Available August 2012
Exploring intimate worlds and profound moments, British poet Louise Hastings’ début collection will open your mind and haunt your senses. With unique imagery and powerful emotion, you will be consumed as you set sail on an ethereal journey through artistry and imagination.
Check with Winter Goose Publishing for details!
I am very excited to announce that Winter Goose Publishing have offered me an amazing opportunity to publish my first collection of poetry with them, to which I have accepted and signed earlier this month. I feel very proud and pleased and I hope you’ll take a moment to read the Winter Goose site for the details of my book Phases of the Moon due to be released August 2012
Dusk has fallen. She takes the first touch
of a book, opening to breathe in its scent,
fingering through pages, letters bleeding
across paper, words wrapped round her tongue.
There is ink and blood and she is bound
between its covers, captured within images
that lay huddled by the yellow lamp. Outside
the room, bat wings catch the moonlight.
An owl cries. She’s settling for the night,
hunger fed until dawn glances
through the forest skyline, stepping
from this world to the next still crouched
in her dreaming mind, with a poem
lifting off to somewhere unknown.
This poem has also been recorded by the wonderful Abigail @The_Linnet and can be heard here
Written for dVersePoets Open Link Night (it’s Tuesday again already!) ~ hosted by the wonderful poet Claudia Schoenfeld
Giorgio de Chirico – Love Song
Indolent gods stand still as stone
gazing from world to world.
Hurtling towards tomorrow
they spend lives of queasy yellows,
monochromatic acidic greens.
With backs against the shadows
our silent voices (our love song)
sings to aqua skies. Outside the
stillness waits, as we do,
for a remembered taste perhaps
of Adam and Eve’s first storm.
In response to dVersepoets Poetics – hosted by Mark Kerstetter who asked us to write a poem inspired by one of Giorgio de Chirico’s paintings. I have to say this is one of the strangest poems I have ever written..
They come each year in summer,
crowds jostling for space
on soft sandy beaches, liberated
to taste the salty tang of fresh sea air.
A wave-break sweeps away
their weariness of life; the shape
of freedom unfolding
in the slackness of their limbs.
Peace returns again at dusk
as the last of the tourists leave.
Every moment changes
like passing clouds in orange skies.
There is a restlessness in me
as the sun slowly dips beneath the surface.
I watch as white birds circle the vastness
of the open wide ‘out there’.
The elusiveness of words are wrapped
in a longing I cannot explain.