A Life Of Fiction CXV

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.


On poetry and other things: As you may or may not have noticed, depending how much of the rest of this site you have delved into, I write poetry. As do about a hundred million other people on the internet.

Well, I am trying to engage a little more, at the moment, by going on the two poetry sites in my links, and commenting on some of the poetry on those sites. Occasionally I may post a poem on one of those sites.

I would be the first to admit that I am nor very good at critiquing other people’s verse. It feels too much like criticism to me, and I don’t like the idea of criticising other people. A lot of poetry, I feel, is about personal choice, anyway.

Poetry often is about the need to write it, rather than any desire to read it. Writing poetry can bring solace to troubled minds. Well, it does to mine, anyway. That is one of the reasons why I persist with poetry, despite the fact that not many people seem to be all that much interested in checking out my work on Kindle.

There are a lot of poetry site on the internet. There are an incredible number of sites on the internet. Each site has a load of verse, and usually has rules limiting each person to putting on no more than one poem per day. You still get hundreds of poems put on. Some of those poems are very good; some of them are only so-so. But I find even the less spectacular poems interesting to read. I love the fact that each poem is new, and that the versifier has found a new and interesting way in which to use the English language. There seems to be an infinte number of ways that thoughts can be portrayed on the page; and that is good, even if a few of those poems may be a little rough around the edges.

Anyway, here are a few poems which I don’t think have appeared anywhere else. They are all from various collections called Fractions of Verse. These unpublished (and unpublishable) collections comprise poems which I have not yet got around to completing, or which did not turn out quite the way that I intended, or which I feel are not good enough to charge the general public for. So here are six poems, taken from six collections which, hopefully, will never see the light of day. They are a lot less than pefect.




The Nimrod nemesis of a different genesis

Gunpowder blooms in the gathering gloom

The lights are going out all over town

The people are pulling the shutters down

The metal descends, the death count goes up

Pock-marked bricks zits depression holed

The battle generation are in supine veneration

To the cause of their own degeneration.




Spinning out of control down some

Spiral I need I need but don’t know

What I need anymore blank desire

Killed by spending money on things

That lie discarded, half used.

Morbid thoughts consume time eat

Into any lingering hope cast myself

Out into the void I can’t avoid

The way that I feel I can’t deal

With these feelings anymore I can’t shore

Up my emotions against the outside

World it keeps intruding on me

I just want it all to go away.




Eyes closed forever

As they lay her body down

She’s only sleeping

To sleep… and perchance to dream

And what dreams may come.

I want hold your hand and

Never let it go.

But it’s too cold now.


Old Bones


Old bones creak like doors

Both hinges need lubricant –

Oil; and some whiskey.


Just Like Betty Page


I see her on the stage

She looks like Betty Page

I want to drown in her

Her voice a sexy purr

Her head of sable threads

Her eyes say come to bed

A Fifties lipstick pout

An icon busting out

She is a darker pearl

She’s bound to be my girl

In ropes and cuffs and chains

But I’m the one in pain

Whenever she’s not there

I worship the hair

That caresses her back

So straight and lustrous black;

The style is all the rage

She’s just like Betty Page.


Sensation Nation


The sensation nation mainlines colours

And noise, without distinction or distaff;

From one bright toy to another they go,

Experiencing all, but knowing naught.

No silence in which to sot and ponder

All the wonders of which they never think;

Too much teevee and games and DVDs

And porn and cigarettes and drugs and drink.


I warned you that they were bad.

Anyway, I did say that this was poetry, and other things. The other things: I am finally getting back into writing gas-lamp fantasy, although it really is gas-lamp fantasy meets pulp. I have a series of novels planned, featuring characters called Parkinson and Duffield, set in the 1920s and early 1930s. Three of these novels – The Master of the Air, Captain Renegade, and Phantom Island – have already been self-published on Kindle. But I have another seven novels planned featuring those two heroes, and I am finally getting around to doing work on those books. I do work on one for a few days, then maybe a few pages on another one, then I might go off and work on some entirely different project.

Although doing it that was means that it is a very slow process, it gives me time to think about the structure and plot of each novel. And they are all slowly taking shape. Of those seven, the one on which I have done the most work is only on twelve and a half thousand words, but I now have the skeleton of a structure, and as soon as I get it all mapped out in my mind, it’s just a matter of filling in the words. And I have done that eighty times before.


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