Tomorrowland

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Tomorrowland


 

I recently finished a new poem in which I personify winter as an aging knight. I found myself harkening back to an expression made popular by Game of Thrones while I was writing this piece, “Winter is coming.” I decided to play with it in the structure of the poem. The illustration above is a piece by William Blake but will serve as the influence for the poem’s illustration. It speaks to the ending of the poem which is not included in this excerpt. 

Here is the small except from “Tomorrowland” :

 

Tommorowland 

 

After last evening’s storm,

summer became fall

in the small course

of one wet night.

 

Soon, skies pregnant with another

season will paint the palette

of morning with muted tones of

blues and grey.

 

We will follow the white procession of winter,

widows in its likely procession.

 

Inhaling its cold in slow sips,

filling our lungs with its icy living shape as it

moves through our bodies like an ocean.

 

Winter, is coming

but before long it will again

be going.

 

Like a knight bearing into battle,

determined to defend its honor.

….

 

 

Once I finish editing this piece and have the illustration completed I will post both to the Illustrated Poems section of this website. 

Sweet Panic

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“You’re also two people, writer and reader. What a tremendous asset.”

 

Sweet Panic

 


 

 

Sweet Panic

I recall a story in which I never belonged.

 

A tale you would tease me with by

falling asleep just before I was pushed

into the larger dark of your imagination.

 

Sweet panic would slip

from your mouth as you whispered

a nightly resurrection, praying your words

would talk us back to life.

 

I recall a story where we stood invisible,

a coward and a thief

our backs to each other,

our eyes to the sky.

 

Silence piling in drifts.

 

A Magical Truth About Writing

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You can get anywhere from anywhere,

Always and almost instantly.

The gap between sentences is sometimes a pause for breath

And sometimes an echoing void

And if you can get anywhere from anywhere

You can start anywhere

And end anywhere.

There is no single necessary order. 


Strange_Occurance_of_Magic_sk3

Original Concept sketch of “A Strange Occurrence of Magic” by JM DeSantis. See more of his work at http://chadhiyana.com

Excerpt from  

“A Strange Occurrence of Magic” 

Broken in with steady wear,

we twisted the words on our tongues

as they worked to wake idle objects

eager to wind themselves

into the bend of life’s tragic coil.

Elementary – with illustration draft

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Here is a first look at the progress of Mike DiMotta’s piece for a poem written about the four elements. These will soon be fully colored pieces that are to become bookmarks. I will be sending the bookmarks out for free to anyone who would like one. Below is one piece of the poem that was written with Meghan Curley:Elements

 


Air

First felt as a whisper or a rush, the invisible allowance of change.

To carry without holding, to move in whirls through worlds,

and take only memory, uncolored. Cutting quick or ribboning outward,

always a song fills the expanse, one breath ascending to light.

Mr. Hunt and the Graves (Introduction Draft)

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Mr. Hunt and the Graves

 

I have lived, in the not so distant past,

a phantom.

 

Known and unknown

to crowded bus lanes,

pressed into breaking yellow and gold

by slithering trains

 

which catch the color of morning

in each of their square eyes.

 

Driven along wild distances

the same unseen winds

of different months

kept their promise, like fire’s vow of warmth.

 

Mr. Hunt and the Graves

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I wanted to post a work in progress entitled “Mr. Hunt and the Graves.”

The following is taken from the introduction of the poem and I am currently working on either editing the middle stanzas or removing them entirely as I have found that the ending and introduction fit amazingly well together on their own.

A few illustration ideas have been passed to the 5 artists working on my book, “A Strange Occurrence of Magic,” but nothing solid has been decided on to move forward with.

Here is the introduction to “Mr. Hunt and the Graves”


 

Mr. Hunt and the Graves

 

I have lived, in the not so distant past,

a phantom.

 

Known and unknown

to crowded bus lanes,

pressed into breaking yellow and gold

by slithering trains

 

which catch the color of morning

in each of their square eyes.

 

Driven along wild distances

the same unseen winds

of different months

kept their promise, like fire’s vow of warmth.

 


 

Here is one of the partial design ideas currently being worked on for this poem:

Draft ideas for "Mr. Hunt and the Graves"

“Space Travel” – Poem + Illustration

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I started this poem as a small tribute to my Grandfather before he recently passed away. The poem and the illustration are both works in progress but the illustration has led to the surprising beginning of a children’s book about children who face the death of a loved one at a young age.

I am excited about the prospect of this new project with Dave Mims as well as the finished version of both “Space Travel” and Dave’s incredible illustration for it.

I will post both finished pieces as soon as they are complete.

Space Draft - Original Concept Sketch by Dave Mims

Space Draft – Original Concept Sketch by: Dave Mims

 


 

Space Travel

Between the clips of singing

scissors and the break in

waves of sliding brooms,

 

the sun wept past the

spinning barber pole and melted through

the window of the tiny shop.

 

Just then, the powder crashed against

his neck and scattered into millions of stars

sparkling in the sunlight around

my grandfather’s glowing head.

 

Suddenly, he was again the center of a tiny

galaxy, spinning against his reflection,

whatever world away. The scent of

cologned powder filling the air.

 

I found myself pulled into orbit.

Travelling through constellations

I had forgot the names of

as if I had only learned of them

once in the crush of a dream.

Gravity releasing like a flame breaks

off the tip of a match.

 

I was with him then,

silent explorers travelling in space

together brushing against worlds

we had been drifting toward

but too afraid to ever enter alone.