So, another bout of needing my caffeine blood supply refilled and more medication for allergies. Peachy, eh? Allergy cure that tries to knock me off my feet and into a good sleep and caffeine so I can type without having a drawn out word with the letter Zed.
Bellow is my one and only attempt at positive, happy – happy – joy – joy poetry. At least for this year.I have no clue as to why I got on this lark – upbeat poetry – but it lasted all of one day and I’m truly relieved it’s gone.
I know, I should celebrate the range of emotions humanity offers and the fact I can feel positive or happy is a day for the calender being marked.
I mean, honestly, between the American mutant hybrid fused Oompa – Loompa with a semi – sentient high fibre piece of breakfast food and Darth May or Anti – Rhani, I’m surprised I haven’t hanged the sense of it all and just dove off a cliff ( perhaps in Dover?).
I know I can attribute one of those two imbeciles with my renewed allergy fervour.
Bloody climate change and the rotters who caused it!
So, the horror lark is coming along, slowly, bu surely. Still waiting for Wolfsinger Publications to give word on Elder Offensive – Maybe I should offer volunteer services to help the poor lass out?
I may have found yet another illustrator for cover art – not sure of the price or quality, but I know the person in question and am willing to give her a good boost in the career department. Oh well, once again, I think I shall put up a wee teaser of what’s to come from good old Camden’s Follies, eh? See the end of the rant, er blog…
Reckoning and celebrations
© 2018 Jon Corres Pirate Poet
Begin, the inclement of days
Hide in the shadows of yesterdays sun
Raise a glass to those that are yet to come
We have only a line to start
Down upon the road that winds, twists and turns
In fall do we trek
By winters edge we creep
Of Springs embrace is hope renewed
Let us sup upon the thoughts of brighter company
Drink in the sight of the wandering friend
A wayward sibling and the doting elder
For even at world’s end there is yet another path to be found
More memories to accept and share
Dare you place one foot before another?
For Becky with a big hug for the other evil triplets, Charmaine and Kyrstin! To James, Amanda, Sam and David, Katherine, Marc, Misty and Karen – my muses from down under. I wish I could list all my friends and extended family, but for now I’ll settle for using your inspiration in the form of characters here in.
From the diaries of Doctor Camden, Lunar physician and Pirate
Chapter Index pg 001
Chpt 1 My Journey Begins pg 002
© 2017 Jon Corres Pirate Poet
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
Part 1, Chapter 1: From the diaries of Doctor Camden, Lunar physician and Pirate
My Journey Begins
The main engine of the Queens Dirigible“Bernoulli” makes a chirruping sound as the propeller squeaks on and off. Forensic Physician Dr. Camden looks bored and frustrated behind his aged typewriter as he attempts to compose his thoughts. A brief flurry of screaming followed by heavy feet running to and fro cause the near middle aged traveller to look up from his palms.
The tall English gentleman sits in a confined space where he’s been trying to type his journal up. Young, relatively, Doctor Camden is dressed in khaki brown with a waist coat while his long coat is draped over his chair. His hair is solid black and the look of a well groomed upper class gentleman. His handlebar moustache seems a bit out of place as it covers his entire mouth. The lines around his eyes make him seem older in the dim lit cabin as he continues to stare at the ceiling, ranting out loud.
“ Best to stay inside and not bother the professor… professor?! Hah! Daft old man and an even more dense pair of followers, I’d say. Six weeks and barely land in sight, a flight that was supposed to take half that time. I’m sat on my backside in this cramped cabin, not so much as a flying monkey and it’s far too cold out on deck to even try to take a photograph, decent or otherwise, of the, er seascape. I wonder why the captain even remotely tolerates the barmy old codger? ”
I begin to type again when a familiar odour wafts from beneath my door. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and petrol products forces me to open the window of my cabin, perhaps that’s being too generous. It’s a portal that is as easy to open and close as a whale bone corset! I’m wondering about my decision to trust these people to take me to Africa when I could have simply bucked up my courage and taken a steamship to Egypt before taking up the reigns on a fine Arab charger, something I’m more at home with than modern machinery that I have no idea how to operate and at this rate no desire to learn about.