Today I’m hosting a short humorous piece from crime novelist Angela Wren.
They normally live in the shadows. The dark corners of rooms, behind wardrobes or at the back of undisturbed cupboards. But not anymore. I’ve purged the house of them. All of them. Every last one along with their pesky webs that just sit there collecting dust. So, my world is now spider-free and will remain so forever.
How did I do this I hear you ask?
Simple. I went to see a witch who turned me into a bullfrog. Now the spiders are gone, I’m a very fat bullfrog.
For those of you in the Yorkshire area, on Wednesday Feb 20 in Harrogate Library Café, Angela will be reading from Montbel, the latest in her Jacques Foret series of crime mysteries set in the Cevennes in south central France.
You can learn more about Angela and her books via these links
Readers of this blog will know I often share poems and short prose pieces of my own here. I’ve decided that it would be good to host pieces by other writers too.
So why not send me a poem (up to 40 lines) or a piece of flash fiction (up to 600 words). It can be published or unpublished, serious or humorous, any genre or style. It would be good if you could also send me a picture to go with it.
I’m not looking for overtly promotional posts, but I’d be happy for you to add a short paragraph (up to 100 words) at the end about yourself and any books/events etc you wish to mention, plus links to your website, blog etc if you have them.
I’ll be happy to post up to two guest pieces a month, depending on the level of interest.
So, why not send me some of your work! First come, first served! You can e-mail it to me on email@example.com.
It’s been a while since I posted a poem on here, so I thought I’d share this one (also in the current issue of the NAWG Link magazine).
What blow could break these walls,
their stone volcano-forged and giant-thrown?
What warrior could scale them –
cliff-high and barbed with battlements?
This citadel defied all comers;
bruised by missiles,
flame-charred, siege strangled
it endured …
… to no avail.
See, those cyclopean blocks
are rent and ruined,
porous to whoever comes or goes.
What army overthrew them?
What apocalyptic force
could lay this fortress low?
None: only the arrow storms from clouds,
the patient siege of freeze and thaw,
the shifting flow of history
that left behind this rock
on the dry riverbed of time.