Intensity. Beauty, Talent. Literary Revelations is thrilled to bring you the poetry of David Milligan-Croft.
David Milligan-Croft was born in Yorkshire and studied Graphic Design at Jacob Kramer College of Art in Leeds and has lived in England, Scotland, New Zealand, Italy and Ireland working as a Creative Director, Art Director and Writer for the Advertising Industry. He has won over 100 awards for creativity and effectiveness in the field of advertising and design.
David was shortlisted for The Guardian TV Pitch Review for his comedy-drama series, The Bible, II. David was also shortlisted for the Independent on Sunday Short Story Competition in 1997. His short story, Woman’s Best Friend, also appears in the IOS New Stories published by Bloomsbury. His screenplay, of the same name, was optioned by Irish production company Nomad Productions in 1999. He was shortlisted for the Mind Short Story Competition in 2019 with his story Ten Orbits of the Sun.
His poetry has been widely published in Ireland, Britain and the US in anthologies and periodicals such as: The Greenhouse Magazine; The Literary Review, (U.S); Envoi; Cyphers; Electric Acorn; W.P. Monthly; Lifelines 3; The Haiku Quarterly; The Pickled Body and The Amnesty International Anthology, Human Rights Have No Borders. He came 3rd in the CN/SALC micro poem competition in 2013.
David is the author of six feature-length screenplays, six short films, a collection of short stories, a poetry collection, two stories for children, and two novels.
David now works on an acute mental health ward as a Technical Instructor.
There is a type of landmine that only detonates once you have taken your foot off of it.
It spares you instant disintegration – Instead, it gives you that split-second realisation of the impending horror that is about to ascend upon your hapless body.
Of course, if you are fleet-of-mind, you may realise the error of your way, and keep your weight pressed firmly down on the detonator.
In the hope that someone might come to your rescue. That they collect rocks and sticks and boulders – anything they can lay their hands on to replace the downward pressure, that is you.
And that is how it feels to be in love with you. To have two choices: To wait for you in vain, or to accept fate and lift my foot off.
I shall scour the universe
Where did you go? One minute you were here, the next, you were gone.
There is a hole in the galaxy, the exact size and shape that you used to occupy.
It is now empty. Devoid of your presence.
Surely, you are somewhere, You can’t just disappear.
There is a finite amount of energy In the universe, of which you are an intrinsic part.
Perhaps you are in the soil, as nutrients for worms and bugs and fungi.
Or delicate forget-me-nots luring honey bees to do their bidding.
Maybe you are pollen carried upon the summer breeze.
You could be anywhere by now. But I’ll keep searching,
in the trees and in the streams, in the flowers and on the wind.
I’ll shall scour the universe for you, even down to the cracks of my hands.
Dear readers, we are thrilled to let you know that Literary Revelations has signed new publication agreements for this calendar year. We are fully booked. We look forward to showcasing more outstanding poetry. We work diligently to bring our poets to a #1 Amazon bestselling place in Amazon Hot New Releases [poetry categories] – place where they deserve to be. We do not guarantee that will happen but we will work hard to try to achieve this goal. More updates coming soon.
As a reminder we do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.
Starting June 1, 2023 Literary Revelations offers author services and accepts artwork submissions
1. Author Services
writing and publication consultations via Zoom short forewords blurbs advanced praise for books
For more information please email us at firstname.lastname@example.org and label your email Author Services.
2. Artwork Submission
We accept only original artwork. Please submit your art in electronic form accompanied by your bio and a short description of your art. Submit only one piece of art at the time. Literary Revelations is not liable for any kind of plagiarism, or incorrect information that submissions may contain. Submit your art at email@example.com and label your email Art Submission.
Please follow us on Instagram @lr_publisher and on Twitter @LR_Publisher.
Our #1 Amazon bestselling books
The books we published until now have become #1 Amazon bestselling books in Amazon Hot New Releases [various categories]. Congratulations again to the contributors to our anthology Hidden in Childhood and to Swarn Gill on his book, Love, Stars and Paradigms.
Please click on the images to go to Amazon.com
We have a considerable amount of poetry and short stories already submitted for publication in our Journal. Please be patient. We will get back to you shortly. Please remember that we are not a poetry site that publishes all submissions. As we write in the About section:
“We expect work that dazzles the intellect, and delights the soul; work that makes feelings blossom into symphonies of love, beauty, and sorrow. Interpret the silence. Find the place where love was born, and tears are entombed. Be the voice of prophets. Be the soft whisper of Sakura.”
Literary Revelations is thrilled to bring you the exceptional poetry of Gary Gauthier. We hope you enjoy this feature.
Gary Gautier has taught university writing and literature and given numerous radio interviews. His poetry book, Schematics and Assemblies of the Cosmic Heart, was shortlisted for the Faulkner-Wisdom Poetry Prize, and his novels have earned a #1 Amazon bestseller rank in two categories. His latest novel, Alice, was selected for the Innovative Fiction Book Club, and a screen adaptation of his novel, Mr. Robert’s Bones, made the second round at the Austin Film Festival.
Gary’s forthcoming book of poems, The Day We Met in Earthly Time, like his previous book, builds a landscape that is rich in emotion and intimacy, yet resonant with the archetypal, the eternal, the mythical. The poems in the new book rely more heavily on the local imagery of particular places, but the mood and manner of sculpting the language will be familiar to readers of Gary’s previous poetry.
Gary has hitchhiked through 17 countries and 35 US states, and currently lives in the pueblos mágicos of Mexico. You can see all of his books at http://www.garygautier.weebly.com.
Dragons of the earth flashing red and green and gold once moved to the galaxies above cry out, they rage against fate and thrash their tails in a glitter of fiery stars.
Sirens of the ocean weaving seaspawn and seawrack removed to the same night sky, they rage against time and weep for their watery home in teardrop stars.
And we, what have we to do with dragons, with sirens, we who see only the stars, only beauty, we who’ve lost the exquisite pain of those elemental beings?
We have nothing to do but await the next wound, await being ripped aloft from the earth, soothed for now in soft forgetfulness, in the bare beauty of the night sky, where sirens silently weep the more because they cannot weep for us.
Andrew grew up in The Evergreen State. He fell in love with writing short stories and poems in high school. He found writing cathartic through foster care. After high school, he served three years in the army. Andrew was stationed at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. He was a paratrooper, and the fragility of life grew his faith in God. After his contract, he returned to Washington and graduated college with a degree in general studies. He nearly completed a master’s degree. Among other things, Andrew is an avid runner, a self-published writer, and a pop-punk music enthusiast.
Love in Front of Me
I’ll never love again, not until I perish. I ought not to allow myself to absorb the reflection of a lover’s frostbite. It ends with the sting of reasons to stay put or to depart, so I hit the open road. But Beth is so cool, and I hate it. I observe stolen love in her rejection. Beth evades my lips, and I envision her kiss. Beth is on a date, and it’s with me. She beams with a glint in her gaze. Warmth surged through my chest and I found what I’d been missing right in front of me.
I accept the blame, blame for this, but not for that. I’ll never admit to being wrong, not for that. I concealed my scars, giving hope to thaw the frozen lake of my damaged ambitions. I took too long to ask because I caught a case of nerves, lost the lines, my pickup lines, fell behind the enemy lines of failure. But something in me transformed one night. I tossed the backbiter inside myself to the wind. I approached you before you could say hello.
Litarary Revelations is thrilled to bring you again the stunning art of Hikari, as well as the story of her generosity toward our publishing house.
Hikari is a Japanese artist whose craft is influenced by Nohgaku, one of the traditional styles of Japanese theater passed down from generation to generation for more than 650 years. In 2001 Nohgaku was proclaimed by UNESCO a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity.” [https://www.unesco.emb-japan.go.jp/htm/nogaku.htm]
More on Nohgaku
Nohgaku is a traditional Japanese performing art combining music, dance, and theatre.
The program of Nohgaku performances typically starts with a Kyogen play followed by a Noh play or consists of two Noh plays and one Kyogen play which is performed in between the Noh plays. The performance style of presenting a Kyogen play in between Noh plays was established already in the Muromachi Period. This is, of course, largely due to the historical fact that Noh and Kyogen have belonged to the same performing arts group as forms of theater derived from Sarugaku, but it is also a result of the popularity of Kyogen plays that carry on the comical quality of Sarugaku. The audiences have been enjoying the relaxing time offered by the Kyogen plays performed in between profound Noh plays. This perfect balance between Noh and Kyogen is perhaps one of the reasons why Nohgaku has been loved for centuries.
Hikari was born in Tokyo. She lived in Paris until the age of 15 when she returned to Tokyo where she presently resides. After graduating from university, Hikari started working as a Certified Public Accountant.
Here is Hikari talking about her own art: “I am an artist, and my works express something that cannot be expressed in words. My passion for drawing and colors conveys a beautiful world in harmony with nature through the gradation of colors. My art is inspired by the spirit of Japanese Nohgaku, an art which I also practice.”
Most recently Hikari drew for Literary Revelations a piece of exquisite art. We are more than thrilled to feature it and most grateful for it. The art below is Hikari’s second gift to us and is inspired by the “Lotus Flower” a work of her mentor Professor Naoki Kimura. You can find her first drawing she gifted to us here.
My Thoughts on Hikari’s Fabulous Work
Hikari uses vibrant colors to showcase the intricacy and depth of the Nohgaku art. She captures the atmosphere in which any spectator of a Nohgaku performance is emersed in. Hikari’s drawings engage most senses and recreate an entire performance with its lively movements and striking facial expressions. Her colors are sonorous and silent at the same time. They transport you in a world of formidable emotions where the link between the human soul and nature blossoms like a beautiful lotus at the end of a long rainy season.
There is power in Hikari’s drawings: power stemming from the delicacy of the line, the finesse of the structure, the patterns of the costumes, and the dimensionality of the spaces she creates.
There is beauty in Hikari’s drawings: beauty lasts forever, and so will Hikari’s drawings.
Hikari, thank you.
Hikari: Exhibition, Beauty, and Generosity
Between February 27 – March 4, 2023 Hikari had an exhibition at Gallery Art Point [Reflection 1] Tokyo, Japan. Together with her beautiful drawings that you can see below she displayed copies of Literary Revelations’ first published book Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology. She bought copies of our book and she gifted them to her friends. She translated into Japanize my poem If I say I love you, a poem nominated for 2019 Publication of the Year at Spillwords Press, and her interpretation of it. I am deeply grateful for her generosity toward me and toward Literary Revelations.
My thanks to you Hikari are forever. And so is my friendship.
Pictures from Gallery Art Point [Reflection 1] Tokyo, Japan.
Hikari and her mentor Professor Naoki Kimura. On the walls Hikari’s beautiful drawings.
Hikari’s drawings. In one of the pictures on a glass tables you can see copies of our book Hidden in Childhood: A Poetry Anthology.
The last picture features Hikari’s presentation of me and Literary Revelations, as well as that of Virginia Mateias, a superb poet and friend, and one of Literary Revelations’ collaborators.
For Orthodox Christians, theological foundations rooted in the earliest Christian community set the tone for beliefs which take expression in liturgical practice, which directly confronts the experience of the dying and bereaved. The liturgical practices in Orthodoxy, speak to the holistic nature of our experience of death—engaging through ritual, body, mind, and soul, and activating all our senses.
John T. Chirban, Greek Orthodox Understandings of Death: Implications for Living the Easter Faith, (Routledge, 2002), abstract
The Orthodox Church uses the Julian calendar, not the Gregorian calendar, to calculate when Easter is. The Julian calendar was officially implemented by Julius Caesar and was in use primarily between 45 BC and 1582 AD. Though much of the world now uses the Gregorian calendar, which replaced the Julian calendar, in the Orthodox Church the custom has remained to use it to calculate the date of Easter.
Good morning/good afternoon everyone. To those of you who celebrate the Orthodox Easter: He is Risen. Christos Anesti.
To those of you who do not celebrate Literary Revelations wishes you a thousand years of love. We welcome submissions from all over the world and from people of all faiths.
On this day we are thrilled to feature a short interview conducted by Virginia Mateias with Vasilie Trif, as well as, art and poetry.
Virginia Mateias is the result of two cultures and draws her creative inspiration from her European roots and her North American perspective. Virginia has published three volumes of poetry to date. She is an internationally published author, and an award winning author. Her literary work appeared in various magazines and anthologies. Virginia loves nature, travel and all the little things that give life beauty and meaning.
Vasile Trif is a priest at the Saint-Eustache parish in Canada. He is both a poet and a plastic artist. Born in Transylvania, into an art-loving family, Vasile Trif made his debut with the volume The Prodigal Son, published by Risoprint. A graduate of the Theology and Philosophy Faculties of Cluj-Napoca, Vasile emigrated to Montreal in 2006. He was initiated into linocut and collography techniques at the Valuard Ancient Arts Atelier. In his artistic approach, Vasile Trif tries to make “the Invisible visible through word, line and color.”
Featured art: Vasile Trif.
Virginia Mateias: Art, just like religion, befits a human superior need. There was a time when art used to serve religion. The architecture of ancient times, Greek sculpture during Pericles’ time, West-European Renaissance painting, religious dances, music and poetry in the Judaic cult, are all the fruits of the human thirst for the absolute. You are both a priest and an artist. You write poetry, paint, and study engraving. What role does faith play in your painting and poetry?
Vasile Trif: When I was a child, eager to know my village and its surroundings, curiosity often drove me to the graveyard. I was fascinated by the wooden crosses, and I tried to decipher the epitaphs. Many of them were reduced to only the vertical pole, stuck in the ground, while the horizontal arm had either fallen down or was totally rotten. I was aware of a strange, deep feeling. For us, children, that was another world, a mysterious world of penetrating silence. It is this axis of vertical communication that endures after we are no more, the other one, of horizontal communication, is left behind. In other words, we are that something that aspires upward; our tellurian being remains frozen in gravity and decay. The human being is not only a colony of shifting cells, as a scholar said. We are so much more complex, much more than just a system that has been programmed to stop at a given time, like a pendulum. I think that Art is a part of this vertical communication, meaningfully revealing the Primordial Sense.
Poetry is a mystic way to our inner selves, to the others, and to God. The person who dares to expose themselves to the risk of creation finally emerges as a new, changed person. Trying to change the world is a gigantic attempt, but we can change ourselves and, paradoxically, our endeavor touches the depths of others. Any act of creation becomes the water into which the readers dive and heal themselves. Our creative way of expression leads to a change deep inside the others.
A 20th century thaumaturge entered an artist workshop and saw a vase sitting upside-down on a table. Feeling annoyed, he took it and put it in the natural position, explaining that this was the correct way: open to the outer life so that it could gather its energy. The human being is a vase who is responsible of their content and has the privilege to choose this content. I think an artist is endowed by God with this sensitivity that allows them to receive and reveal the Sense.
For me, Poetry is one of the states inhabited by God. He makes Himself known through it and, sometimes, He surprises me by inviting me in.
Virginia Mateias: 33% of the world population is Christian today. What is the meaning of Easter and how do you prepare yourself for this celebration?
Vasile Trif: The contemporary human being has to face the absurd, cruel reality of death and if they lack faith, they are overcome by this destiny. The only way out is to give it a transcendental sense. Flemish painters used to paint some still life symbols on the backside of the portraits of young people: an hourglass, a flower, a skull. There is a binal relationship between appearance and reality: we can see youth and beauty but on the other side there is the mark of the ephemeral truth. Time marks people, things, nature, it grinds them and crushes them in a few seconds. The flower in the vase lingers away. ‘What’s our life? Truly flower, and haze, and morning dew.’ The Christian orthodox funeral ritual intones so poetically.
At one point in art history, the still life takes centre stage, no more on the backside. It discloses its woeful message of our own passing. The backsides of these paintings is bare: an empty grave, after Resurrection, hope giving. Here we are, in a state of grace, ready to create another binal structure: death (passing) – Resurrection.
And still, our life in its wholeness is flower, and haze, and morning dew…
The joy of life is present at the aesthetic level in a flawless creation which brings so much bliss when you watch it. Our own life should be understood as joy, blooming and touching others.
On the other hand, the joy of life reveals itself at a mystical level, the level of initiatory knowledge. The haze always hide something. It hides the true reality which is beyond it, which surprises us, which we have been longing for: the eternal life.
Then we have that joy of walking barefoot through the morning dew towards the morning of our own Resurrection.
To be prepared for the Resurrection celebration means to be in a permanent state of internal and external equilibrium, to consciously aim to reach this state. The human being is a receptacle that ceaselessly collects rational and emotional information. It is important to filter this information lest we might get burdened in our joy of creation. By meditating and praying we communicate on the vertical axis with He who gives a sense to our search. It is true that, many times, distraction, weakness, fear and doubt become our partners. It is essential that they shouldn’t become permanent parts of our being. Christ felt them on the cross.
Every day we follow
the path of Light towards the dark womb of the earth and we can choose to join It, to spring with It overthrowing death.
How many times we willingly die every day emotionally, rationally? We can also rouse from death. We have the ability to live every day as a Resurrection day, a celebration of life. We can do this by meditating and praying.
Opening their arms during prayer turns human beings into receptacles asking for their own content. This is the state of the priest when he calls forth the Holy Spirit. When we declaim The Lord’s Prayer we call the Holy Spirit to organizes our life and gives life to amorphous matter. (‘And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.’ – Genesis 1,2) When we talk to Him, He hovers over the waters of our minds, permeting them with divine energy.
The equation of our life contains not only terms like beauty, youth, joy, but also ephemerality, loss, pain. The One who solves the ontological equation of His own creation is his own Creator. Christ restores it, opens it to Resurrection. Death becomes just a passage.
Jesus of Nazareth by Virginia Mateis
The millennia is split because of His blood Before and After After the worm’s pit in the ground. The pain that keeps you warm The innocence sentenced to death All crucified… The Way, the Truth, and the Life. A word, a light A faith, a crusade A weakness, a path to knowledge An understanding, a burning A burning, a rebirth… Waters carry the memory of the first Adam Earth moans in nostalgia for its lost innocence The desire of eternal spring The fear of the worm’s dominion The hunger for His Blood
Today is Sunday by Vasile Trif
Rungs organize themselves in a spiral just like Jacob’s ladder, endless as evening fell as morning dawned it happened so often that on a Sunday I woke up holding a living book
it occurred to me that I could make some changes for example, to connect the dots as close to the center as possible
to unite in pairs unfulfilled and lonely words to take back my harsh words to incinerate them and grind up their bones So they wouldn’t tread miserably and barefoot on anyone’s soul
to visit those I didn’t say goodbye to it’s true that I still think of them and welcome them to evening prayer and in the morning I see myself enjoying a good cup of coffee with them
but suddenly an angel leaning on his wing informed me that it is not written in the language of men that I cannot change anything since today is Sunday and every shop it is closed
I consoled myself with this perhaps, at least these last thoughts God finds them and will throw them as seeds of grass into her round white hollows
Enjoy this 2016 beautiful Easter celebration in Santorini, Greece.
Literary Revelations is thrilled to feature an exceptional story by K’Cee Scoggins. I hope you enjoy it.
A winner of the 8th Annual International Memoir Showcase in San Diego, K’Cee Scoggins has a passion for advocacy and strives to capture the strength of rural women within her written work. She has bylines in multiple anthologies including Hidden in Childhood, The Oklahoma Women’s Journal, The Absolute, & 100 Word Project.
When she’s not moonlighting as a writer, K’Cee works for Oklahoma State University as a community grant coordinator. K’Cee enjoys horseback riding, reading, and traveling. To keep things interesting, she’s also a student. K’Cee currently resides on a small acreage outside of Oklahoma City with her family.
Rose Rock Ranch
If you’re an Okie, you’re cursed. You pay for your father’s sins. You pay for your mother’s sins. Hell, by the time you reach the age to commit your own sins, half your soul has already been dragged & blown away by the wind. And that’s why we’re cowboys.
For the first time in years, I’m going home. I always thought my Gran would die doing what she loved. Instead of going out on the back of a horse with her boots on, she softly slipped from this world in her canopy bed while the full moon hovered over Rose Rock Ranch. Although her generation tended to force women to hold a hand to make it, Gran bucked tradition and was more formidable than any man I’ve ever known. Beloved Dolores Anne Parker. She understood why I needed to leave home and why I couldn’t come back. Gran was the gatekeeper of Parker family secrets.
I guide my rental car past a faded sign that reads, “Welcome to Bridgewater. Home of Petty Officer Ethan Crenshaw.” My hands tremble, and my heart drops before I slam on the brakes and shift the car into reverse. Nothing in Bridgewater changes. Ever. Gran used to say, “Taylor, you can’t look back.” And maybe she was right, but I’ll be damned if someone didn’t change the welcome sign.
Lost in thought, I self-consciously push forward my wavy dark auburn hair to cover the burn scar on the left side of my face. My sister Morgan is meeting me at the ranch to finalize the estate paperwork. I’m only staying in town long enough to help tie up loose ends. I plan to return to my daughter Grace and my life in Seattle as quickly as possible.
I turn right at the end of Main Street and head toward my childhood home. The ranch is seven miles north of town, down a dusty, pothole-riddled, dead-end road. I smile as I pull into the circle drive of the familiar Victorian mansion. The wraparound porch is surrounded by cactuses and rose rocks.
I park the car, pop the trunk, turn off the ignition, take a deep breath, and climb out into the blazing Oklahoma heat. I adjust my sunglasses and walk around to the back of the car to grab my luggage when suddenly, I hear a loud, “Hiss, Honk, Hiss!”
In a furious haze of white feathers, a goose jumps over my luggage, attacks me, and bites my thigh. What the hell? A GOOSE just bit me. When did Gran get a goose? Panicked, I scream and race to the old oak tree that sits in the middle of the circle drive. The resident guard-goose is now in fast pursuit. I make it to my destination and try to climb, but my red-soled stilettos and black pencil skirt aren’t designed for climbing trees. Abruptly, I hear a soft giggle coming from the porch, followed by a sharp whistle. The goose stops immediately. It’s Morgan, in all her heroic glory.
“Welcome home, Taylor.”
I quickly wipe sweat from my forehead and try to compose what’s left of my dignity. It’s just my luck to spend years fine-tuning my life only to be taken out by an Okie monster goose.
“Morgan, that goose is evil! I can’t believe you didn’t warn me beforehand,” I shout as I remove my sunglasses.
“Maybe if you came around more often, you would’ve been properly introduced to Al. Gran rescued him from the animal shelter in town a while back. He’s protective but harmless. Come on. He’ll leave you alone now,” Morgan asserts.
I keep my eyes cautiously trained on Al the Goose as I make my way up the stairs of the front porch. When I finally reach Morgan, I smile and spread my arms wide for a hug. Morgan, with her wild curly blonde hair, reminds me of sunshine. She’s the first to pull away from our hug and I follow her inside.
The house still smells like saddle soap mixed with the faint smell of sweet horse feed. The entryway is neatly lined with racks of saddles. I pause for a moment to slowly run two fingers across a motto tooled into the leather stirrup fender of the saddle Gran gave me when I turned nineteen. Omnia Feminae Aequissimae.
My mind drifts to the evening I received it. Gran explained the motto means “women are equal to everything” in Latin. It was also the night I gave myself to a man who would devastate me.
I shake myself out of the memory. The hardwood floors creak with every step as I make my way into the kitchen. An old radio sits on a ledge above the sink and forlornly hums “Seven Year Ache” by Roseanne Cash. I instantly notice a copper urn proudly displayed on the kitchen island.
I gasp, “Mor, why are Gran’s ashes sitting here? Jesus. You’re such a creep.”
Morgan shrugs and winks at me before she spins around and pulls two glasses from the cabinet. “I figure she should be included in the conversation we’re about to have. Gran hid a lot from us, Tay. Not to mention, I have no idea what to do with her ashes. You know she didn’t want a fuss.”
It’s not like Morgan to be so cynical. I’m the jaded older sister. She’s whimsical, kind, and gracious. I don’t know how to handle this version of my sister.
With a sigh, I suggest, “I think it would be a good idea to ride out to the bottomland and spread her ashes in the creek. It’s what she would’ve wanted. Gran was too independent to be confined in an urn for eternity.”
Morgan smirks, “You’re not riding anywhere in those fancy shoes, darlin’.”
Morgan pours icy lemonade into the glasses, reaches down to shuffle around in a lower cabinet, and comes up victoriously holding a green-labeled bottle of Tullamore Dew whiskey. Day drinking with my goody-two-shoes baby sister was not on the to-do list.
I grin as she hands me the glass of lemonade, “Before you pour the whiskey, I need to bring in the luggage I left outside because of the monster goose.”
Morgan sighs, “God, Tay. I’ve missed you. You should move back and raise Grace here on the ranch.”
Before leaving the kitchen, I roll my eyes, “You know I can’t, Mor. Grace is happy. Settled. I don’t want this place to hurt her like it did us.”
I nearly reach the front door when I stumble over a small rose rock in the entryway. Perplexed, I bend down and grab it. I smile wistfully, thinking about when Morgan and I were little girls. We would gobble up the wild legends Gran told us about our Parker ancestors communicating through rose rocks. She swore rose rocks were mystical.
Unexpectedly, I hear a loud knock. I straighten my skirt before opening the front door and making eye contact with a set of striking blue eyes that have haunted me for years. Ethan. My high school sweetheart. The father of my child. Petty Officer Ethan Crenshaw. Gran told me he was killed in action. He’s dead.
The last thing I see before I welcome the darkness and collapse to the hardwood floor is Ethan’s calloused hand. He’s holding my luggage.
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This week our feature poet is Gary Clarke. I hope you enjoy his wonderful poetry as much as we do. Literary Revelations wishes you a great week ahead and thanks you for your constant support.
Gary is a student of life, as he stumbles across lessons each and every day. Luckily situated so close to the North Sea in the Highlands of Scotland means that he not only gets to witness some beautiful winters, but also explore a rustic and scenic coastline, which fuels his interest in nature-themed photography and blogging about the local environment.
If you ask him what he does for a living, he’ll bore you with anecdotes about when he worked in music journalism interviewing lots of rock music artists, or the time he was a Systems Analyst helping others fix their internet woes through telephony-based conversations.
This poet and enthusiastic thinker may also share his reflections on when he supported adults with learning difficulties with every aspect of life, or the time he learned different methods of folding serviettes as a Waiter/Kitchen Assistant. At this point in his life though, he currently works in a hospital which is both rewarding and challenging.
Poetry is a new pursuit to him. He finds therapeutic and stimulating, after accidentally stumbling across a talented poetry and writing community via social media in 2021. With their support and encouragement, Gary continues to develop his craft of rhyme and meaning.
Life’s a journey, not a destination.
There’s occasions when you’re strong Growing where you belong
Where sometimes is a bloom Which brightens up the room
But nothing stays the same In this garden that’s your brain
So would you change power For fragility of flower?
Suspended by a temperature Moments flow so still
Anticipation glints in sunlight As winter tames this spill
Melt this frozen rope which binds Then drop with nature’s call
Forever framed in crystal tears The art of how to fall
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Literary Revelations is thrilled to let you know that Swarn’s Gill poetry collection Love, Stars, and Paradigms, is now live on Amazon.
Swarn Gill is an exceptional poet and scientist. Literary Revelations is proud to showcase his poetry.
Here is the Amazon description of the book:
Swarn Gill’s poetry collection, Love, Stars, and Paradigms is a must-read for anyone looking for original and stunning poems about love, social, and political issues. Through his work, Gill explores the connection between the natural realm and the human condition with an eye for detail that is both captivating and thought-provoking. Through powerful imagery and vivid language, he paints his own unique perspective on the world around us. Whether it’s about heartache or joy, Gill’s words will touch your soul. Love, Stars, and Paradigms is an unforgettable journey through the beauty of love and the complexities of relationships.
Gabriela Marie Milton author, editor, publisher
Swarn jokingly telling us why we have to buy his book.
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