Category: Reposts/Reblog Shares

Fellow Authors, Reposts/Reblog Shares

#ShareAReviewDay Tuesday – Devil in the Wind by Frank Prem

Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

 

Check it out, Arcians and consider supporting a fellow author. I realized after reading Devil in the Wind’s blurb that 1.) It sounds very interesting and 2.) I know next to nothing about Australia. Thus I need to read and learn about these bush fires of 2009.

I pre-ordered my copy. Check out the links for more information. I’m adding this eagerly to my summer reading stack. ☺️📚📚📚

Marcia Meara's avatarThe Write Stuff

Hi, Folks! It’s #ShareAReviewDay Tuesday again, and our guest this morning is Frank Prem. Frank is sharing a review from his poetic anthology, Devil in the Wind. After reading this, I’m sold. I’ve pre-ordered this one to add to my collection of poetry anthologies, and I suspect many of you will as well. Thanks for checking it out today, and for sharing far and wide, as well. 

REVIEW:

Mick rated Devil In The Wind5.0 out of 5 stars on Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44440062-devil-in-the-wind

Like Frank’s previous book, Small Town Kid, this collection of poems tells a story of rural and small town Australia. But the similarities between the two books end there.

Whereas the previous collection was a celebration of boyhood in Frank’s hometown, this is an account of the dreadful bushfires of February 2009 that swept through parts of Southern Australia, the area that is home to the author…

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Reposts/Reblog Shares

(what if I hear them) whistle and cry

Peregrine Arc: An Author's Scratchwork

 

A profound read.

Frank Prem's avatarFrank Prem Poetry

pexels-photo-169406-6

I hear the dead
cry out
in the colours
of the burning night

even my shadow
bows down
before them

these
are the stranger days
with ghost silhouettes
that I
can see

this killing ground
is the shade
of dying fire

and I am
alive
I wonder
why

I am alive
perhaps
to play
the witness

and what if I
were hung
to drain and dry
suspended
from my toes

what if the sound
of the wind
in my throat
was
the only proof

of a lie

troubled days
troubled thoughts
troubled visions

trouble
everywhere I go

there is no sound
that is not
the dead

whistling

the wind blows
without care

whistling

and the creaking
of each rope
is a separate song

the creaking
of each soul
is a sigh

I have to turn
away
lest these images invade me
in my sleeping

I think
I may have known…

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