Thursday Sonnet

Derek
October 6, 2016

Thoughts on the British Situation by a visitor to South Africa

“We’re all in this together til we’re not,”
Said Tessie as she stood before a crowd
And said “Of Auslanders we’ll soon be shot”
“Huzzah!” “Hooray” They cried as one aloud,
As “Them and Us” became a policy
Which – superficially – might well make sense.
Til one day “Them” includes the likes of “Me”
And History becomes the Present Tense.
I can not and I will not simply leave
The place that has become my final home
And though my prayer tonight to some’s naieve
I hope “We” can, together, one day come.
The land I’m in was once destroyed by hate
I wish we’d stop before it is too late.

My books are available to purchase, and they celebrate diversity with mystery, comedy, romance, and the occasional murder:

Hyperurl.co/Diva

Hyperurl.co/Nobody

Saturday Sonnet #9

Derek
June 4, 2016

‘landscape’

No-one ever really sees the lonely;
They hang around in angry gangs of one
And look at passers-by aloof and ston’ly;
A cabal of the lost and the undone.
I’ve been there and return there sometimes still,
Though I’m surrounded by a world of love.
Inside, a darkness battles with my will
To let the sunshine in, and float above
The sadness that is half my nature: Though
I will no longer hold it as a friend
I can not stop it coming to my door,
But know each time the visit will soon end
A landscape made of peaks and troughs is fine
The valley’s are endured, the hilltops mine.

“Death of a Nobody,” The 2nd Danny Bird Mystery is available now.

In the UK, you can buy it here. Everywhere else, you can buy it here.

“Death of a Diva” – The 1st Danny Bird Mystery – can be purchased here

Saturday Sonnet #8

Derek
May 28, 2016

process

 

‘process’

I sit before a screen devoid of words
and wait for something smart to come along.
Ideas, skittish as a flock of birds,
are steadfastly withholding their sweet song.
This moment – now – the doubt begins to speak
Of how the things you write are value-free
Of plots that fail, of characters too weak
To make a mark that anyone can see.
And yet I type and worlds begin to come
From out of nowhere down on to the screen;
Their parts, sometimes, far greater than their sum
Their movements leaving nothing where they’ve been
If writings all that matters here tonight
What matters is the simple fact you write.

“Death of a Nobody,” The 2nd Danny Bird Mystery is available now.

In the UK, you can buy it here. Everywhere else, you can buy it here.

“Death of a Diva” – The 1st Danny Bird Mystery – can be purchased here

Saturday Sonnet #7

Derek
May 21, 2016

Having spent the weekend at CrimeFest, I’ve become familiar with the dangers…

So, in tribute, I wrote a Sonnet…

image

 

<Insert Obligatory Somewhat Buzzed Publication day Gin & Beer Pic>

On The Dangers of Believing What Authors Tell You Their Books Are About

“This book you wrote,” somebody said to me
“Is it all Fifty Shades of Filth and Phwoar?”
I guess I should have really let it be,
But “Yes,” I joked, “It’s all of that and more.”
Then didn’t think, again, of what I’d said,
Until my friend’s review popped up online.
“This book is one I wish I hadn’t read,”
They wrote, though you could almost hear the whine.
“I saw that it was ‘Crime’ and thought ‘Oh Good’
There’s bound to be some torture; nice and vile
I like a bit of buggery and blood
But this filth forced a thought and – worse – a smile
I wanted anal sex and acid baths.
But all I got was mystery and laughs”

My books are Death of a Diva, available Here

And – as of yesterday – Death of a Nobody, available here.

If you like the above, you might enjoy them. If you want, y’know disembowellings and blowfly infestations, you might not.  <But you won’t know til you try>


Saturday Sonnet #6

Derek
May 14, 2016

'taste'

‘taste’

“You can’t do Jeffrey Dahmer” says the voice

Inside my head that censors what I say

“A gag about a cannibal?” “My choice”

I counter then begin to tap away.

Til inspiration blinds me as It glints

Into a scene in Woody Allen’s head

That features several Mini-Pops With squints

Immobilised while gaffer-taped to bed

And still the voices say to even speak

Of what your psyche kicks out is a crime

That Princess Margaret face down in the beak

Is – poss – a tale to tell some other time…

You throw away the words you’ve written: Waste!

A shame that we’re all slaves, these days, to “taste”.

Saturday Sonnet #5

old-trainers-12002789

friday

In hindsight, some despair is evident,

But, hey, what else are you supposed to do

when pheromones, it seems, are heaven sent,

and order you, put bluntly, to go screw?

Whilst every single Gay in London town

Comes freshly from the Spa or from the Gym,

you squeeze into your jeans, perfect your frown,

and go into the night in search of him.

Then end amidst the throng on Compton Street

At sometime near approaching kicking out

To find a man with size eleven feet

And money left to stand for his own shout.

Though his Trainers are hotter than his form

you bed him; any old port in a storm.