Tuesday, 23 May 2023

A Poem a Day (589): Catchment

 
Catchment

White feathers in the catchment
seek to reflect the faintest flicker of light,
dispatch a slick sensation of listening in
to flecked starlings take flight outside,
dampened by the first spit of rain.
 
Watch it all slide.
 
Trickles like tears on the windowpane
create a view of misted morning,
unreliable mirrors recreating still life in paint,
skin canvases. Pictures of water rushing out
into ebb and flow and push and shove.
 
The light outside is caught by small hands,
tiniest palms, unable to stop this watery glide
seeping through stick-stubby fingers.
Fists pound a rhythm on tarpaulin roofs,
call out for some long-imagined sanctuary.
 
This wrapped blue circle catches dreams,
fails to open this turn-switch kaleidoscope,
yet cradles hope like a sleeping newborn babe,
draws it close against the seeping darkness,
all-encroaching, looking for a steal.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 23, 2023


Friday, 19 May 2023

New books

 

Hi, I’ve published some new ebooks. One is a fictional detective mystery with a supernatural edge, set in Victorian London, called Tirips Shade - Ghost Detective, and the other two are collections of poetry: Ink and Woman

You can find them in the usual places: linktr.ee/vickiejohnstone


Tirips Shade – Ghost Detective

Victorian London's finest detective, Tirips Shade, hunts a serial killer while investigating his own murder, assisted by his closest friend. A suffragette tries to get justice for women who have fallen on bad times.

Reviews:

reviewed by Keithtj on April 26, 2023 

I found Vickie Johnson through her previous book on zombies, I dream of zombies. I couldn't put it down, reading it on one sitting! This latest book is in the same vein. Ms Johnson has a wonderful way of describing situations and times, indeed she paints with words. Managing to evoke images and the atmosphere of the time. The characters are believable to the point you care what happens to them, and the story line is suitably gripping and nicely twisted, catching you out, just when you think you have worked it who the baddie is. A thoroughly wonderful and entertaining read more of Tirips and his world please!

reviewed by Ed Drury on April 8th, 2023 

I've followed Vickie Johnson's books since I stumbled on the Kiwi books. I've watched her effortlessly shift between genres and styles, but she's kept me a loyal reader the entire time, primarily because of her excellent storytelling and fascinating characters. This book reaffirmed my confidence in her to deliver a compelling story with beautiful characters. With this one, I think she has all the ingredients for another successful series of books, and I will undoubtedly read them all. I would recommend it to readers of young adults, paranormal, and cozy mysteries without reservation. It does have some edgy scenes, but it is, in my opinion, done within the context of the story and not the least bit gratuitous.


Ink

A collection of 74 poems, mainly written between April 2, 2022 and May 14, 2023.


Preview:


Ink

We are ink,

dotted on paper,

mute words waiting

for a voice to awaken them,

inquisitive hands to turn the pages,

open eyes to read the hidden,

empathy to wish to know,

pour out its warmth,

and be.

 

May 14, 2023

 

The surging sea

It’s something beyond words,

this speaking without saying anything at all,

none of the creations inside your head,

an outer world of living inner space,

this seeing without seeing,

a pull beyond the other world.

 

And here we pause before the rosebud sea,

this sheer wild energy, a surging out

of truth, ideas and pure patience.

Feel lost in the rush of it, the subtle shift,

the stifled air purified with salt,

the knowing without a reason to know.

 

It bends and rides and finds us here,

travels straight through us,

beyond the day and over the night,

and we can bear it, full-on, full force,

for we are with it, in it, of it,

and all the rest is white, white noise.

 

May 8-9, 2023

 

Woman

A collection of 55 poems on the theme of womanhood, mostly written between January 2021 and May 2023.


Preview: 


Floating

Sink or swim,

she moves in her true

direction, unwavering,

straight as a die.

 

In the water,

she’s an even arrow,

unyielding, her will

cannot bend.

 

Out of water,

she is limited by

the still numbness

in her limbs.

 

But here, floating,

she knows true grace,

and her body refuses to

let her down.

 

August 2, 2022

 

Rivulets

These pungent colours pack a punch,

run in single rivulets searching,

 

find solace in the in between,

the evidential stop and start.

 

It’s the flow until the end,

a delicate line drawn underneath

 

this elevation to ardour,

a pretence we no longer have.

 

Take watch of eagles in flight,

the soar and the silver arch,

 

the dip in a separated sky,

once launched, floating on high.

 

We draw our hands together,

turn our palms up to the sun

 

collecting its beaten yolk rays.

It seeps through our fingers.

 

September 11, 2021

 

 


A Poem a Day (588): North Star

 
North Star

The North Star is where it wants to be,
never seen. This is an apple yard,
where passersby pick the ripened fruit,
leave nibbled cores to break on ground
as mangy foxes scavenge on truth.
 
This is where the signage lies,
black stick letters on a white wall.
Vines stripped, laid bare, green grapes
bereft of wrath stolen for wine,
drained, re-labelled, never the same.
 
One apple lies rotten on its side.
Flies drill all the way into a new world,
feed on the mushy flesh that’s left.
The earth seeks to bury it alive,
offers it the sanctuary it has lost.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 19, 2023


Wednesday, 17 May 2023

A Poem a Day (587): Lost & Found

 
Lost & Found

At the Lost & Found,
they look into brown puppy-dog eyes,
stare in deep, see a furry face light up,
tongue roll, watch the whip-tail wag the backside
off, find themselves in another being –
one they can take care of, like a child.
 
A pup they can take for a meandering walk
in the park, play with, who will maybe guard them;
a creature that takes away the loneliness
of an empty day and gives back what they’re given.
 
When anyone exits a bell clangs above the door.
To the shop owner, it’s just another sale.
But the visitors leave with a jaunt in their step,
blissfully unaware that they’re the ones
who have just been found.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 17, 2023


Sunday, 14 May 2023

A Poem a Day (586): Ink

 
Ink 

We are ink,
dotted on paper,
mute words waiting
for a voice to awaken them,
inquisitive hands to turn the pages,
open eyes to read the hidden,
empathy to wish to know
and pour out its warmth,
and be.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 14, 2023

Saturday, 13 May 2023

A Poem a Day (585): Spiral

  
Spiral
 
To the in-between,
red spiral walking,
an unravelling ribbon
like the bent stem of a flower,
clipped wing of a bird,
cry of a raven.
 
It all sleeps, dwells, echoes,
filling and un-filling.
 
We are the awake,
biding our flimsy time,
listening to nature open
while welcoming the dawn in,
this pink rising splendour,
awaiting a spillage of yolk.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 13, 2023


Thursday, 11 May 2023

A Poem a Day (584): Hatchlings


Hatchlings
 
Surf rises, the severed sun sets,
seagulls holler on the updraft,
looping and diving, circling out
in this cerulean blue-violet haze.
 
The sea draws in and drags out
in even motion, an idyllic dance
led by an invisible hand. Curving
and carving. Stripy shells wash in.
 
Turtles launch from split-open eggs,
flippers floundering, beating the casing,
their instinct routing them like arrows
to water, away from snapping beaks.
 
We appear as footprints softly sinking,
this squishy ooze sticking to our heels,
and we feel ourselves disappearing in,
our souls fed by the grounding.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 11, 2023

A Poem a Day (583): Betrayal

 
Betrayal can take many forms. Most people will get betrayed at least once in their life; for some, it's once, for others many times. 


Betrayal 

Betrayal, cuts like ice.
Tanglewood and barbed thorns,
existential murmurs of doubt.
An open wound, etched deep,
it sucks time into itself,
lingers, leaves a white trail of scar,
translucent tissue in the light.
 
You can feel it at your back,
a heaviness, a sack of empty.
It follows you as you cross the street,
as you enter a building,
as you try to eat, try to swallow.
It sits like coal in the pit of your being,
seeking to consume you whole.
 
You look at the scar sometimes.
It represents a turning, a dark page,
an entry point into the netherworld,
where Persephone sits and contemplates
the springtime light of the world above.
Sometimes the scar stares back,
a reminder of who you were,
and who you are, written in water.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 11, 2023

Wednesday, 10 May 2023

A Poem a Day (582): Summer sun

 
Summer sun
 
In the pure morning,
sunlight bursts dew-coursed streams,
a rebirth, outflow, red embers
glowing in murmurs of another time.
 
Strands of sleep still-waking
take to the light from a twilight escape,
imaginations of the released mind
chased through kaleidoscopes of hue.
 
A symphony of blackbirds glide
on the updraft, a backstroke on air,
lifted, suspended on the invisible,
a subtle burst of summer’s breath.
 
Velvet haze dusts the wisps of cirrus
setting sail for the Northern Lights,
while daffodils roll their lemon heads,
tilting to the bumbles on the breeze.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 10, 2023

A Poem a Day (581): Drift

 
Drift
 
Driftwood,
the ebb and the flow and the flood,
where breath comes to stop and start,
and here we are, treading water,
adrift in the darkest ocean currents
tugging us outwards, every which way,
our lucid dreams, our raw necessities,
and how we would if we only could.
 
Driftwood,
how we see ourselves in our built reality,
requiring a map to find where we are,
the need to be and the need to be of,
and the constant doubt inside,
adapting to the push and pull of life,
this wash of minutes, hours, days,
the inability to press on Pause.
 
Driftwood,
where we meander in our wanderings,
our musings under a rain of trees,
their wild leaf hair trickling all around us,
like a verdant shield of purest light,
so we can try to live without thorns,
the constant rub of something wrong,
a hole in the heart of our being.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 10, 2023

A Poem a Day (580): The surging sea

This one was written on Monday and Tuesday, but I didn't get a chance to post it yesterday. 




 












The surging sea
 
It’s something beyond words,
this speaking without saying anything at all,
none of the creations inside your head,
an outer world of living inner space,
this seeing without seeing,
a pull beyond the other world.
 
And here we pause before the rosebud sea,
this sheer wild energy, a surging out
of truth, ideas and pure patience.
Feel lost in the rush of it, the subtle shift,
the stifled air purified with salt,
the knowing without a reason to know.
 
It bends and rides and finds us here,
travels straight through us,
beyond the day and over the night,
and we can bear it, full-on, full force,
for we are with it, in it, of it,
and all the rest is white, white noise.
 
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, May 8-9, 2023