Something for the weekend

Looking for something to do this weekend? Don’t forget, Echoes in Space: Cosmically collapsing poetry is out now in eBook format. Click here to get yours today and spend the weekend wrapped in stars and decaying words.

Looking for something to do next weekend? Don’t forget, Echoes in Space: Cosmically collapsing poetry is out now in paperback. Click here to get yours in the next few days and spend the following weekend wrapped in the celestial bodies and wandering words.

(‘Echoes in space’ is available worldwide…follow your regional amazon moon rabbit.)

For those who have been kind enough to download this already, may I encourage you to write a review on Amazon and Goodreads to spread the word.

Thank you. Here are some freebies:

SHINE

Crushed to Diamond dust.
Inhaled in the right light.
When the moon is bright.
Deep into your vines I travel.
Filling your soul with stars.

 

Sweet Whispers

From the dust into dreams. Singledust has a new poetry book out now, I encourage all with an imagination to take a peek……

Sweet whispers is poetry inspired by words spoken between two lovers in the early hours of waking as hearts warm together. It is also taken from an intense dialog between lovers against the back drop of snow and words of unrequited love.’

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A Bhikku’s Tale

Deep in a forest of Inis Fail, there was a cabin, well hidden, in which there lived a solitary bhikku…

‘Bhikku Reilly of Fararden Wood has defeated the mad god Morpheo’s dragon with the help of Red City’s shaman, Murray. Now they face a much harder task.
In a fight with Cernunnos, Morpheo has broken off a piece antler from the horned god, which gives him immeasurable power over the natural world. Reilly and Murray, together with the Green Man, the Sybarite and the ghost girl, Tracy, must pursue the mad god and stop him from taking over the whole country of Inis Fail.

Their journey takes them to the Otherworld and back again, crossing the paths of many colourful characters and strange creatures.’

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Packed with Irish mythology and great landscapes for you to transverse,  ‘A Bhikku’s tale’ by Dave R. Jordan is worth looking up: Goodreads  & Amazon

Little Black Horn

 

Little black horn, weathered and worn; wondering about what to do.
He split the world and climbed inside, and out of hell he peaked on through.  

Little Black Horn: A Collection of Short Horror Stories:-

‘A woman struggles to hide the truth from a creature she believes to be her lover; a man journeys to Southern Italy in search of a witch; a child makes a pact with a voice he hears at the bottom of his garden.

From adult fairy-tales to suburban horror; dark intentions seep through this collection of tales from the imagination of Harley Holland.’

Buy the work in paperback or on kindle here: Little Black Horn

Check out Harley Holland also

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A linguistic form that can meaningfully be spoken in isolation

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Just a quick announcement to say that my books are now available in good old fashioned paperback form. No longer must your be chained to your phone or kindle to be whisked away to some wonderful, and sometimes frightening, worlds.

To grab them and get them into your idle hands, please click here.
If you’re unsure of what lies beneath the pages, then visit the books section to read a bit more. If you have any questions or comments, i’d love to hear from you (connect). Or, if you have read any of my work, then please feel free to leave a review on amazon, as i’m sure you’re aware, it’s pretty useful.

Thank you, and to those who have bought any of my works in the past; I hope you enjoyed them and I appreciate your interest. I don’t take any of this for granted. There’s more coming very soon, so watch this space.

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Thumbing the pages

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With the release of my new book ‘Impermanence of things’, my other novels are free this weekend on Amazon all around the globe; so feel free to download, and hopefully, enjoy.

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For more info on them, follow the birds.

 

Those who have already acquired the words of wonder, first of all thank you. If you would be so kind to leave a review to guide or warn others, it would be greatly appreciated.

As always, a mention that I support Room to read, which does wonders for children all over this green and blue planet of ours. For more information, please take your eyes over to see what they do.
Most of the profits from my work go towards Room to read, so rest assured any purchase is doing some good for someone else. Thank you.

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Fright night

All year round he kept to himself.
Quiet and content, like a book on a shelf.
It was Halloween when the tables turned.
And in his head, those thoughts had churned.
To live it up, go mad and wild.
To put on costumes, like any other child.
He loved that night, when he fitted in.
And wasn’t shamed or drenched in sin.
He could go out, and talk to others.
His friends, his mum and all his brothers.
Accepted him and played for ages.
Some souls to flick through his dusty pages.
It was Halloween he loved and longed for.
The candy, the skulls; the dismembered gore.
That was the time he loved the most.
For poor Charlie was such a lonely ghost.

I see red

My eyes itch and my heart heaves.
Reading over and over.
Line after line.
Pulling me out of traffic, pulling me into your frame.
Surround yourself with good intentions.
A swirling world of your black and white.
Yet all I see is red.
The swan song that you misunderstand.
Plucking my heartstrings for the correct rhythm.
The right sound.
Colour your lines. Careful now, make it pretty.
This is the page we’re on, this is the hymn we’ll sing.
My story snipped down to a footnote.
A sentence that mice can devour.
In your book of course.
What was I thinking?

Love libarys lost

He skipped to the last pages of the book that he held like a bible in his hands, hands that had privately explored every secret and every page of the story. Words danced out before him, lost in their own rhythm; reaching their exhausting climax. The ending made no sense as usual, and he momentarily searched his thoughts as to why he’d begun it in the first place.

Ahh, that’s right; the cover looked so intriguing.

He placed the book back on his shelf, nestled it in-between an old copy of Harry Potter and his well-presented and orderly kept CD collection. There it was to remain, unopened and unexplored for an age as the dust that collected hung to the tops of the exposed pages like a glossy film. Over time the spine faded and the adventure was forgotten.

From the shelf, as if the characters had crawled from the pages to investigate, it was noticed how a new book was begun and captivated him. Other volumes cried tears of time as they were passed over again and again in favour of the new and intriguing yarn.

Until one day it was no longer present.

Unbeknownst to those who viewed from the shelf; the book was lost on a rainy Tuesday in the month of November whilst travelling on the underground. As is the case of public transport, too many souls shoved together in the tiny tin can, made for distractions and wandering of minds. Making sure his jacket was straight and his phone was buzzing like always, he had left the book on the seat next to him. A careless gesture one might say, like the throwing of a used cup out of the car window; as the residue drips from the inside. But secretly, upon discovery; he did not mind too much as the new book didn’t interest him as much as he had let on. Maybe someone else is reading that story now, on the Hammersmith and city line.

 

Human

Where is that holding hand, as I slip through the sand of regret?
Being merely human falls flat at your well-trodden feet.
The ones that walked on my back time and time again.
Do you care if my soul survives this?
Scratching away the scars to save yourself.
These sad tears of remorse carve a path down my broken bones.
Crashed through the barrier as I pushed my foot to the floor.
You flew away to save yourself. You left me there dying.
I gave my all and fell short.
Closing my eyes to the judgement that I cannot live up to.
So easy to throw the page away.
To burn the books.
So tired of being only human.

Give a little, get a little

Today and tomorrow (27th & 28th), the following are free on Amazon:

Drifting in and out of sleep51j5Baft0DL._AC_US160_
Trying to remember where it all began, when I first started to feel this way. Is this real or am I still asleep? The hypnagogic state of uncertainty. Knowing the unfamiliar through the transitional magnitude of moments. Come with me, follow the path through snow covered lands into churches of splendour that play out a life steeped in love and lonely anger. Stay a while, and leave me where you find me; lying in bed and thinking of you, as I drift in and out of sleep…

Charting the spiral and ascension into something beyond, ‘Drifting in and out of sleep’ is a mix of stories and poems which bleed into one another over space, time and mortality. Starting in the snow covered forests of unknowing-ness, it traces the steps that mirror life; through emotional dependence, God, love and coming to the ever reaching self-absorption of space.

41UVbJC7ISL._AC_US160_Keep it Together 
The summer of 1977, in the middle of a blazing heat wave, the estranged children of the wealthy and eccentric Van-Blacks all gather at the infamous Nova-Manor to discuss recent family developments over Fourth of July weekend. Their father is dying, and now wishes to build some bridges with his children before he shuffles off the mortal coil. However, things begin to take an unusual twist with the arrival of Miss T., a Jamaican fortune teller who sweeps in under an air of mystery to perform a séance.

Secrets and truths slowly begin to be uncovered, helped along by the butler Mr Perkins, who knows more about the past then perhaps he should. Ghosts, storms and mysteries in the attic all explode over the holiday weekend along with the fireworks. With a body on their hands and new truths revealed, they are all forced to question whether they can live with the knowledge someone they love is a capable of murder. Independence comes at a price, and not everything is what it seems as they try to keep it together.

 

Remember, you don’t need a fiddly kindle; just the software that you can get for free here.

Also, any money from the sale of any of my books goes straight into the hands of the Room to read organisation. Doing good for everyone. Thank you.

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Drifting further

Now available 

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“Rest is best, such beneficial benediction. Resting from illness, resting from the world. I love to shut myself away, to rest my wounded heart. Yet it brings on a mouldy conditioning, decaying into my own lament. Sleep is always a release, yet sometimes I wake and cannot tell if I am waking or still dreaming. If I notice you are there, then I know it is a sweet dream. The kind that taste like chocolate in your mouth, a marshmallow in your heart. Sweet and delicious, I become addicted. It’s the nightmares that correct this headiness, stomping through my mind like a trampling dinosaur out for prey. I toss and turn, wrestling with the darkness, slipping in and out of something which I’m still unsure of.

Then the ringing began, buzzing through my skull like tap dancing crocodile teeth…..”

The mouse that roared
My mouth is full of blood, from biting my tongue so much.
The teeth are stained a crimson, like I’m a vampire.
What’s this now, be good, play nice? Do not shove the other kids in the park!
I never did, it was they who shoved me.
Colour inside the lines now, no need for flashy colours.
Subservient or spineless, which definition do you prefer?
You leave me here with a doormat face, ready for you to walk your muddy boots across my soul.
I am sorry, the end has come.
Do not be surprised by the mouse that roared, or the tiger that sprang from the jungle that you thought was never there.
You put it here, you did this.
I’m not going to apologise for being myself.
We cannot turn back the clock that ticks away annoyingly.
You cannot leave with this all over me.
Place me in the bell jar, the nut house, or the graveyard.
Tickle my bones with your superiority, and your need to be right.
Only god will judge me, and he’ll give me his chair to rest while I catch my breath.