Thursday, November 16, 2017
Saturday, November 4, 2017
The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes
The Highwayman
BY ALFRED NOYES
PART ONE
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
PART TWO
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.
. . .
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Tuesday, October 3, 2017
New Kids On The Block - Book Recs
Nothing thrills me more than to introduce the debuts of my writer friends. And I have two of them today. Yay.
Jamie Raintree's Perfectly Undone
"Yes" is such a little word...
Dr. Dylan Michels has worked hard for a perfect life, so when her long-time boyfriend Cooper gets down on one knee, it should be the most perfect moment of all. Then why does she say no?
For too many years, Dylan’s been living for her sister, who never got the chance to grow up. But her attempts to be the perfect daughter, perfect partner, and perfect doctor haven’t been enough to silence the haunting guilt Dylan feels over her sister’s death—and the role no one knows she played in it.
Now Dylan must face her past if she and Cooper stand a chance at a future together. But when Cooper makes a startling confession of his own, can Dylan find the courage to define her own happiness, before her life becomes perfectly undone?
Set among the breezy days of a sultry Portland summer, Perfectly Undone is a deeply moving novel of family secrets, forgiveness and finding yourself in the most surprising of places.
“Raintree’s lead characters are vividly realized, and readers will be moved…” - Publisher’s Weekly
“The most sensational, emotionally raw, and satisfying debut of fall.” - Redbook Magazine
Buy links:
About Jamie:
Jamie Raintree is voracious student of life, which is why she became a writer, where she could put all that acquired information to good use. She is a mother of two, a wife, a businesswoman, a nature-lover, and a wannabe yogi. She also teaches writers about business and productivity. Since the setting is always an important part of her books, she is happy to call the Rocky Mountains of Northern Colorado her home and inspiration.
---------------------------------------------------
Alexis Daria's Take the Lead
The first book in a sizzling duology about dancers who find love from #OwnVoices author,
Alexis Daria.
Gina Morales wants to win. It’s her fifth season on The Dance Off, a top-rated network TV celebrity dance competition, and she’s never even made it to the finals. When she meets her latest partner, she sees her chance. He’s handsome, rippling with muscles, and he stars on the popular Alaskan wilderness reality show Living Wild. With his sexy physique and name recognition, she thinks he’s her ticket to the finals—until she realizes they’re being set up.
Stone Nielson hates Los Angeles, he hates reality TV, and he hates that fact that he had to join the cast of the The Dance Off because of family obligations. He can’t wait to get back to Alaska, but he also can’t deny his growing attraction to his bubbly Puerto Rican dance partner. Neither of them are looking for romantic entanglements, and Stone can’t risk revealing his secrets, but as they heat up the dance floor, it’s only a matter of time until he feels an overwhelming urge to take the lead.
When the tabloids catch on to their developing romance, the spotlight threatens to ruin not just their relationship, but their careers and their shot at the trophy. Gina and Stone will have to decide if their priorities lie with fame, fortune, or the chance at a future together.
Buy Links:
About Alexis:
Alexis Daria is a contemporary romance author, artist, and native New Yorker. Her debut, TAKE THE LEAD, is a 2017 Golden Heart® finalist. She loves social media, and you can find her live-tweeting her favorite TV shows at @alexisdaria, or talking about writing and books on her blog at alexisdaria.com.
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So, peeps, I'm curling up on a sofa with hot chai and these two books today. What will you be doing?
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
99¢ Book Bonanza!
Soul Warrior: The Age of Kali is on sale for 99¢ in the US and UK this week, along with a smorgasbord of books from 75 authors in a host of eclectic genres.
Sounds amazing, right? Click on the graphic above and you'll be taken to the Book Bonanza Homepage where you'll be able to browse dozens of books to your heart's content. (Note: many of the books will be on sale in multiple ebook platforms, but not Soul Warrior, which is only available on the Kindle.) There's something else...
In light of the devastation caused by Hurricane Harvey and Irma, I will donate my monies from this sale to the American Red Cross relief fund. I can't do much, but that I can do. So click HERE to go to the 99¢ Book Bonanza Home Page now!
Thanks and xoxo
Monday, August 21, 2017
SOUL WARRIOR and the SOLAR ECLIPSE
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The phenomenon of a SOLAR ECLIPSE has been around since...well, the SUN and the MOON have been around, so obviously in every culture around the world they've been incorporated into the myths and the superstitions, alongside the sciences.
In SOUL WARRIOR: THE AGE OF KALI the myths and legends of India come to life. Lord Karna is the son of the Sun God. As such, whatever happens to the Sun naturally impacts him.
Enjoy an eclipsed excerpt from the beginning of SOUL WARRIOR
(Available for purchase on Amazon worldwide except South Asia, where it is soon to be released.)
AMZ BUY LINK: getBook.at/SoulWarrior
CHAPTER ZERO
DWANDA-YUDDHA: THE DUEL
The Himalayan Mountains. Five thousand years ago.
Absolute darkness shrouded the Human Realm, and had for three days
and three nights. Some believed the occurrence was prophetic, like the
prolonged amavasya or new moon night that had heralded the Great Kuru
War two thousand years ago. The war had given birth to the dark Age of Kali,
the age of asura. In contrast, hope was ripe that this event would
trigger the Age of Light. But the Bard wasn’t here to succumb to superstition.
The first day without the sun’s light had spread confusion and chaos
across the realm. The second day had brought desperation in the breasts of
humans and fear in the belly of Celestials. The third day—today—was a feast for
the asuras. Death lay everywhere.
The human world burned without its sun. How soon before the
Heavens went up in ames?
The Bard’s troubled eyes reread the last line. Then he
deliberately scratched it off, lifting his long, pointed talon from the
parchment made of dry palm leaf. With a sigh, he rested his aching hand on his
trembling thigh. He would spare a moment to ease his body, and his mind from the
strain of observation and due recordkeeping. If he didn’t, he’d forget his duty
as Witness of the Cosmos, and begin to question fate.
Despite the fire that crackled close to his right knee, and the
feathered form of his upper body, he was cold. An icy wind had settled around
the Pinnacle of Pinnacles, where he sat cross-legged on a seat made of rock and
snow. He’d chosen this perch because it gave him an impartial view of the
events happening in the world. He was the Bard, entrusted with keeping the
Canons of the Age of Kali, just as the Soul Warrior was entrusted with keeping
the Human Realm safe from asuras. Would they both fail in their duty
today?
The Bard shook off the heavy despair the darkness had brought into
the world. He mustn’t judge. He shouldn’t question. He would sharpen the talon
on his fore nger, dip it into the vessel of ink kept warm by the re, and write
this tale. That was all he could do. Be the witness to history.
So he raised his feathered hand and began to write again while his
eyes, sparked with power, knowledge and magic, saw clearly events unfolding
from great distances. A thousand kilometers to his right, Indra, the God of War
and Thunder, fought the Dragon. Indra did not fare well. But that didn’t
concern the Bard as much as the clash between the Soul Warrior and the Stone
Demon. Over and over, his eagle eyes were drawn to the duel taking place in the
heart of the world, not only because it was a magni cent battle to behold, for
it was, but because its outcome would decide mankind’s destiny.
The Soul Warrior was more than a great warrior. Karna was a great
soul. Fair, honorable, brave and resilient, he was the perfect protector of the
Human Realm. Of course, there were other reasons he’d been chosen to ll the of
ce of Soul Warrior—there always were when Gods and demons were involved. But
Karna’s existence was a testament to righteous action and if anyone could bring
back the day, it would be him.
But how did one vanquish stone, the Bard wondered?
Avarice and cruelty, two nefarious desires, had made Vrtra and
Vala attack the Human Realm. Three days ago the Dragon had swallowed the Seven
Rivers in the north, and the Stone Demon had imprisoned the Sun God, his
daughter, and all the cattle of the region in his cave.
The Bard paused his writing as a thin vein of lightning winked
across the skies, but without the accompanying roar. Indra’s strength waned.
His thunderbolt hadn’t left Vrtra screaming in pain this time. The Bard spared
a moment’s attention on the duel, just enough to note that the Maruts, the
Celestial Storm-gods, waited in the clouds to rescue their god-king in case of
a calamity. Indra would survive even in defeat. Of that, the Bard was sure.
But Karna had no one at his back. His might and god-powers had
depleted without the sun’s healing warmth and light. His divine astras,
weapons, had not slowed the Stone Demon down, at all. Only the convic- tion
that he could not fail his godsire, his sister, and the innocents under his
protection drove him now. His birth family had once abandoned him to his fate,
but he would not abandon them to theirs—such was the greatness of Karna.
The Bard crossed out the last observation. No questions. No
judgment. No praise, either. The canons would be free of all emotion. He wasn’t
here to embellish history or glorify the history-makers, as some bards were
wont to do.
It wasn’t embellishment to write that the foothills of Cedi were
drenched in the Soul Warrior’s blood. Or observe the gushing wounds on his
body, despite his armor, that would make the hardiest of warriors bellow in
agony, but not him. It wasn’t embellishment to write that the Heavens were
empty for the Celestials had come to Earth to watch the battle, relight cupped
in their palms to light the warrior’s way.
The Naga, the Serpent People, also looked on, hissing from the
mouth of the portal that led to their underground realm beneath the hills. The
Serpent King will not choose a side. Vrtra and Vala were half Naga, after all.
All across the Human Realm, demons roamed free, taking advantage of the
darkness and preying on human esh and human souls. It was a terrible moment in
history. The asuras had the upper hand in the eponymous age of Demon
Kali.
Vala did not have arms and half a leg, but still he came at Karna.
He had an ace up his sleeve. There were plenty of creatures about, an entire
mountain close at hand. He began to chant the spell of soul transference. It
was the darkest of all magic, the possession of another’s soul. Soon, he would
be whole again and stronger than before.
Battered and bleeding, the Soul Warrior veered away from the Stone
Demon. He leapt over boulders and charred vegetation. The onlookers called him
a coward. Had he forfeit the duel? Has he forsaken mankind?
Karna dove for Manav-astra, the spear of mankind, he’d
thrown aside yesterday after his bow, Vijaya, had shattered under
repeated use. In one smooth motion, he rolled, picked up the astra,
coming up in the spear-thrower’s stretch. His tattered lower garment billowed
about him as a gust of wind shot through the air. His muscled torso glis- tened
with blood and sweat, tightened as he pulled the arm holding the spear back.
He meant to throw Manav-astra at Vala. A futile attempt, to
be sure? As long as Vala was made of stone, broken or not, his body was
impregnable. Karna should have waited for Vala to transfer his soul to an
onlooker. Then Karna should have vanquished the possessed creature.
Taunting laughter reverberated through the foothills of Cedi. Vala
had reached the same conclusion. The Celestials looked at each other in angry
silence, unable to interfere. A dwanda-yuddha duel was fought between
two opponents of equal size and strength alone. The humans hadn’t stopped
screaming in three days, the din simply background noise now.
The Bard scribbled the observations onto the parchment in no
particular order. He wished he was a painter, for surely this was a picture
worth a thousand words.
The demon hobbled toward the warrior, who stood still as stone
with his arm drawn taught behind him. Then nally, with a roaring chant the Soul
Warrior shifted his weight from his back leg to his front and let y Manav-astra
at the Stone Demon with all his remaining might.
Karna didn’t wait to see the rami cations of his action. And there
were plenty to come. He ran into the mountain cave to free Vala’s hostages.
Within moments the rock face rent in half, and bright streams of light speared
through the terrible darkness. A new day had dawned on the Human Realm after
three days of perpetual night.
The sun’s power was too bright, too full of hope. Yet, the Bard
looked on pensively, wondering if the Soul Warrior knew this wasn’t a victory.
It was merely a reprieve.
© Falguni Kothari
INDIA COVER.
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