Monday, June 22, 2015

Quote No. 2



            “Flowers grow for anyone and no one. There's not one flower that comes up from the Earth that did it for any one individual, personally.” 

Nicomedes
Coming Soon from Raventide Books

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Grotesque No. 2





Why else?
That question played,
Always replayed his beginning and end.
Moments defined by raising arms.

His one seducer back.
One moment pressing as another cares.
The tongue of  his stranger’s mind,
One soft  flicker.

Lips that touch his blood directly,
Shoulder leaned down,
Hand in shirt...
The dark wall of closed eyes looks back.

He was rolling it happens.
Will other lips have way as his?
Slender difference if it were so,
Beautiful young flower.

But oldest is fair,
Letting blue of lavender,
Like moons, straight around his face.
A delicate face.

Eyes a pale mirror.
A far look back at expression to be.
Even he does much more than none.
It matters.


Poetry "Grotesque No. 2" Copyright ©  T.A. Miles

Original Artwork "Dirty Thought That Eats At Your Stability", used under license by CC,
Derivation "Grotesque No. 2" by T. A. Miles


Saturday, May 30, 2015

Snippet No. 11



              The Vadryn made themselves personal, by burrowing to the roots of their despairs and suckling, like children from an unhealthy mother.  They grew, like twisted caricatures of family, roosting in the heart, cluttering it with debris, sending poison out to the rest of the body.  Sickness and depression, lethargy and weakness, desperation and insanity; those were what the Vadryn brought to men.  They truly were as a plague.


Snippet taken from Blood Reign
Coming December 2015 from Raventide Books


Saturday, May 16, 2015

Grotesque No. 1



Quickly!
Words would see the darkness.
Yet anything screams.
Anything of him but years.
As they enter they choose below thought,
Appearing against resounding, weaving feet.

The demon alone, it knew his back.
Always coming!
Dropped brow and shrill roar..
White, its bones.
Thin, the limbs.
A fanged beast, bones in its back.

Both hands sobbing.
Begging eyes,
Ivory, them.
She dropped the head in the whispered sun.
It’s the tiny jiggle it started,
Somewhere in the recesses of her brain.

Arms to staircase,
Command continuing and serene,
She delicately proceeded.
Her silverback familiar, slightly gray-blue,
Mysterious, even to himself.
Eyes found him pleasantly.

Walking, she answered a thought;
 “I thought I’d save you.”
To much in her, she wondered,
“Have I walked time enough?”
And the empty streets of her quiet eventually accept this:
Your little ways.

At one with dark as she was with It,
The best threat, 
Its carrying need.
She had demons off combating her weaknesses.
Exorcists quietly gave her study,
Their fates yet decided.



Poetry "Grotesque No. 1" Copyright ©  T.A. Miles

Original Artwork "Old Man's Gloom", used under license by CC,
Derivation "Grotesque No. 1" by T. A. Miles

Thursday, April 30, 2015

Z is for Zealousness



Alere unsheathed Aerkiren and watched the etchings upon the blade begin to glow.  “This has been in my family for generations.  Ironic that it should draw the enemies it was intended to quell.  That is why they attacked my home.”
“And killed your father,” Bastien added needlessly, and not without some trace of sympathy.
Alere rejected it with his response.  “They murdered nearly my entire family.  Now I understand why I was drawn to the mystic’s quest and why I would seek to complete it after his passing.  Here is the source of blame I was after, the target of my revenge.”  As he spoke the bloodlust was rising, the eagerness to drive Aerkiren into the heart of the enemy he’d never known before this moment, but whom he’d been hunting for years.  Nothing would sate his sudden appetite for slaying except the blood of this stranger. 
“Malek Vorhaven dies tonight,” Alere decided, and he stalked further into the shadows of the house, determined to kill anyone or anything that tried to interfere.

From Six Celestial Swords
Available from Raventide Books

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Y is for Yearning



Once on land, the caravan continued west.  They were not headed due west, at some point on the sea they had veered north.  On land they moved at a slight northern angle away from the harsh shores of Callipry.  The immediate area was a district known as Stormbright and the seaside hamlet behind the caravan, a few days’ travel from Nelayne, was called Barten’s Palace—which Xu Liang found of peculiar interest as there was no palace anywhere in sight.  When his party camped at night he made detailed accounts of all that he had seen and heard.  Though he had not come to this place for the first time he knew better than to think that one look or even a thousand would ever reveal all that there was to be learned.  He drew several maps during his travels and found himself constantly adding to them.
In the morning he painted the landscape.  The last time he had come to this land it was the autumn season, and the trees were barren and thin, skeletal and yet still beautiful.  The sky was often gray; a textured, but unbroken canopy of clouds that felt cold to look at.  It was spring now and the trees were full, a blanket of jade silk spilling down the craggy terrain that skirted the road Xu Liang’s company followed.  The sky seemed to glow overhead, even on a day when dark clouds encroached, and now Xu Liang understood the name Stormbright.
          He wished he had more time.  He wished that he could explore more of this realm, more of every realm in what his people simply referred to as the World and what those outside Sheng Fan had come to call Dryth. 

From Six Celestial Swords
Available from Raventide Books