R. Harrison's Blog, page 44
November 9, 2015
Interlude
Edith Sitwell
Amid this hot green glowing glo...
Edith Sitwell
Amid this hot green glowing gloom
A word falls with a raindrop’s boom…
Like baskets of ripe fruit in air
The bird-songs seem, suspended where
Those goldfinches—the ripe warm lights
Peck slyly at them—take quick flights.
My feet are feathered like a bird
Among the shadows scarcely heard;
I bring you branches green with dew
And fruits that you may crown anew
Your whirring waspish-gilded hair
Amid this cornucopia—
Until your warm lips bear the stains
And bird-blood leap within your veins.
Interlude
Edith Sitwell
Amid this hot green glowing gloo...
Edith Sitwell
Amid this hot green glowing gloom
A word falls with a raindrop’s boom...
Like baskets of ripe fruit in air
The bird-songs seem, suspended where
Those goldfinches—the ripe warm lights
Peck slyly at them—take quick flights.
My feet are feathered like a bird
Among the shadows scarcely heard;
I bring you branches green with dew
And fruits that you may crown anew
Your whirring waspish-gilded hair
Amid this cornucopia—
Until your warm lips bear the stains
And bird-blood leap within your veins.
Coming Soon.
Just submitted for Layout. Expected release in the middle of December. Stay tuned.
November 8, 2015
Nails it.
Jorge Cham nails it. Except my chair is blue and doesn’t come above my shoulders, this could be me with a student. I even look like the professor, except I don’t wear vests. (But I do wear shorts until it snows.)
"Piled Higher and Deeper"
by Jorge Cham
www.phdcomics.com
November 7, 2015
FrankenKitty 4 #wewriwar
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 Jenny’s friendship with Amber and Mary grew, and in the midst of the highlight (or low-light) of high-school biology -fetal pigs- she let them in on the secret. Today we begin to see where they’re going with it.
Mary carefully sounded out “Experimente in der Reanimation von abgestorbenem Gewebe,” and then said, “That doesn’t mean experiments in reanimation, does it?”
Jennifer nodded, “Yes it does, Experiments in the Reanimation of Dead Tissue.”
“And the name inside,” Mary continued, “That’s not really Frankenstein, I mean the Frankenstein?”
“It is, my neighbor Mrs. Jones gave them to me. She was his great-granddaughter; these are his lab-notes.”
Amber laughed, “Do you think they’d work?”
“I’d like to try; bring back my cat Mr. Snuffles.”
“That’s not possible; he must have been insane.”
Whatever was there, no matter how ill-conceived or incorrect, wasn’t insane. Amber sat there, slightly stunned, “You know, Jenny, it might just work. ”
This is a work in progress. In other news, I’ve become a booktrope author, but more on that latter. It has meant a change in pen-name. Last Weeks is here and you can read the whole chapter if you’d rather.
I’m also looking for reviewers for my nearly ready book “The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven”
November 6, 2015
Passage
Cale Young Rice
A dark sail,
Like a wild-goose wing,
Where the sunset was.
The moon soon will silver its sinewy flight
Thro the night watches,
And the far flight
Of those immortal migrants,
The ever-returning stars.
November 5, 2015
An Arc
This kind
My first “real” book, “The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven.” is in the final throws of production with booktrope. (You can see the kind of company it will keep at runawaygoodness. So we’re talking about a professionally edited and quality work.)
Right now I’m looking for reviewers. That means I’m giving away, yes free – though I want a review, advanced copies, or ARC’s. If you’d like one please fill out this form.
It’s a sweet romance set vaguely in the regency, definitely in the towns that are now London suburbs, and certainly a dashed good read. Any book that starts with grave robbing and the heroine waking up on the hero’s anatomizing table can’t be all bad.
Garden Under Lightning
It’s been raining, constantly. Time for a poem about spirits.
Garden Under Lightning
Leonora Speyer
(Ghost-Story)
Out of the storm that muffles shining night
Flash roses ghastly-sweet,
And lilies far too pale.
There is a pang of livid light,
A terror of familiarity,
I see a dripping swirl of leaves and petals
That I once tended happily,
Borders of flattened, frightened little things,
And writhing paths I surely walked in that other life—
Day?
My specter-garden beckons to me,
Gibbers horribly—
And vanishes!
Poverty Flats, in the fog, Henry Coe State Park
November 4, 2015
Autumn Thoughts
Aster seed puffs.
Hoar-Frost
Amy Lowell
In the cloud-grey mornings
I heard the herons flying;
And when I came into my garden,
My silken outer-garment
Trailed over withered leaves.
A dried leaf crumbles at a touch,
But I have seen many Autumns
With herons blowing like smoke
Across the sky.
November 3, 2015
Serenity
Edward Rowland Sill
Brook,
Be still,—be still!
Midnight’s arch is broken
In thy ceaseless ripples.
Dark and cold below them
Runs the troubled water,—
Only on its bosom,
Shimmering and trembling,
Doth the glinted star-shine
Sparkle and cease.
Life,
Be still,—be still!
Boundless truth is shattered
On thy hurrying current.
Rest, with face uplifted,
Calm, serenely quiet;
Drink the deathless beauty—
Thrills of love and wonder
Sinking, shining, star-like;
Till the mirrored heaven
Hollow down within thee
Holy deeps unfathomed,
Where far thoughts go floating,
And low voices wander
Whispering peace.
