Stephen Marshall. Writer, illustrator, layabout. Find him on Amazon, maybe. He has paperback and kindle books listed there. He seems to have a knack for the Romance genre, much to his chagrin. Having pursued Children's literature he is particularly proud of his Children's novel series "Lost And Found", which begins with "Chloe Among The Clover", continues recently with "Stormy Within The Strawberry Patch" and may, in some future potentiality, culminate with "Candice Through The Picket Fence". These are novels for children (including his insistent nephew), but they are also written for adults who are children at heart. His short story collection, "The Eldritch Diaries", centers primarily upon Cosmic Horror and Body Horror, combining Lovecraft's mythos with the motifs of Sigmund Freud. His largest poetry collection, "Broken Crown Kings", contains over two hundred poems and two short novellas concerning the fleeting nature of the world and Man's place within it. Recently he has published a smaller book of poetry concerning Kentucky, Moonshine, and Ghosts called "Moonshine And Spirit Chasers". A much larger collection, entitled '"Nevermore" 99 Rhymes For $0.99' is also available. For those seeking supernatural and folklore, his collection "Weeping Cherry" is available also. The copy in print features original watercolor illustrations.
And he wept when, rending his chest at the thought of his base design, he found not filth, but a thing blest as gold, a gold itself divine, nor a possession or a thing, but golden light that travels on, transitory, yet undying, an endless light—eternal dawn.
I’m apart from, and a part of, the rain, and the echo that becomes the refrain, the noir neon light, the rainy late night, a darksome skull, its deep dreams gleaming bright until the morning when that windowpane should gloss over and the contrast should wane in the new day’s dawn, shadows taking flight from that electric district of the brain.
“There be no mercy here. There be no pardon. No haloes have we in the clemency of saints arrayed, but with mane of the lion haloed, and given to crimson appetite such as begets bestial slaughter. Beg off. Beg off with thy entreaties to gentler nature, for we’ve none, but with fang and claw keenly paired giveth unto surfeit that rage innate in all whom so wronged seeketh recompense. This is reckoning inexorable in its numeration. Doff thy fleece. Doff thy fleece, for poorly it becometh thou. Prepare thyself as well may prepare the sexton. A roar, though deafening as thunder, is but the death of an ear soon reconciled with a truer silence. And that silence shall follow fast. Take what comfort thou may in that surcease. Mouth the words of braver men. Mouth the prayers of thy Lord, should he proffer ear to hear. No Daniel walks here, unafraid, nor would such as he escape wrath such as ours. The den resounds, thou bleating fool. We come. By fang and claw we shall slake the thirsty dust with thy meager make. Believe no shade of doubt in this, for it conceal thee not. By day or night, villain, we see thee clear and, as hound to mark, seeketh unrelentingly. Whether thou art steadfast in grim resoluteness toward thy end, or whether thou flee far from sudden battlefield, we shall pursue. As hound afoot or crow alight, we pursue thy bountiful blood. Doubt it not. The clarion of war ringeth as the sky in revolt. Lo, it soundeth in every thirsting throat.”
(Recently I have been reading Shakespeare’s more confrontational moments in his plays, such as Macbeth and Macduff’s fight scene, and I wanted to attempt something in the Shakespearean vein. With minimal success.)