Sijo: Total Heartbreak

Knowing that I will never see my feline friends again 
 I feel a total heartbreak that some cannot understand 
 If they could only know the home I have found here without them 
 ~cie~ 

A Haiga and Sijo written in honor of my lost friends.
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Team Netherworld Creations: What Pegman Saw in the Snows of Kilimanjaro

Team Netherworld Creations: What Pegman Saw in the Snows of Kilimanjaro: Pegman saw the ghost of a musician named Gerry Clifford wandering through the snows of Kilimanjaro, lost in troubled thought. Pegman wished that he could say something to comfort Gerry...

A flash fiction featuring Team Netherworld favorite, Pegman.

A story to accompany my illustration.

A story to accompany my illustration.: Inspired by a fellow artist/writer on the site Hive I followed suit and decided to write a small story with the rules: Use 211 words and that it must begin and end with the same phrase and sentence. I hope you enjoy and why not join in?

Wow! The picture is gorgeous! The story is fun too.

Poetry of the Netherworld: the canopy bed

Poetry of the Netherworld: the canopy bed



This shape poem doesn't quite shape up on the Publish0x platform, but feel free to check it out.     

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Poetry of the Netherworld: the more things change

Poetry of the Netherworld: the more things change: The image is a promotional photo that was taken by the real estate agency for the house that my son and I currently live in. This shows a view from the back yard.  

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Rotting Pumpkin Sestina by Sly Fawkes

Rotting Pumpkin Sestina by Sly Fawkes: Image copyright Deedster on Pixabay https://pixabay.com/photos/pumpkins-halloween-trump-trumpkin-1580968/ 

This snarky Sestina is composed by Aunt Cie's snarkastic pundit alter-ego, Sly Fawkes. Sly is bringing on the Snark! If you like Sly's style, please consider leaving me a tip at no cost to yourself when you sign up for a Publish0x account. Get tipped in cryptocoin for your posts too! 

Friday Flashback: Carnal Invasion Feature: Meet Ulrich von Brandt

Friday Flashback: Carnal Invasion Feature: Meet Ulrich von Brandt: Friday Flashback is a fun blogging game hosted by Fandango at fivedotoh.com. The rules are simple. Choose a post that you wrote a year ago and share it with your audience. My post comes from the official Naughty Netherworld Press blog. (http://www.naughtynetherworldpress.com)

Come meet Climax Castle's friendly king, Ulrich von Brandt!

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The Xena Scrolls: Scroll #10: Death In Chains

The Xena Scrolls: Scroll #10: Death In Chains: The Xena ScrollsBy:  Gabrielle Bard of PodediaScroll#10:  Death In Chains December, 49 B.C.   Most people think of death as the end.  When in fact death can be the beginning of a wonderful tale.  So I sing the tale of love and of death for there was...

This is a beautiful and powerful Xena fan fiction. I really enjoyed reading it, and you may too.

Also, while I was reading, I had a realization that gives this blog a second life. While I am no longer intending to create posts specific to this blog, I am actually returning it to its original intent: to be a library for shared work. Creating a post such as this one takes very little effort. I hope that by doing this, I will help followers discover other works of interest as well as my own writing. Faboo!

A Difficult Decision

Image by Steve Buissinne from Pixabay

Disclosure: This post contains affiliate links.

In an effort to utilize my time more efficiently and in fairness to my paying readers on BitPatron and Patreon, I have made the difficult decision to archive this blog. This site has been part of my creative process for many years, but recently it has become apparent that keeping it active is adding to my workload in a detrimental way.

Free Sites
On Blogger
Future snippets, flash fiction, Insecure Writers Support Group posts, and bitching about writing frustrations can be found at the official Naughty Netherworld Press website. 

Poetry can be found at the official Poetry of the Netherworld site

Business-related posts can be found at Aunt Cie's Attic

Good Stuff from Grover remains something of a catch-all blog, although I try to limit it to posts that directly relate to my son's and my life in the small town of Grover as we try to renovate the property we bought there. 

Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp and One Love will remain active, but these are side blogs that don't really fit into the evolutionary equation.

On Publish0x
Publish0x is a relatively new blockchain-based blogging platform that allows readers to tip creators at no cost to themselves and to earn cryptocoin for engaging with creators. For instance, I have my meter set so that when I tip a creator on Publish0x, they will earn 80 percent of the tip and I will earn 20 percent. 

Tipping my posts on Publish0x is your most cost-effective way of supporting my efforts, hands down.

Please don't ask me about the specifics of how cryptocoin and blockchain work, as I am a stone-cold noob. If you want to learn more, I suggest reading this post by Scott Cunningham, who knows much more about these topics than I do.

Here are my Publish0x blogs:

Paid Sites
If you enjoy my work, please consider supporting me on either BitPatron or Patreon. The BitPatron subscription offers similar benefits to the Cultist tier on Patreon with money-saving subscription options that I can't provide on Patreon. Even investing in a dollar a month subscription on Patreon helps me a lot, plus I provide each and every subscriber a chance to promote their own work via a shout-out on the official Naughty Netherworld Press blog at the end of each month and in the Aunt Cie's Attic newsletter, if I ever figure out how to do that effectively.

This has been an extremely difficult decision for me and I appreciate everyone's understanding. Sometimes evolution don't come easy, and I have a strong tendency to resist it. This decision has been in the works for a while now, if I'm to be honest. I'll see you around the web!

~cie the ornery old lady~


NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 20 + April PAD Challenge Day 20: A Gift Wrapped in Horror

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

could it be a gift
exposing social failings
in isolation
not everyone has to work
in external location

~sly has spoken~

image copyright juliahenze @123rf.com



NaPoWriMo Day 20: Write a poem about a gift

April PAD Challenge: Write an isolation poem

notes
I have felt for years that certain jobs could be done remotely. This would both reduce the amount of traffic on the road, resulting in reduced pollution and reduced stress levels, and would allow more disabled people the opportunity to work. I would like to think that maybe some companies will see the proverbial light and continue to have certain jobs be done remotely. I won't hold my breath, because experience says that people are stupid, apathetic, lazy, and generally evil, and I don't trust them to do the right thing.

Naughty Netherworld Press Patreon!
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NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 19 + April PAD Challenge Day 19: Message to My Past Self

Background image copyright Skitterphoto on Pixabay
Click to enlarge

The text follows in case you're on mobile 

 Dear fucking moron,
Instead of worrying so much
about what people who don't matter think of you

Instead of always having to buy
The latest and greatest whatever
and spending money like it's going out of style

Instead of worrying about finding
a man to complete you
and hopefully not beat you

Try getting your shit together a little bit
so I don't have to end up broke and broken
cleaning up the remnants of what your out-of-control self
left behind for me to deal with

Your future self

NaPoWriMo: Make a walking archive
I didn't exactly do that. I found an image with a bunch of stuff in it that worked.

April PAD Challenge: Write a message poem.

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 18 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 18: The Happiest Days of our Lives

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

Saturdays of youth
a precarious respite
a week of struggle
hearing messages of hate
that stuck forever with me

~cie~





NaPoWriMo: Write an ode to Saturdays

April PAD Challenge: Write a message poem

It's time to stop behaving as if the scars on the inside are trivial.

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 17 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 17: Sedoka For a Lost World


visitors to Earth
long after life had vanished
found many exotic things
tomes filled with strange glyphs
would they ever decipher
the meaning of our lost words?

~cie~



Check out the Ornery Book Emporium for reviews of strange tomes you may enjoy, plus the occasional rant.

Also check out this exotic tome filled with ornery glyphs for your reading pleasure. It's free to borrow on Kindle Unlimited, or own it for just 99 cents!


NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 16 + April PAD Challenge Day 16: The Last Best Chosen One

Image by David Bruyland from Pixabay

the last bigly best forever president
is a very stable genius, just ask him
"I am the chosen one," he says, looking up
he makes the best jokes, right?

"Trump is doing a very good job," he says
giving himself a gold star and Nobel prize
he is the best at complimenting himself
often in the third person

the last bigly best forever president
thinks he deserves a military parade
Kim Jong-un gets one, so when will Trump get his?
don't care how, he wants it now

the last bigly best forever president
knows everything that is going to happen
he was chosen by God to be the messiah
at least if you ask him

the last bigly best forever president
would not still be in office fucking things up
if Congress had the guts to remove his ass
impeachment means shit

~sly has spoken~

image copyright juliahenze @123rf.com



NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 15 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 15 + Words for Wednesday: Blue Dream

Image by Sandra Myles from Pixabay

I am your blue dream nightmare sunless sky
drawn from the depths of forgotten traumas
a thousand brisk switches leaving bloody trails
the gold within my heart not worth the trouble
aggressive word witch with a way to walk that says
stop where you are, stay the fuck away
I am not your delightful, delicate princess
not your pretty pop tart teen queen dream
hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and I
am scorn personified
I'll tear out your throat with pointed teeth
I'll rip out your heart with my bare hands
I am ground glass in your hipster latte
I am claws scraping over metal in a dark alley
I am a decaying, dirty city, ugly and gritty
I spit your name black from my mouth
I despise and disdain everything you stand for
and contrary to what you have told yourself
I wouldn't want to be like you
shallow and flighty, fading to nothing when exposed to light
blowing on the whims of any breeze that happens by
you are nothing and nobody, a Barbie doll princess
but looks fade and boys cheat and if your worth is tied up
in whether or not some creep thinks your tits are fine
and your ass is hot
then you will live your life chasing impossible perfection
botox and liposuction and spending each waking hour
obsessing on whether your ass is too fat
I am the nightmare you so fear becoming
old and fat and unwanted and pissed off as hell
I'm waiting for you around the next corner
so if you don't want to waste your life fearing becoming
what we all one way or another eventually do
concentrate on what's inside, on your soul, not your looks
on your skills and your truth and the strength of your self
youth is here today, gone tomorrow like a popular song
but the blues lives forever
real, gritty, unpretty
tarnished, unvarnished
sometimes mean as hell
taking shit from nobody
surviving with the middle finger flying high
to stupid conventions
and soulless fucks
who want to steal your thunder
'cause they've got none of their own
the blues can be your best friend
but the blues can fuck you up 
the blues don't bow down to nobody
the blues don't get played for a fool
so be your own dream
not what someone else tells you
don't be a bubblegum pop tart illusion
be true to yourself
be the blues

Sincerely,
The Ornery Fucking Old Lady
Not apologizing to anybody




NaPoWriMo: Write a poem about your favorite kind of music.
Blues is the backbone of rock of any genre. The blues is real, bare-bones, angry, no-bullshit music with a story. The blues doesn't ask you to be pretty or happy. The blues is real. 

April PAD Challenge: Write a dream poem. I'm pretty much everyone's worst nightmare.

Poem Genre: Slam poetry

Word List

Sunless,
Drawn,
Forgotten,
Brisk,
Thousand,
Gold, 

And/or

Delicate,
Walk,
Aggressive,
Word,
Witch,
Stop,

WEP Challenge April 2020: Antique Vase



This story will serve as a chapter in Team Netherworld's forthcoming novel or collection of connected stories (however readers prefer to view it), The Ballad of Gerry Clifford, which is part of the Yadira Chronicles. Full critique is welcome, providing you use the Hamburger Method. Or Veggie Burger Method. Or Egg Salad Sandwich method. I ain't picky, providing your criticisms are palatable and wrapped in compliments. 

Lotus Clifford is the adopted elder sister of Gerry and Paul Clifford, who appeared in the Cafe Terrace tale.

Here are the stats:

Genre: Cthulhu Mythos fiction/Paranormal Romance 
(Or, for those of you who are really picky, this particular chapter of a book falling within those genres could be construed as strictly romance.)

Word Count: 1000 Words

On a cold November day in 2014, a rangy priest with thinning dark-brown hair was pricing items for a rummage sale to benefit his parish. The Chapel of Loaves and Fishes was a small Catholic sanctuary in London’s Crouch End borough. The door opened, and a small, swarthy woman dressed in black, her graying black hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, entered. A smile brightened the cadaverous cleric’s pale face.

“Did you enjoy your birthday celebration, Sister Lotus?” Father William Kroger inquired.

Sister Lotus Clifford smiled, but the smile did not reach her sad dark eyes.

“Bit of a shambles, I’m afraid,” she replied as she hung up her coat. “Poor Gerry couldn’t recall whose birthday it was, and he grew quite tired and irritable. I’d just as soon have stopped in for tea like any ordinary day, but our dear Paul always tries to recreate the way things were when we were young. Gerry’s dementia is a stark reminder that our youth is well behind us.”

Father William gently patted Sister Lotus’ shoulder. She gazed affectionately into his kindly blue-gray eyes, and squeezed his long, thin fingers.

Lotus noticed an antique vase sitting on a table behind Father William.

“Oh, you fixed it!” she exclaimed. “I still regret breaking it in a fit of temper.”

“Robert Fitzgerald could test the patience of a saint,” Father William observed.

“Well, I’m hardly a saint,” Lotus laughed, picking up the vase.

“I’ll take it to Anwar Seti at the curio shop” she proposed. “I’m certain it was made by the fish people. Look how the sea dragon forms the handles, and the fish’s face pushes forth from the rim as if it were emerging from water. I’ll be back in a tick.”

Lotus walked to the curiosity shop diagonally across from the chapel. The bell gave a merry jingle and an elderly bald man with gray, wrinkled skin, milky blue eyes, small ears, and a fishlike mouth poked his head out of the back.

“Lotus!” Anwar greeted. “I’ll put the kettle on. Then you must tell me everything!”

“I want you to see this wonderful vase, Anwar,” Lotus explained. “I broke it, but Father Will repaired it. It looks like something made by your people.”

Anwar returned with a tea tray. He admired the vase as Lotus poured the tea.

“It came back together nicely,” he observed. “You fumbled it you say?”

“I threw it at Robert Fitzgerald’s head.”

“He must have done something dreadful to prompt you to crack his coconut with this weighty urn. Care to fill an old friend in?”

“At the Halloween party last week, Rob was drunk as a skunk and telling John Michael that it was time to pack the old bald skeleton off to the churchyard and replace him with a newer model.”

“After everything that Father Will has done for him.”

“Indeed. I said ‘Mr. Fitzgerald, you seem to forget how Father Will saved you from spending a year in the clink for drink driving. A bit of gratitude is in order.’ The blackguard slurred out: ‘it might do the good sister to remember her vows to the Lord.’”

Anwar laughed at Sister Lotus’ imitation of a drunken Robert Fitzgerald as he nibbled a bit of dried seaweed.

“Blimey! What did you say then?”

“I said: ‘Mr. Fitzgerald, I remember my vows to the Lord whenever I recall that I must be charitable even to the most vulgar of philistines.’ Then that rogue had the temerity to say: ‘What I’m sayin’, Sister, is that it ain’t right for you to throw yer love at Father Skeleton when yer married ter the Lord.’ The thought that those hearing him might believe that Father Will was anything but righteous made me see red.”

 “John Michael stepped to my defense,” Lotus continued. “He said ‘Rob, you owe Sister Lotus an apology. ‘Course she loves Father Will. She loves us all as Jaysus ‘imself commanded us to do. Sister Lotus, I know you loves Father Will in the Christian spirit, not dirty like he’s implying.’ Bless John Michael and his innocent heart.”

Anwar squeezed Lotus’ hand.

“I am grateful for the vase, Dear. I intend to pay for it.”

“Anwar, please. It’s a gift.”

“Not another word. I shall donate to the chapel and throw in a morsel of advice for a friend whom I love as my own niece. Rob Fitzgerald has rubbish for brains, but he is not wrong in this case. You know that I will be migrating to the sea soon. Do an old fishman’s heart good before he departs and allow your love to bloom as it has been wanting to for close to forty years. You and Will could still serve your God and community as husband and wife.”

Lotus embraced Anwar and hurried back to the chapel. She found Father William still sorting items for the rummage sale.

“Ah, Sister Lotus!” Father William greeted. “The community has been generous, although I can’t for the life of me figure out what purpose some of these creations serve. Sister, you’re trembling! Whatever is troubling you?”

“It’s Lotus, William. Simply Lotus, hoping that she isn’t chucking forty years of hard work and solid friendship to the wind. Robert Fitzgerald’s lurid conjecture enraged me because I was embarrassed to have my secret exposed. I do love you, but if you don’t feel the same, I…”

 “Oh, Lotus, dear, brave Lotus,” Father William sighed. “I feared I’d go to my eternal rest without you knowing how I felt. Thank the Lord for Rob Fitzgerald’s big mouth!”

“You can also thank that odd vase and Anwar’s wise counsel,” Lotus said with a smile that reached her eyes.

“Well, God bless Anwar and God bless that beautiful, hideous vase!” Father William laughed.

Father William tilted Sister Lotus’ chin and bent to press his lips to hers, melting into an embrace that had been hoping to happen since the moment the pair met in the summer of 1976.

Cie for Team Netherworld Creations/Naughty Netherworld Press


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notes
When I was eighteen and still clinging to the last vestiges of my Catholic faith, I attended the St. Thomas Moore Church in Boulder, Colorado. One of the priests there, a kind gentleman in his thirties, was leaving the priesthood because he had fallen in love and was getting married. The idea I came up with for this story echoes that incident from my past, although there were no Deep One hybrids involved.

In Other Words/Shameless Self-Promotion
Dear Fans of Lovecraftian fiction, the first book in The Yadira Chronicles is the novella Tales from the Dreamlands: Ketil and Yitzy's Adventure in the Xura Dream House. This buddy story features an unlikely group of heroes on a quest to save the Cosmos from destruction by the Great Old Ones and Outer Gods and their myriad of sometimes not-too-bright minions. Pick up a copy here! You know you want to!









NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 14 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 14: Your Legacy

Image by Barbara Bonanno from Pixabay

I
am not
what you hoped
but I am, nonetheless
the legacy that you created
I am your Frankenstein monster
built from the things
that made your life
worth living
I am a
twisted
sorry
awful
mockery
a failure
of a person
I am not 
what you hoped
but I am, nonetheless
the gifts you gave me

~cie~



NaPoWriMo: write a poem about the people who inspired you to write poems

April PAD Challenge: write a form poem

notes
I think the shape above is a chess pawn. It started out as a simple diamante but turned into what you see. It is what it is.

This poem addresses my late father. He was a professor of literature and humanities who also taught technical writing. I was a precocious little skidmark who learned to read and write by the time I was four years old. I think my father believed that this prodigious spark meant that I was destined for greatness. He read poetry to me. I started reading Edgar Allan Poe's works when I was six years old.

My father wound up tremendously disappointed in me. I was a fuckup who could never do anything right and I had a slew of psychological problems. I was singled out and abused by my peers. I married too young. I had one abusive relationship after another. I engaged in self-harm. Possibly, worst of all, between a fucked endocrine system and years of yo-yo dieting, I ended up fat. My father believed that being fat was a sign of failure. He always went to great lengths to prevent himself from being fat. He ran six miles a day for many years. However, his vascular system was a disaster. He had a major hemorrhagic stroke at 68 years old. At the time of his death at age 74, he had suffered several more strokes, had congestive heart failure and vascular dementia, and was confined to a wheelchair.

If anyone's first inclination is to tell me "cHeEr Up, U cAn StiLLL LUz3 tEh WaTeZ!!111!!!" my suggestion to you is to check the ever-loving fuck out of yourself. Preferably on ice during a hockey game. I tried to hate myself thin for 33 years. With my endocrine problems, it is highly unlikely that I will ever be thin unless I do what my great-grandmother did. She developed acute myelogenous leukemia, dropped from 300 pounds to 95 in the space of a year, and dropped dead. But hey, she cut a svelte figure in her coffin, and, apparently, that's the only fucking thing that counts. Never mind that she was now, you know, DEAD.

In any case, I'm not going to waste another goddamn minute of my time trying to hate myself into the body that other people think I'm supposed to have. Thirty-three years of that shit is long enough. People who think I, or anyone else should do that, can slam down a hot, steaming cup of STFU, read the following fine books, and fuck off forever. Or if you're not a brainwashed, narrow-minded asswipe and you simply think: "say, those books look like they have some good information," you can read them while drinking what you want and omit the fucking off part. I'd think that was pretty cool.


NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 13 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 13: Taking It Back

Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay

no I don't feel bad about
crawling out from beneath the crippling doubt
you try to crush me with your cruel words
to destroy the purpose within with attacks from without

no I don't feel bad about
stealing back the resolve you tried to snuff out
you've made it your purpose to keep me down
I've made it my purpose to present with clout

you won't hurt me anymore
I don't care about evening the score
you won't keep me subdued beneath your scorn
I find your diatribe a bore

I'm becoming more
than you bargained for
I'm not your punching bag
you're rotten to the core

you're empty, shallow, and weak
no more will I seek
your meaningless approval
with purpose I will forevermore speak

~cie~



NaPoWriMo: Write a non-apology for the things you've stolen

April PAD Challenge: Write a purpose poem

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 12 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 12: Spirit of the Wood


walking at the end of day
I feel as if I'm not alone
who my companion is, I cannot say
walking at the end of day
will the spirits come to play?
their faces they have never shown
walking at the end of day
I feel as if I'm not alone

~cie~



NaPoWriMo: Write a Triolet

April PAD Challenge: Write a "spirit" poem

April PAD Challenge 2020: Day 11: Out of Control


it's very interesting, you know
the ones who claim to be so in control
are the ones who have no control
over their own lives and so
they try their damndest to maintain control
over the lives of others

~cie~


NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 11: Love in Bloom


some yellow acacia for you
with your eyes of cornflower blue
a sprig of Syrian mallow
to show my heart is not shallow
a cedar leaf shows I'll be true

~cie~




NaPoWriMo 2020 Catch-Up Day 10 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Catch-Up Day 10: The Word That Destroys


you
say it's
just a word

but
it's a 
word that destroys

you
don't need
to say it

what
do you
gain from it

keep
your hateful
thoughts to yourself

just
maybe the
problem is you

~cie~



NaPoWriMo: Write a Hay(na)ku

April PAD Challenge: Write a the (blank) that (blanked) poem. 

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 9 Catch-Up + April PAD Challenge Catch-Up Day 9 + April PAD Challenge Countdown Catch-Up Day 1: Time Leak


Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay


Well, Folks, truth be told, I was going to write
A meaningful poem about the never-ending
Cycle of reincarnation, life and life again
But then life caught up to me, you see
And ran me over like a vicious cycle
And there went that idea because
I couldn't remember what I was
Going to say, you see, and so
I thought I'd write a poem
Shaped like an hourglass
But I never could make
Any shape except 
diamonds or
words
flow
in
g
d
o
w
n

~cie~





NaPoWriMo: Write a concrete/shape poem. 

April PAD Challenge Day 9: 
Write an Ekphrastic poem. I was going to make an hourglass, but I suck at shape poems. So I just made a poem about time running out.

April PAD Count-Down Catch-Up Day 1: Write a cycle poem. Like the poem says, I was going to write about the cycle of reincarnation, but then time ran out. I'll probably still be trying to catch up with everything in my next life. At least I'm all done with the countdown catch-ups. Now I need to catch up, period!

NaPoWriMo 2020 Day 8 + Words for Wednesday + April PAD Challenge 2020 Day 8 + April PAD Challenge 2020 Countdown Catch-Up Day 2: Mr. Lovecraft's Dream Zoo

Here are some Moonbeasts flying through Dreamlands space in a black galleon. I am not sure who the artist is but will be happy to credit them. Sadly, it isn't me.

You must practice each night
If you hope to take flight
And visit Mr. Lovecraft's dream zoo

Image from Chaosium's Dreamlands supplement

You may find a buopoth bent over the water
You may even find an otter
Or what seems to be a fairy too


On closer look, the fairy is furry
It has a tentacled nose and may scurry
For you have chanced on a Zoog


Abhoth is made of liquid
And Cthulhu is a big squid
Who hangs about in R'lyeh

Image from the Call of Cthulhu Dreamlands supplement

The fireworm should never be teased
Or even be provoked to sneeze
Or you'll be out of the frying pan and into the fire

This is a book cover from one of the versions of The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath

If you find yourself filled with fear
At all the horrors found here
The Cats of Ulthar are near
For Mr. Lovecraft loves cats too

Written with much respect for my longtime literary hero


I can't help but think that this classic deep cut from Iron Maiden is the perfect Dreamlands theme song.



Sparked by these prompts:



The prompt: Peruse Twitter bots that tweet the works of famous poets. While Lovecraft was better known for his prose than his poetry, my latest fictional foray addresses his 1927 poem, Nathicana. Also, I don't know if there is a Lovecraft Twitter bot. Lovecraft was simply my poet of choice.


April PAD Challenge Day 8: Write a future poem. The Dreamlands can be accessed from any point in time, and many people consider Lovecraft to be a science fiction author. We from his future are still inspired by his steampunk visions.

April PAD Challenge Countdown Catch-Up Day 2: Write a hope poem.
I've always felt that the Dreamlands were, despite the myriads of lurking horrors, a place of hope.


notes
With Cancel Culture being what it is, I suppose that I should explain that yes, I am aware that H.P. Lovecraft held xenophobic views. This is rather an oversimplification, neglecting to take into account his peculiar upbringing and strange life circumstances. Lovecraft was an introverted and depressive personality who feared further disruption in a life that had been filled with disruption for as long as he could remember. At the time of his death in 1937, those who knew him said that his xenophobic viewpoints had softened. 

Lovecraft was married for two years to Sonia Greene, a writer herself and a patron of the arts. In her biography, she stated that he would write her long, romantic letters, but he never told her that he loved her. His mother was a deeply disturbed individual who imbued in him the idea that he was more monster than human (he is the protagonist in the story "The Outsider"), and his aunts were unaffectionate personalities as well. He expressed himself best through writing, which is a quality that I can relate to.

Those who corresponded with Lovecraft knew him to be a gracious and kind man with a dry sense of humor as well as a unique imagination. I first read his writing at fourteen years old, and I feel it would be a pity if future generations were deprived of his masterpieces due to the overly zealous thought policing so prevalent in modern times.

Try some Lovecraft on for size. If you purchase the book through the link, I will receive a small commission from Amazon.






HPL's twisted imagination continues to wreak havoc 83 years after his death. T 'was he and Stephen King who inspired the writing of this tale.



You can check out the King of Horror's contribution in this fabulous collection of Lovecraft-inspired spine-tinglers.

 

Must-have Maiden for your Dreamland listening pleasure.

Closing Comments on This Blog

At this point, this blog is only a place for sharing links, and the only comments I've been getting are comments like the following fro...