A Life Of Fiction XCII

 

For those of you new to this WordPress site, this site is about me and my writing – and a little about my role-playing, as well. It gives readers a chance to sample my work before purchasing it on the Kindle store; and gives me the chance to say a little about the genesis of each novel, or about the process of writing in general.

 

Murder Sonnets: I have begun work on a poetry collection called Murder Sonnets. I had a few poems on that theme, and ideas for a few more. Sp I thought why not? Ah, why not, that great excuse for delivering all manner of literary crimes. But I have not really delivered any poetry collections with such a theme, so I thought that I would give it a go. All of my other collections have really just been grab bags of my verse, published as soon as I could squeeze enough poems into the works.

So far there are only a handful of poems in the putative collection, and three of the murder sonnets are taken from other works which I have written. But, eventually, I hope that there will be around sixty odd poems in the book, the fewest, I think, that there should be in a collection of poetry. But I must admit that I have only come up with that number by looking at the number of poems in some of the slim volumes of verse which I have by other poets.

I think that I am drawn to the dark side of human experience, and there is little darker than murder. But perhaps we don’t see murder as being dark enough, as we are entertained by crime procedurals on the TV: programmes such as CSI and NCIS.

In music I have an album called Murder by Johnny Cash; and Murder Ballads by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Add to that the great number of books I possess in which somebody is killed. In fact, I think that in around half of the books which I possess somebody gets murdered, as I am a fan of such detectives as Sherlock Holmes and Miss Marple. If you read a Miss Marple novel you know that you are going to encounter some murder in the book, even if at first it does not appear that such a crime has been committed.

We, as a species, are fascinated by murder, probably because it is such a heinous crime. We have sweet little old ladies buying true crime magazines. Some women marry the sort of convicted killers who make Charles Manson look a well-rounded individual. But I have not yet come across all the much poetry, in the past, dedicated to this dark corner of humanity. So I decided to write it.

It may be a year or two before this project is completed, as I don’t write much poetry at the moment. I have only four sonnets in there at the moment. But here, as a taster for this work, is one of those sonnets, which has never appeared anywhere else:

 

After Lady Macbeth

 

There’s blood… there’s blood that stains and will not fade;

It will not wash away, no matter what;

No soap can cleanse your hands, remove that spot,

That mark that knows the deed, that proves the blade,

That dagger hid within the old man’s chest

That silenced breath, that murdered sleep so deep,

That cries the crime that makes the heavens weep,

The blood that poured from out the old king’s breast.

And nod you wander like some restless ghost

Along the darkened halls, from room to room

As though you seek the entrance to some tomb

Where you will be its everlasting host.

There’s nothing now for you but looming death

I say one last goodbye, my dam Macbeth.

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