Want to buy Devil In The WInd?

If you would like to support a fellow writer and remarkable author, here you go.

Frank Prem Poetry

Both the paperback and the e-book are now available online for pre-ordering. Want to make sure you get a copy as soon as its available?

Pre-order now. No payment is made until the book is ready for delivery to you.

The e-book is at Amazon, while the paperback is with all major online retailers:

E-book:

Amazon US:    AU:    UK

Paperback:

Amazon US; AU;UK

Booktopia

Book Depository

Barnes and Noble

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Let’s try

 

lorax-for-president-i-speak-for-the-trees

While I am here…

Help More Bees
Plant more trees
Clean the seas

.. and eradictae the dictator(s) in this the ‘free’ world.  And it’s not just the bees that have yellow stripes.

Dare to be a Voice is Published

On behalf of Kate, eco warrior. Spreading the word of a wonderful project. Please support it if you can.

4am Writer

Huzzah! Dare to be a Voice is officially published in both e-book and print versions. This would make an EXCELLENT gift for someone in your life who LOVES animals, who LOVES our planet, and who WANTS to read some fun, creative stories by talented young writers!

Here are the links:

Dare to be a Voice — Paperback

Dare to be a Voice — Digital

If you are interested in helping share this book to your family and friends, that would be amazing! Give me a shout below if you’d like to be a part of our street team!

DON’T FORGET! Proceeds from the sales of the book will be donated to two non-profit organizations: World Wildlife Fund and Center for Wildlife. Both organizations are committed to protecting our planet for future generations (that means OUR kids and grandkids because we are already in the throes of disaster).

This week I’m…

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Haeddre 29/7/2016

I’ve been so busy. Apologies for not visiting your great works much. I hope you don’t mind this.

As it Comes

heddir

i
It is fine to be in balance, to hear wistful
cries like invisible veins in the winds,
and see lucky, white strands amongst
the heather’s Scottish highlands type
of sobbing, and to listen as the wind speaks
in gusts; inhaling deeply as if sucking
up a thought before breathing it out
smoothly in a musical phrase.

ii
Our giggles are swept away instantly
as we try to stand with pale, bare,
chicken legs; goose pimples and heads
lift deliberately so that we may
be bludgeoned by the wind – our cheeks
are malleable like Playdoh as we turn
to face the brave. Lana’s spectacles
are nudged from their cosy space; nudged
all the while with nary a murmur or complaint
right up until she would trip – her straight
edged, rimmed nose would turn red
underneath freckles that are faint traces
of sunlit birds across a pale expanse
of…

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waiting for the light (Teenage Suicide)

The Lonely Author

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.

waiting for the light

.

dressed in her best
better off dead outfit
she resides in the shadows
for the sun
never shines for her

even in the blackness
the unnoticed signs
were always there
until she grew weary
tired of the dark

longing for enlightenment
she sits there
quietly
patiently
waiting for the light

.

In the past year, four friends/acquaintances lost their young sons and daughters to suicide.  Incidents of teenage suicide are growing at an alarming rate.  Each day there are an average of 3,041 suicide attempts of teens attending the 9th through 12th grades (in the United States alone).

Could one conversation, one hug, smile, pat on the back, or question have made a difference?  Can’t the ballgame wait for another time?  Can’t you catch the latest epsiode of your favorite show tomorrow on Hulu?

Every message, every minute counts.  The most important thing…

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Trick the Treats

It’s Halloween, and I am unashamed and this has been published… again…

enjoy!

As it Comes

witch-by-scottepentzer1For the Halloween Writing Event Oct 22nd – Oct 31st

The Cracked Lens View

Blood spilled over onto the cruel hand that had just squeezed life out of her latest victim. Such a strong little girl, she mused before laughing. The same dry cackle exuded from the ravenous bellows deep within her mottled soul. She stopped and looked around; her long nails scratched uncouthly at her long, flowing, ragged garb. What she saw was completely different. No tatters or drab, grey bloodied stain. She only saw ‘true’ beauty, which she was not. Her large feet clunked around the dusty grit as she sniffed the air before running a tawdry sleeve across her nose, blistered and generous.

“Ye gods, another day, another year. It gets monotonous,” she said sighing. “Little upstarts trying to outdo me. Will they ever learn?”

A few miles away Jane, Sarah and Sasha giggled in a…

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the death of a poet

Another amazing piece.

jdubqca


my words bleed no more
bandaged and clotted
how they stop in their tracks
my entire body trembling
for the very last time

three angels hover above me
I pretend not to see them
and though they say nothing
I easily read their thoughts
just as they easily know mine

I ask for pen and paper
but nobody hears my call
so I arise from the table
unshaken and all on my own
resurrecting words left unsaid



september two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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