Nightmareland #Horror #Anthology

This book, and two more sit in ‘The Box Under The Bed.’

Waiting … if you dare to peek.

Where writers come together, to gather their tales.

The #spooktacular, the sad, and the creep.

Each delivers a different take on the weird,

Feel the mysteries unfold, and the havoc they reek.

Visit the ghool, the macabre, the wandering and the lost.

Do it now! you’ll find it all

In Nightmareland, the cost of which

Will be … your sleep.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07K2KV723?ref_=dbs_w_series&storeType=ebooks

Today you can hold it in your hand. Now available in paperback.

The Devil failed to take the soul of a poet.

She sidle’s next to him at the cocktail bar. Tempts him with a challenge, shows him her new car.

But he is a wordy poet who has seen her type before. He bandies words that were meant to anger. Soon she is heading for the door.

The poet sips his nectar, ashamed at his poorly chosen words. Notices the sky, thick with feathers, his ears filled with squawking birds.

He puts it down to the liquor and gulps another drop. Wobbles on the stool, leans to swallow a final shot.

Wipes drool from his chin, straightened up his shirt. He puzzled, when last he drank enough, to make his body hurt.

Then he hears a sultry voice as if it’s in his ear. As he hails a passing taxi the sky suddenly is clear,

Quietly, he wishes, he’d not behaved like a clown, He may have dozed, the way that drunkards do. But wouldn’t be wearing a frown.

That devil can not get you, no matter what she may think. Your soul is spread far and wide, inside the words you think.

It has been scribbled on cardboard cartons. Etched on an Angels wing. Put inside birthday cards and in every song you sing.

Your soul is in each thought you think. It is dribbled in your poetic Ink.

You see, the devil doesn’t stand a chance. So pour her a final conciliatory drink.

Painting of Crow by my sister Anne Maxwell. No one other than myself has permission to copy this painting in any way, without express permission from A.M. Maxwell or myself.

Devil.

This came about when I was set an exercise By Sophie Hannah of Dream Author Coaching. The task was to take a random dream and write. Nonsense and theatre included.

Thanks to Esme for allowing me to join her Halloween spooktacular press https://esmesalon.com/43-senior-salon-2019/ to join in.

Is This A Writer’s Affliction? Or A lack Of Conviction. Writers Block.

I have always thought …
We may have a bad day. We may have no ideas. Blank unforgiving spaces between our writer’s ears.

Maybe we are feeling low, With life to do and places to go.
So we put it off … penning I mean.
We procrastinate and are not so keen.

When we give ourselves a shake,
Stop feeling lazy; checkout of our writing break.
Pick up a pen and start again. It’s not a bore or some godless chore.

It is a gift, a time to live and work in fantasy.
For most, it would feel like ecstasy.
How many others wish they could too … if the shoe was theirs; instead of worn by you.

Writers Block … is it just a phrase?
to disguise the days we chose to Laze.

Pictures by way of Pixabay.

What do you think?

Is there truth buried in my tongue in cheek?

Or is it a contagion, a nasty communicable disease? I truly want to read your replies c’mon let me have it straight between this writers eyes. πŸ˜‰πŸ˜—

Stream of Consciousness.

Opened my mouth and chattered on.

My ear kept hearing an

annoying song.

My stomach churned

Feeling sick.

Stream of consciousness lets do it quick.

My fingers rattle across the page dropping thoughts like an Ancient sage.

Writing a poem instead of an article. Takes time and thought and ink from an Octopus testicle. To finish this rhyme was FANTASTIMAGORICAL.

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is β€œ-ic or -ical.” Find a word that uses the suffix β€œ-ic” or β€œ-ical.” Bonus points if you use both. Have fun! Press Here to join in.

Okay it was fun and whimsy and I got slightly stuck on the last line but it worked with the prompt … didn’t it?