Tag Archives: writing

Ode to reading

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I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog where she hosts Six Sentence Stories and everyone is invited to write a story or poem constructed of six sentences based on a prompt word.

This week’s cue word is Marvel

Ode to reading 

Happy am I to allow conjured words to dance upon my stage,
The bliss of poetry tumbled from ink and sprinkled on the page.

Hungry am I to devour and read, poems, micro stories,
Five-thousand word tales, novellas on a leash, messages in a bottle.

The immersion into the belly of the beast of the epic novel,
Gifting tens of thousands of fibrous words as if spun from a throstle.

And just as oils and nutrients are essential for the skin,
The writer must read to grease the gears of creation from within.

You read you write, a revolution of inspiration, articles, reviews, blogs, papers
On socioeconomics, antagonists and protagonists, 25¢ Detective Comics.

The Classics, the Romantics, a bestselling psychological thriller,
Or a childhood Marvel comic, about the King of the Monsters – Godzilla.

Poem: by Ford.

Image: Marvel Comic N°338. Herb Trimpe cover. 1979. UK.

January 20. 2021.

A Translation + Draig Tân + Project #2 update!

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Poetry…

I’ve written more of it than I can remember, and have been fortunate to have had some of it published. But I can honestly say I’ve never had a poem translated into another language – until recently.

The images you see are unique artworks by my good friend and collaborator Spira who translated into the Hellenic language the poem part of our 2020 collaboration when we marked the 2500th anniversary of the battles of Thermopylae and Salamis which took place in 480 BC during the Greco-Persian Wars.

The poem is entitled The Breaking of Bread and you can read it in its original English language version here along with its companion sculpture in the Spira/Ford collaboration project #1.

It is an honour and a treat to see my work translated, and for it to be done in such an artistic way is a treasure to behold .

Draig Tân (Welsh Fire)

In 2018 my eldest cousin and I, armed with ancient family photos and documents, and a subscription to a well-known online ancestry site, made some research on our family tree. We already knew about the paternal side – all from England, Birmingham, Peaky Blinders land, ay! But we knew little of the maternal side other than links to Shropshire and Worcestershire, and the intriguing but unproven link that our Great Grandparents came from Wales – thanks to elder family members remembering something about a ‘Welsh connection’.

Well, it came as exciting news when my cousin and I learnt from the documents we supplied that our maternal Great Grandparents and the lines before them came from Powys in Wales. Finally the dots had been joined. Welsh blood ran through us! Get in there you red dragon and up the Manics!

Then… 

Back to Spira, who I told of this news, and who made a sculpture not only in celebration of our collaborations, but with a nifty ‘red dragon’ nod to my new Welshiness.

Draig Tân (Welsh Fire) by Spira.

The sculpture is called Draig Tân (translated to Welsh Fire). Please check the rest of the images here

My thanks to Spira, a Wizard of our age, and the finest person I could wish to collaborate with  😎

The Remains of She

And talking of collaborations… what news of Project #2 coming later this year?

I can tell you that the sculpture parts I’ve seen so far are both haunting and beautiful. Ancient anachronistic awesomeness awaits! I can tell you that the recent writing parts I made are organically pushing me to incredible boundaries and beyond.  

There will be more Welsh fire. Hellenic spells. The Wizard and the Shaman will give precious gifts to the one who will bring renewal to the Earth. Look to the skies. The spring. A resurrection. Friends, in these dark times there will be a light to save us all.

Project #2. The Remains of She. Exclusive extract

The Remains of She. Coming in 2021!

Dinner with Diana – Chapter 5/6

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I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories and everyone is invited to write a story or poem constructed of six sentences based on a cue word given.

This week’s cue word is Zip

 

Editor’s note: This is chapter 5 of a 6 part story started by fellow SSS writer Reena Saxena and continued by myself. Today’s chapter may be read independently as a standalone story, or if you would prefer to read the entire story so far then chapters 1 to 4 are reprinted at the end of this post.

Let’s go! Allons-y, Alonso! It’s time for…

DINNER WITH DIANA

 

Be Yourself. By Ford P. Waight. Collage, acrylic paint, digital colourization. Published by Palooka Magazine. 2014.

CHAPTER 5

ASHES TO ASHES (by Ford Waight)

ZIPPPPPPPPPP was the zipping sound the zippers of the body bags made as Inspector Robert stared at the corpses of the three escaped political figures: Mr Sapphire, Mr Opal, and Miss Amethyst, unzipped to the chill of a dark night in a dark forest in dark times.

“It’s them alright,” Inspector Robert said to the forensics officer, “no mistake, and now they’re dead, and we might never learn who instigated their escape from that damn asylum, let alone who killed them.”

Especially as you allowed Dr. Diana to escape your custody while being questioned, thought the forensics officer, and especially as your judgement is under scrutiny since you foolishly admitted you believed you were inexplicably dressed as an elf, when it was plain to see on the cameras you were wearing your usual suit and tie, and was, most likely, under the influence of prescription drugs or alcohol. 

Had he been a mind reader, Inspector Robert may well have told the forensics officer in no uncertain terms that he was no addict, but had instead been subjected to a cruel hypnotism by that witch Dr. Diana; instead, Robert simply gave the order: “Have the coroner report back to me as soon as the causes of death have been established.”

Meanwhile, back at the asylum, Governor Armstrong was making himself comfortable  in his new office, but then Armstrong was a man of comfort, and completely comfortable in his own skin – except it wasn’t really the skin of Governor Armstrong he was wearing, for this new governor was a chameleon unto the eyes of all who beheld him, while unto others – a select few indeed – he was simply Mr Sapphire.

And downstairs, sashaying through the hallways of the asylum and up the spiral staircase to Armstrong’s office, came the new doctor and PR specialist recently hired, and these two were also chameleons, and unto many they were established professionals with backgrounds and CVs to be jealous of, but in reality – unto the select few indeed – they were Mr Opal and Miss Amethyst, and as they waltzed along the corridor to Mr Sapphire’s door, the two were a-whistling a-jovially à gogo the tune: Zip-a-dee-doo-dah zip-a-dee-ay, My oh my what a wonderful day. 

***

Jacques Poirier journal and magazine illustrations.

Thank you for unzipping with us 🙂

Read on for the previous chapters…

Continue reading →

Micro Story: The Dog Dilemma

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I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog, where she hosts Six Sentence Stories, and everyone is invited to write a story or poem constructed of six sentences based on a cue word given.

This week’s cue word is Distance

The Dog Dilemma

The sorrowful little creature had been following Bruno for the past hour at a cautious distance, as Bruno made yet another unsuccessful hunting trip through the forest on a bleak January morning.

At the path to Bruno’s home, Bruno waited for the creature to catch up, and when the creature came he gazed into its sad eyes and whispered soothing words: “Hungry, eh? Cold too? Better come home with me, where it’s warm.”

Bruno’s partner, Belle, was furious when Bruno arrived home accompanied by the sorrowful creature, and her words cut through Bruno as icily as the wind in the January forest: “You can’t bring that thing in here,” she said, “it stinks, it might have fleas and goodness knows what diseases, we don’t even know who its previous owner is, and it might be dangerous, Bruno… have you lost your senses entirely?”

“Take pity on it,” Bruno said, “the creature is cold and exhausted, and looks like it hasn’t been fed in days.”

But Belle was in no mood for pity nor for another mouth to have to feed, and she snarled: “Either it goes, or I go.”

Bruno led the creature back out into the January morning, and then he opened his jaws and bared his sharp teeth, and his ears drew back against his head, and his tail struck an exclamation mark to the report of his growl, and then Bruno lurched forward and chased the creature away, until the sorrowful little human fled back into the forest from where she came.

***

Words and photo render by Ford Waight.

Poem: Ghosts of the Seven Seas

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I’m linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge Blog where she hosts Six Sentence Stories and everyone is invited to write a story or poem constructed of six sentences based on a prompt word.

This week’s word is Horizon

 

Ghosts of the Seven Seas

O lover of mine, O Lily my love, I sail to thee across the sea

‘Neath a gown of stars twinkling in a mannequin sky,

O’er tumbling waves to the beckoning lantern

Of a lighthouse tall on a distant horizon.

 

I pass Christmas islands and frozen shores,

Cross coral reefs as pink as your lips and blue as your eyes,

To find you my love, O Lily my love,

I’m so sorry I’m late – but I have been to war.

 

A war which wounded me yet claimed without success my beating heart;

For each battle with invaders, charlatans and thieves,

Each duel with a demon and dance with a devil,

Did but strengthen my love and desire for thee.

 

Is it too late? I call out across the waves to the pirate breeze,

For I feel I am a ghost upon a ghost ship,

Sailing to deliver the gold ingots of my soul,

And all the trinkets and treasures of my pining heart.

 

Is it too late? for the lips of Lily to press mine in tender kiss,

For our arms to embrace, for our fingers to caress?

Is our love so far, so stretched, so tempered, so drowned and diluted

By all this sea which cruelly divides us?

 

Replies the pirate breeze: Ye poor fool captain upon the deck

Of your vessel bereft of direction and crew,

Ye seek the kiss of your living lover? Well, let me tell you the cold truth:

Your Lily died while you were at war, and is nought but a ghost

The same as you.

 

***

Poem: by Ford.

Image: La Tartane by Francis Bergèse. Heller catalogue 606. 1979. France.

PS: I love you

PPS: **if they smile at you thru sharpened fangs*and no matter how much they dress up their lies with fake gold*know that the truth will always sting*know only you can set yourself free*and see beyond the misery of what they want you to be*question everything*question it all**

PPPS: Look after my star

24/12/20.