Now Available: A Jilted Lover

I would like to present a collection of classically styled, romance prose and poems with 21st century heartbreak. Complete with a preface, prologue and an epilogue, the collection, A Jilted Lover, is roughly 4,500 words.

It’s a juxtaposition of profound physical setting and internal passions; it’s a long, winding road and the unknown, it’s the seething ocean and resignation to fate, it’s valor to melancholy, passionate inebriation and romantic pining- these are the expressions of a jilted lover that hold value for everyone who has had something so important in their life suddenly pack its bags.

Buy now on Createspace and be the first to get your hands on a limited edition: https://www.createspace.com/4657315

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Botticelli’s Primavera, and Lucretius’ De Natura Rerum

Botticelli's Primavera painting, close-up, Flora of the Meadows.

Botticelli’s Primavera painting, close-up, Flora of the Meadows.

“Spring comes, and Venus,
And Venus’ winged courier, Cupid runs in front.
And all along the path they will tread,
Dame Flora carpets the trail of Zephyr with a wealth of blossoms,
Exquisite in hue and fragrance.
So throughout seas and uplands,
Rushing torrents, verdurous meadows and leafy shelter of birds,
Into the breasts of one and all you instill alluring love,
so that with passionate longing they produce their several breeds.
Since you alone are the guiding power of the universe,
And without you, nothing emerges into the shining, sunlit world,
To grow in joy and loveliness.”
-Lucretius, De natura rerum

Botticelli's, interpretation of spring, Venus and Cupid in the center.

Botticelli’s, interpretation of spring, Venus and Cupid in the center.

In the Style of Robert Burns: Ode to a Scottish Writer

In the Style of Robert Burns:

She’s as gone as dust, brotherRobert Burns Style, Draft April 2014
If ye’ bother, man,
You’ll find her favor,
A’ changin’ wi’ another, brother-
She’s as gone as dust, man.
Try nae gither ashes,
Nor rake em’,
Try nae tell ya, man,
It’s all burnt up,
Not a page remains, brother-
Put air in yer’ hand and close it,
Don’t peak,
I’ll tell ya’, man,
It’s not there
You never had it brother-
Take it frae a jilted lover,
tae try for ‘nother, man.

Robert Burns Portrait

Robert Burns Portrait

Robert Burns was a famed Scottish writer and poet who lived during the mid till late 18th century. He was noted for catching the sympathies and feelings of the nation through his colloquial Scottish brogue and emotionally connected prose that struck a chord with his fellow kin. His poetry is considered romantic and ranged in themes from historical, pastoral and ballad like. Many pieces included mournful odes to women and squandered fortune- but a balladeer he was.  Here is an excerpt from a favorite ballad named, Whistle which is a summons of famous figures to a heroic drinking contest:
Unmatch’d at the bottle,
unconquer’d in war,
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea…
Roberts life was one marked for misfortune and poor health but through his brilliance of mind his writing lives on.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro’ life I’m doom’d to wander, O, Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O: No view nor care, but shun whate’er might breed me pain or sorrow, O; I live to-day as well’s I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.
My Father was a Farmer, Robert Burns

Read, Whistle and others @ Burns Country

Watch this great BBC documentary on Robert Burns:

In the Style of Robert Burns: Ode to a Scottish Writer

In the Style of Robert Burns:

She’s as gone as dust, brotherRobert Burns Style, Draft April 2014
If ye’ bother, man,
You’ll find her favor,
A’ changin’ wi’ another, brother-
She’s as gone as dust, man.
Try nae gither ashes,
Nor rake em’,
Try nae tell ya, man,
It’s all burnt up,
Not a page remains, brother-
Put air in yer’ hand and close it,
Don’t peak,
I’ll tell ya’, man,
It’s not there
You never had it brother-
Take it frae a jilted lover,
tae try for ‘nother, man.

Robert Burns Portrait

Robert Burns Portrait

Robert Burns was a famed Scottish writer and poet who lived during the mid till late 18th century. He was noted for catching the sympathies and feelings of the nation through his colloquial Scottish brogue and emotionally connected prose that struck a chord with his fellow kin. His poetry is considered romantic and ranged in themes from historical, pastoral and ballad like. Many pieces included mournful odes to women and squandered fortune- but a balladeer he was.  Here is an excerpt from a favorite ballad named, Whistle which is a summons of famous figures to a heroic drinking contest:
Unmatch’d at the bottle,
unconquer’d in war,
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea…
Roberts life was one marked for misfortune and poor health but through his brilliance of mind his writing lives on.

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor, thro’ life I’m doom’d to wander, O, Till down my weary bones I lay in everlasting slumber, O: No view nor care, but shun whate’er might breed me pain or sorrow, O; I live to-day as well’s I may, regardless of to-morrow, O.
My Father was a Farmer, Robert Burns

Read, Whistle and others @ Burns Country

Watch this great BBC documentary on Robert Burns:

Vol. 1, Branded Souls, Chapter 1: The Dragon (Pt. 1)

A pause in the atmosphere hung suspended like a shroud that pointed an intangibly heavy question. It was incomprehensible to most except for those intimate with the proceedings of death. It was quietness, weight, the absence of movement- animals knew these tidings, all survival was dependent on this.

The birds in their roosts stilled and the creatures of Terra, skittered into their warrens except for a black squirrel. It chattered on the far end of a wooden bench; it was busy stuffing a large piece of stale bread in its mouth. A gnawing malaise dawned on the squirrel as it was eating; its ears quivered and pricked up with a cautious fear. The creature dropped its crumbling snack and surveyed with large, dark eyes. It ceased moving and froze in utter terror. The judge was thundering his gavel with a verdict.
A golden eagle sped downwards, screaming like a banshee leaping from hell’s fissure in broad daylight. It saw its query and it knew that it belonged to an order classified as prey. It grabbed the hapless creature in a single, lightening-swoop of its razor-sharp and crushing talons. The raptor moved upwards with it’s squealing prize. The squirrel had paid a dear price for its infraction.

A roaring thunder came from an opening in the graying cumulus above. At first it was a glinting shadow against a sun full of rays. Then the vision grew into reality as it descended; it blotted out the sun with vast crimson leather wings that stretched the length of a stadium. Screams of terror and bells issuing deep, resonating alarms rang out through the valley, electrifying the once peaceful afternoon air.

The legendary wyvern of old radiated with dazzling color like fine glass and jewels and its eyes were as brilliant as carbuncle gems that were imbued and veined with topaz. From its maw came a rumbling so profound it was as if the gods were holding a debacle in the sky. Magma glowed in its ruby scaled throat now and it volleyed liquid fire in short bursts in all direction. The dragon was dominant in all feats of strength and agility and it displayed its prowess recklessly. The eagle and its entire splendor could not out-maneuver this thing of wanton destruction- it was caught in the wake of death.

Black smoke fell from the sky; the eagle and the rodent were both reduced to a mass of char and were sent as a smoking package, tumbling back down to the Earth. A roar of triumph shook the rafters of heaven. The houses of man below shook; great vibrations and the percussion of wind gusts ripped the roofs of thatched houses. It flew towards a giant castle with a furious roar and perched on a staggering tower, flinging the archers up into the air and catching them in snaps of its enormous jaws.

The clouds huddled together, turned an ashen gray and wept. Angry lightning bolts arced across the sky; the ferocity and violence between nature and the parties of man came to a head. There became no perceptible weather except a picture of hell above and hell below. A winding mass of black armored men snaked down the path from the mouth of the castle; artillery, soldiers and cannons poured out from the open drawbridge like hornets protecting the nest.

The sky crackled with a horrible mischief; this new player of devastation were the incendiaries; man had grown wroth at this cruel tyrant and retaliated with explosions of violent color: Ochre and crimson, blacks and blinding whites, yellows of sulfur and billowing smoke. Bombs, mortars and blasting ripped the sky asunder as the flock sought blood for blood. The indignant cries of human warriors, like tiny voices were unified in chorus that reached to the creature as a goading insult to its pride. Each shelling was greeted and returned by a frenzy of tearing, flinging and burning; bodies were strewn across a scorched and broad field underneath a ruinous castle looming among steep, jagged mountains.

(Continued: part 2) 

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A Relic

When I see features alike yours,
I’ll stop and stare till I am jostled from there.Relic, April 2014 1
I’ll try remove the memory jogged,
When I get to this thinking-
That I could bump into you once more,
Pangs inflame my chest,
My feet swell and these legs become uneven
And those steps become unmeasured.
Certainly, you’ve never considered this,
Have you?
If you see long locks of brown,
A cherub like smile,
With red cheeks laughing,
Is there a start inside of you,
that shakes and turns to think of me?
It can be said that I still see you,
Floating through a crowd,
Always far-off,
Moving away from me,
With a blonde sheen that catches rays from the sun,
or a mouth that opens at a flitting laugh,
To reveal the whitest flax of sheep ascending,
A beautiful hill.
I pause to collect a token from what you have left.
Yes,
It stirs my heart a might tremulous,
It rattles me till I catch myself,
Blocking pedestrian traffic,
Stopping in a busy bus terminal,
Turning mid-sentence,
Staring out into nothing,Relic, April 2014 2 1
Hoping that it is you,
Who accidentally found me,
Or have searched to save me
And fill a bleakness with answer.
It can never be the case.
I’ll shuffle along,
Further away into the obscurity of the past,
To take a seat among,
Cast away relics of your mind,
Though conversely,
A relic i’ll fasten to leather,
And hang around my breast,
Like a sacred effigy,
A lesson,
An offering of penance to fate,
To have mercy on a shattered thing,
Who lost pieces of a childish naivety,
Whose pride was shorn to the quick,
Whose love burned up on a short-lived fuel.


A Jilted Lover Promotional

The Ocean No More

I have to live a life away from the Ocean,Ocean, April 2014 1 2
I’ve sold in pieces the vestments,
Worn to honor our marriage-
I’ve given the ring and all it’s luster,
The shining prize I’ve worn,
From the moment I’ve found feat,
To hold me steady,
Alas,
I’ve given that ring to another,
It hurts and grieves me sick,
That each moment I am away,
I feel the stormy lash so bitter.
No more shall I rock in your surf,
Or bask in jewels,
That sparkle all about you,
When the sun is high,Ocean, April 2014 2
No more shall I revel in your honorable tempest,
Or feign retreat from,
Your battering squall,
Alas, I am inland-
It is so damnably dry.
The only salt I shall collect,
Are the tear drops from my eye-
No more will I be with my love,
No more shall I be by her side.


A Jilted Lover Promotional