something out of the middle ages. A coven, a gathering of witches or black magic.”
The wind shifted and brought with it the scent of decaying goat. It was followed by a swarm of flies, newly hatched from their goat-head nursery.
Lucy turned and ran for the far side of the field, and once she crossed the stile, waited for Elizabeth. She was not far behind, although she had to catch her breath before she could cross out of the field and into the lane beyond.
“What now?”
“I should tell my father. The souls of this parish are in his charge. We can’t have that kind of devil worship, not here in Dartmoor and not in my father’s parish.”
Elizabeth looked both ways down the lane. It was just turning dusty, in the few days since the last rain, and the trees arched above it. The verges were covered in grass and nettles. In contrast to the abomination in the field, it looked refreshingly usual, a country lane like so many others. She said, “I haven’t a clue which way takes me to Barnecourt or indeed how far it is.”
Then she gave a quiet cough, the start of several in a row. Once started she couldn’t stop.
“Are you well?” Lucy asked, listening to her friend hack away.
“I’m dreadfully tired.”
“It’s closer to my home,” Lucy replied, “We’ll walk there, and I’ll drive you back in the pony cart.”
She began to help Elizabeth walk with her, but after only a few hundred yards Elizabeth turned to her and said, “Lucy, can I rest here? I’m knackered.”
Lucy helped her friend to sit. “Wait here, I’ll be back with my father and the cart.”
Elizabeth nodded, “Thank you. I’ll be fine. Just need a rest.”
Lucy, worried that it might turn into a very long rest, one six feet underground in a deal box, ran to get her father.
When they returned, half an hour later, Elizabeth was gone.
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January 16, 2016
FrankenKitty 14 #wewriwar #amwriting
(Some assembly required)
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This is a sample from my work in progress, “Frankenkitty”, and I hope you enjoy it. It started out as a young-adult superhero book, and well, you’ll see. In last week’s snippet, the girls have a boy, Jimmy, join the team. Not only as the lab’s ‘Igor,’ but actually someone with relevant skills. Next week, they awaken a Gerbil. But first, the hardware needs adjusting.
“There was a clumping noise as Mrs. Gross descended the stairs; she was both pleased and worried that her daughter now numbered a boy among her friends.
Amber introduced Jimmy to her, “Mom this is Jimmy; he’s an amateur, what was it?”
“Amateur Extra; Amber and Mary wanted me to look at their device. See if there was something wrong with it and make it work without bringing down the town power grid.”
“Oh, can you; I mean is it safe?”
“I built my own kilowatt amplifier, for moonbounce; haven’t electrocuted anyone, yet.”
Amber’s mother smiled, “Well, don’t burn down the house; remember your promise Amber.”
“Yes Mother.”
“And don’t electrocute anyone either; I’ll be upstairs.”
It didn’t take Jimmy long to find the problem with the machine, “You don’t have an independent ground.”
Moonbounce is radio communication via bouncing VHF radio off the moon. Amateur radio operators can, if they’re so interested, do it.
This is a work in progress.
My book “The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven” is finally out!
Get Free Stuff and try out my landing page. There are two free complete short stories available after you’ve gone through the hoops.
January 15, 2016
Want a free book? How about giving me a review?
My latest work, “ The curious profession of Dr. Craven” is finally, finally out. Now I’m depending on the kindness of strangers. Unfortunately my name isn’t Blanche, although I wonder? No, my wife wouldn’t appreciate it, and she’s worth it.
Anyway, it’s fully legitimate for me to give, yes give you a copy as long as you are willing to review the book.
Here’s one review, so you wouldn’t be wasting your time.
5 stars.
The politics of love and marriage
The politics of love and marriage, the growing science of medicine and the machinations of an archaic society. Add to that the nefarious activities of grave robbers, and you have a heady mix of the sublime and the ridiculous. The path to true love is often rocky,...
So if you’re daring, able, and interested, maybe this is something you should try.
January 14, 2016
Moth Moon
Florence Ripley Mastin
Moth Moon, a-flutter in the lilac tree,
With pollen of the white stars on thy wings,
Oh! would I shared thy flight, thy fantasy,
The aimless beauty of thy brightenings!
A worker, wed to Purpose and Things,
Earth-worn I turn from Day’s sufficiency.
One lethéd hour that duty never brings,
Oh! one dim hour to drift, Moth Moon, with thee!
About the moth
The picture shows a Luna Moth shortly after it has climbed out of it’s pupa case. It was taken in early spring, after the moth’s awoke from diapause – winter hibernation. I was lucky to catch it at the time.
January 13, 2016
Dartmoor story VIII #amwriting #WIP
The start of the story can be found here.
Following from the last section
A new chapter. Sylvester insists on attending Sunday service.
Uncle Sylvester knocked on Elizabeth’s door in the morning. “Sleep well?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. It’s Sunday and that means church. Time to rise.”
Elizabeth threw on her house dress and descended for breakfast. “Uncle, where are Mr and Mrs Trent?” She helped herself to the porridge that burbled on the range.
“They’re non-conformists, dissenters. I let them use the trap. Don’t like Sunday travelling as a rule myself, but they have an excuse. We’ll walk to St. Michael’s in North Bovey. It’s not far. Unless you’re still feeling weak.”
She smiled, “I haven’t felt this strong in at least a year. You were right about the value of country air. What’s wrong with travel on Sunday’s?”
“I may be old-fashioned, but Sunday is meant to be a day of rest. I don’t travel unless I must. Which reminds me, I’ll need my bag. I must see a patient after service. Doctors don’t always have the privilege of a rest on the sabbath.”
Elizabeth sat with her uncle through the service. He sat bolt upright throughout, alert even when the vicar lulled most of his congregation to sleep with a 45 minute long digression into the home life of the Assyrians, Persians and Medes, finally ending up with the mene, mene, tekel, and upharsin verse from the book of Daniel. Her uncle’s loud voice echoed, only slightly off-key, through the church during the hymns.
Afterwards, he congratulated the vicar, “Excellent sermon, Dr Grace, most entertaining.”
“I may have been a mite too long. Especially on such a warm morning. I could see some of my congregation nodding off.”
“Stuff and nonsense, I felt as though I were back in Nineveh. Those were great times. Much younger then.” He stopped in thought, and then seeing a middle-aged woman and her daughter, shot off to them. “Mrs Grace. I am so pleased to see you. Have you recovered?”
“Yes, Dr Standfast, I’m much better now.”
“Capital, not that my medicine did anything, but capital nonetheless. I have a visitor from the city, my niece,
Miss James. She’s about your Lucy’s age.”
“I should think Lucy would be overjoyed to have a new companion. Miss James is educated?”
“Surprisingly well – even with the poor quality of city schools these days,” He paused, and then called,
“Elizabeth, please come here.”
Elizabeth stopped looking at the flowers and trotted over to where her uncle was conversing.
“Elizabeth, may I present Mrs Grace and her daughter, Miss Lucinda Grace.” Lucinda, Lucy to her friends, was a healthy young woman, with light brown hair, and a more sunburnt robust complexion than Elizabeth’s. Her father had seen to it that she was well educated, or at least as well educated as a country vicar of a remote parish could afford. While she shared many interests, such as horses and riding, not to mention young men, with the young ladies of the parish, she also had something of a literary and cultured, if not to say romantic outlook. Sometimes it made her seem standoffish, above her peers, when she meant nothing of the sort. Still, her all too few terms away at school had driven a wedge between her and the girls she had played with as a young child.
Lucy examined Elizabeth and liked what she saw, “Miss James, may I call you Elizabeth?”
“If I may call you Lucinda, Miss Grace.”
“Lucy, please.”
After making their excuses to Dr Standfast and Mrs Grace, the two young women wandered off to the far side of the churchyard for a private chat.
Sylvester said to Mrs Grace, “It looks like they will like each other. Do you mind if I leave Miss James with you? I must check on how poor Mrs Willis is getting on. She wasn’t at service, which is not at all like her.”
“Why ever should that matter, Dr Standfast? I’ll let your niece know where you’ve gone.”
“Thank you. Oh, and please remind Miss James to stop by Barnecourt to change if she and Miss Grace decide to go for a ramble. That London dress of hers would not last long in the briers.”
Mrs Grace smiled at him, her Lucy often needed the same reminder. “I’ll send them along, and just hope they don’t wander off on the way.”
ERADICATING HATRED
Check out the new book by Tak tse Profit, <
ERADICATING HATRED. Below you can find the book’s blurb, cover, trailer,
teasers, purchase links and all about the author.
‘This book seeks to affect change in its readers perception of the actual circumstances that humanity shares.’ – Eradicating Hatred.
TITLE: Eradicating Hatred
GENRE: Philosophy
PUBLISHER: Xlibris US
REVIEW COPIES: eBook Mobi
Etiam Tu: Eradicating Hatred is the first installment in the Etiam Tu book series. It is the initial explanation of the philosophy of Etiam Tu as it applies to mankinds most immediate threat to his continued existence: Hatred. This book seeks to affect change in its readers perception of the actual circumstances that humanity shares. It identifies the sources of the Hatred we are subjected to, the motivations that create and maintain it, and the numerous forms in which it is manifested. It’s goal is to alert its reader and raise their awareness, by thoroughly exploring this multi-faceted threat; examining each form and humanity’s role in maintaining their existence. Ultimately, educating each reader in an attempt to enlist their voluntary individual efforts to assist in Eradicating this evil from the collective human psyche once and for all: forever.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
The Tak tse Profit spent most of life observing conditions, circumstances and people. He spent most his adult life in service to people known and unknown, considering and noting differing factors in life: both in his and other’s. He accepted his commission to share the Philosophy of Etiam Tu: inspired by
his young son’s convicting of his heart for having given up on mankind.
REVIEWS:
‘I love most books on self improvement, or about the interactions and emotions of humans. This book focuses on eradicating hatred, things such as: morals, honor, family values, faith, trust, negativity, frustration, envy, resentment, the culture of hatred and more. From the authors experiences and observations over the past 9 years, he has brought us this book. It really opens your mind, and the way he speaks about mankind being saved from itself by stopping the hatred is so true. Hatred is the dangerous issue mankind is facing.
GREAT BOOK! A MUST-READ!’ – Lifestyleandliterature.wordpress.com
SOCIAL MEDIA
https://www.facebook.com/EtiamTu/
https://www.instagram.com/tak_tse_profit/
http://ahatefreeworld.blogspot.com/
http://eradicatinghatred.weebly.com/
PURCHASE LINKS
Xlibris Website: http://goo.gl/sYNoMd
Amazon: http://goo.gl/qj8l9q
Barnes & Noble: http://goo.gl/YXtVNM
BOOK TRAILER
TEASERS
Sonnet 8 [Set me where as the sun doth parch the green]
Henry Howard
Set me where as the sun doth parch the green,
Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice;
In temperate heat where he is felt and seen;
With proud people, in presence sad and wise;
Set me in base, or yet in high degree,
In the long night, or in the shortest day,
In clear weather, or where mists thickest be,
In lost youth, or when my hairs be grey;
Set me in earth, in heaven, or yet in hell,
In hill, in dale, or in the foaming flood;
Thrall, or at large, alive where so I dwell,
Sick, or in health, in ill fame or good:
Yours will I be, and with that only thought
Comfort myself when that my hope is nought.
