Need help getting your writing project started? Take a look at my Writer’s Tools page for tips and products that have helped me prepare for NaNoWriMo and for several other creative writing projects, which I found from ProsePlanner through their website and Etsy.
New Release (August 2022)
I’ve been working on a few projects over the last couple of years since I published Shadowlands Poetry, and have just released a new book. This new book, The Darkness That Becomes Us (A collection of dark flash fiction) is an intriguing mix of weird, speculative, and dark flash fiction that’s a perfect addition to your Autumn book list.
Excerpts from The Darkness That Becomes Us (A collection of dark flash fiction)
I should keep at it, I told myself. Why bother stopping if I have to start all over again?
A deep rumble issued from the basement and a faint whiff of sulfur filled the room. I pulled another tarot card from the deck and placed it face down on the velvet tablecloth.
Fool, a deep voice called from the basement.
I placed my hand over the card but didn’t lower it.
The voice chuckled, gloating. As my hand hovered over the card, I could feel a repelling force, like two magnets that would never meet.
When I awoke, the sun still filtered through the potted plants on the windowsill. Narrow streaks of warm sun lay in splintered pieces on the cold linoleum. Outside, a new gray day was emerging to layer itself upon the hundreds that had come before. The kettle sputtered and a lazy trickle of steam escaped from the spout. I turned off the heat.
Where had she gone? It was too early to catch a bus.
I sat at the small folding card table that was our kitchen table, dropped my head into my hands, and yawned loudly. Soon the cold linoleum made my feet ice cold. I stood, poured boiling water over yesterday’s coffee grounds, and watched it slowly percolate through. I turned to look out the window.
She lay on her back in the middle of the street, her shopping bags flung around her. I gasped and shouted her name through the closed window. Then she moved, languidly at first, then rapidly. She was making snow angels in the rain. Thoroughly soaked, she sat up, then stood up. Then she walked away.
I stood perplexed and stared at the empty shopping bags, as they rippled in the wind. I imagined the wet slap of the bags in the wind and the sound merged with the soft plink of coffee into the chipped carafe.
Not A Person
I could still hear the tinkle of the bell when I left the store. Hands holding grocery bags and cold air stinging my lungs. The evening evergreen world was slowly covered in January sleet. Silence as I walked down the street toward home, with only the clomp of my boots echoing into the darkness. As I rounded the corner of the block, I noticed a figure kneeling on the sidewalk at the end of the block.
Odd, I thought. Maybe they dropped their keys?
But as I slowly approached, clomping louder to announce my presence, the figure stayed crouched. I heard a low growl from the figure, and I stopped. I took one step forward.
“Hello?” I said.
As I stood waiting for a reply, the figure turned its head backward and grinned at me. Its teeth were long and sharp and smeared with a black substance. Its eyes were empty sockets and its ears were slightly pointed. The creature began to grind its teeth at me. My blood froze in my veins. I dropped my grocery bags, turned around, and ran. As I turned the corner, I ran into a man. I shrieked as he grabbed my shoulders in concern.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?” he asked. His blond hair swirled around him in the wind. He squinted his blue eyes past me, toward the creature. “What is that?” he whispered. His brow knit together, and his hands slipped from my shoulders. His eyes met mine, but this time I saw fear kindled in them. My lower lip quivered. “Its … not … a … person,” I said and then ran into the cold, dark night.
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About Shadowlands Poetry
Shadowlands Poetry is a collection of poems reflecting our polarized lives with equal parts Light and Dark, and the Eigengrau that blurs the shadowy spaces between.It is a book for those who embrace the cycles of life and find a balance between dreams and fears.
Below are a few poems from Shadowlands Poetry for your enjoyment.
I’ve partnered up with a YouTube channel, RelaxationElation, to create video poems.
Standing weak on the shore of life with morbid breath.
Pale, a winter harvest of dread and a bounty of regret.
Standing stolidly, throwing my dread, throwing my regret, deep into the ocean of oblivion.
But, I kept my morbid breath, my harbinger of doom.
For whomever finds the darkness will eventually seek the light.
Wounded wing, broken dream.
Booming promises, lies abloom.
Told what to do …
A wise woman made, healed, broken, healed.
Each scar a badge, a crimson past.
Once watered with tears of love.
Heart opens, almost bursts.
Smells like the earth after a rain.
Fire burns on a silent beach.
Bright constellations fleck the sky.
The world at night is so secret, so ancient.
Sit on the beach alone, back turned to the fire.
Reach back to a Paleolithic mind.
Imagine the first pyromancy, the first priestess.
The first body returned to the womb of the earth.
Tell the wind to slow down, but it keeps blowing, bringing the Wolf Moon to my shore.
The moss and lichen swell under the lunacy and sing softly of ancient dreams.
A prehistoric tendon, some vestigial nerve, twinges and functions anew.
A match is struck that no wind can extinguish.
Regeneration out of destruction.
Dark and light.
Film of salt, lying between air and earth.
Balance of duality.
Mediocrity and mystery.
Tranquil and chaotic.
No mistakes, no duties, no lies.
They will understand if I save the best for myself.
Moon-washed celestial mysteries from a black winter sky. Ancient beyond human memory, she absorbs nightmares, dreams, wishes; and reflects a weathered wisdom while she whispers secrets to the select few.
Ashes and crimson, and water and leaf.
Muse is confusion, muse is sin.
Myself a wonder.
Me is a fool.
Thin slices of everyday leer and fold.
Creases stripe visage.
Paltry poison gulped whole.
Waiting, hating, and entreating.
A muse wanders into the room and blocks the sun from view.
Viciously I write, seriously I scorn.
I love, I hate, I renew.
She shone like the starlit quality of a night sky.
We ring the brown, mounded earth.
Returning what was stolen from mother.
The trees wave in the wind like eyelashes batting tears away.
Winter has a tight, frigid grip.
She is unrelenting, but I thank her for this.
For only in her stolid frame and chill can I truly withdraw and reclaim my vision.
My vision of hope and smiles and sun.
Winter’s mantra is <believe>.
All poems from Shadowlands Poetry
copyright 2020 D. M. Pearson
Do not reuse any content on eig-eng-rau.com without the permission of the author, D. M. Pearson
Connect with the author, D. M. Pearson
I love this relaxing video from RelaxationElation.
Its great for writing or reading Shadowlands Poetry.
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