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#HookedOnPoetry: Author Patrick Tumblety Shares Three Beautiful Ocean Inspired Poems @peak37pt #poetry #ocean

How is it Friday already? I’m here to introduce you to Patrick Tumblety as the last feature of this week on #HookedOnPoetry. If you missed the first two, hosted here on Tuesday and on Kendall Reviews on Wednesday, you can find the links on the Poetry page. 

I’m excited for you to meet Patrick today and read his original poetry. I’m so very happy to publish them here for you to read. Patrick has a big heart, is a wonderful supporter of other writers in the community as well as charities, and is a talented writer and poet. He’s been published in a variety of anthologies, including Tales of Jack The Ripper by Word Horde Press, Flame Tree Publishing’s Gothic Fantasy series, Fossil Lake, edited by Christine Morgan, and the historic Weirdbook Magazine.

During October of 2019, Patrick released The October Children, an audio series of seasonal poetry and prose to celebrate Autumn and Halloween. He is currently producing a 2020 season.

I hope you enjoy! If you do, please share and use #HookedOnPoetry hashtag! Have a wonderful weekend. See you back here next week, mostly likely on Wednesday.

Erin

HookedOnPoetry

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A foreword from Patrick
(note: it’s from the day he submitted the poetry almost a month ago)

Day 25: Quarantine.

I need poetry now more than ever. The fear and frustration is building and the best way I can release it is to throw myself onto the page. My body can’t leave the house, but my heart can still travel. So I reach into the sand and pull out the pieces of myself that dreams of fresh air, without a virus, without uncertainty. Where we can congregate, soak in the sun, and look toward the horizon for a healthier tomorrow.

Patrick

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Mobile-Ocean-Wallpapers-HD-768x480

Undertow
by Patrick Tumblety

I belong on the shore, amongst the sand and the sun.

Where my skin sizzles in harmony with water against sand.

My soul knows I’m right on the edge and implores me to take the plunge,

let the waves roll me out and the undertow drag me away.

 

The concrete sirens sing with voices as dry as dust.

Still, I close my eyes and hear the sea maiden’s song.

She will be waiting for me when my work is done,

and I can return to the place where I belong.

 

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beach-philippines-red-sky-744531

Brined
by Patrick Tumblety

Sun burnt and salt scraped

we live by the sea,

and sail by old wood and new skin,

foam-tossed and free!

 

We believe in gods and monsters,

for the ocean can swallow us whole.

If a leviathan breaches, we look toward the reaches,

splashes of stars shall guide our way home!

 

Threading the blue line between oblivions-

the depths of hell and sky-

we bounce the curved horizon, gently,

and through the squall we ride!

 

The horizon is a cursive flourish;

a signature of a God who knows no time.

We ride the loops and connections, willingly.

On capsized letters we are prepared to die!

 

With cured muscle and calloused hands

we fight against the raging sea.

If the sails tear and the ship sinks, so be it,

we have always been blue-bound and free!

 

At pink sky’s end we return to the beaches,

and tend to our families on shore.

In morning we return to the reaches,

salty dogs to a great blue lure…

 

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Sam Chang / Unsplash

A Blank Page
by Patrick Tumblety

My Greek Goddess,

singed by the sun; her skin

is punctuation at the end of her Odyssey.

Now, she births a new sentence

and begins a legacy.

 

My little Odessa,

has yet to see the light of day.

Her snowy canvas

awaits the color of history.

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Patrick Tumblety’s Biography –

PTumblety Bio PicPatrick Tumblety has been published in a variety of anthologies, including Tales of JackThe Ripper by Word Horde Press, Flame Tree Publishing’s Gothic Fantasy series, Fossil Lake, edited by Christine Morgan, and the historic Weirdbook Magazine. His work has been described as being able to deliver both “genuine fear and genuine hope.” (Amy H. Sturgis – Award Winning Author and Professor of Narrative Studies).

In October of 2019, he released an audio series comprised of poetry and prose to celebrate the autumn season, titled The October Children. The project received positive feedback and encouraged him to do a 2020 season. The pieces are all original and range from the nostalgic to the macabre, all in fun for Halloween.

During the holidays of 2019, he released a creepy Christmas poem (illustrated by artist Thomas Boatwright). He donated a dollar for every like/retweet/post about the poem to the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

He has been featured in various other publications including Dark Moon Digest and Siren’s Call Magazine (most recently issue 45 in 2019 published two of his poems). He uses poetry not only to be nostalgic about the holidays but to write about love, family, and life. He’s currently working on a collection of poetry.

Follow Patrick on Twitter: @peak37pt

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Thanks again for joining in. Let’s keep talking about poetry, shall we?

pen poetry

Note: The first two photos have no attribution as they are free images from common areas.
 

 

 

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Halloween Poetry Gifts for My Readers: Two Poems Featuring Mummies!

I love giving treats, so what better treat could I think to give everyone for Halloween than a couple of my original, unpublished poems! As a gift to readers, I’ve posted two of my MUMMY poems below. I’ve always had an obsession with mummies myself (mostly the Egyptian variety), and especially reading about mummies in horror! I’m a fanatic about historical research and excavations of mummies, but also fantastical fiction of curses and revenge.

Let me know what you think in the comments! I will offer a brief message about each poem under it. Just beware of opening any wrong doors as you enter to read…..

Cleve Museum of Art

Cleveland Museum of Art Egyptian Exhibit

 

Dancing with Mummies

Eva doesn’t want to put on her costume,
of witch, cat, or pink Power Ranger,
she wants to wrap up in the gauze of time,
in a mummy’s trappings,
and run through sand-drenched streets.

She wants to hop on the trolley near Wade,
and blend in, quietly assessing the onlookers,
who seek a haunted tour near Lakeview,
but she has plans to see dead of another sort.

She wants to jump off the rail as they do in the movies,
glide inside the Museum of Art as if in ballet shoes,
and move to the rhythm of passion and history.

Eva winds her way to the marble catacombs
of sarcophagus and statue,
lightly carrying herself on the chill breeze from
the hauntings of the ancients, risen before her.

She puts her arms out left and right, smiling,
as the mummies slowly step toward her in
the dark and empty room, taking her in
their arms

                          …and they dance.

Swaying, waltzing to the music of magic and fortune,
of sacrifice and power, their decaying faces alight again
with rebirth and hope, mobilizing her spirit.

Water of the Nile, green reeds of salvation,
scarabs rustling and blue funerary
carvings whirl by her entranced mind,
as if she’s time-slipped to Cairo.

She has no need for trick-or-treat, or bobbing for apples,
she’d rather laugh and drink and sing
with the priests and goddesses from thrones centuries ago,
eat olives and grapes instead of Smarties and Tootsie Rolls.

Eva closes her eyes and she twirls, her hair flying backwards,
spinning like a windmill, feeling her own energy, laughing
with the ghosts and monsters before her as they take turns
in a ballroom dance for her soul.

– Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi, ©10/29/18

I love going to the Cleveland Museum of Art near Wade Circle in Cleveland, where people meander in the beautiful park, and there are trolley tours, with many tourists visiting the famous Lakeview Cemetery. Their motto of the museum “for all people” is very true as they are able to offer the whole of the museum (except very special seasonal exhibits) for FREE. We have learned so much about history and art both there. In fact, it was just designated as the second best in the United States. One of my favorite rooms there is the Egyptian exhibit and it was the inspiration for this poem.

 

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Howard Carter and his team, including Lord Carnavon, found King Tut’s tomb in 1922

 

King Tut’s Revenge

From the glass, from tomb,
                                           …he rises.

With layers of cloth loose-hanging,
dripping in gold, woken and ambivalent.
Hand over where his amulet protects,
he stumbles on ancient legs,
his bones dismantling.

Looking for Lord Carnavon’s ghost,
mouth falls wide with silent screams,
hands outstretched, reading walls
with no eyes, King Tut examines
his life defined.

His skeletal fingers scratch across
the surface of his golden casket,
where he once laid, identifiable
by artistic paint, regal in death.

But bound by revenge, seething
in pain for archaeologists’ desecration,
legs and arms and head chopped in two,
body parts scraped as is mud on a shoe.

Bat wings flutter as he lurches
in the tunnels, moving forward,
on broken limbs he seeks those alive
who disturb his peace, then flee like flies.

His jewels, his possessions, stolen
and sold, even his penis vanished
in dismemberment, with no clues.

His sinister mission is not for murderer,
whether accident, family, or rhino,
but for lost immortality,
                                           …for afterlife.

Banging into walls, bones shredding,
powder mixing with dust, groaning.
He raises his hands to the sky,
he’s lost his reincarnation hope
through Osiris.

He throws dirt from the cavernous
wall, and blows on it in mid-air,
creating a black soot to kill all.

He winds up the particles by hand,
curses in ancient Egyptian as a storm begins.
Creating a tornado of dark matter,
he shuffles with limp toward the entrance,
the living (undead) image of Aten.

– Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi, ©10/30/18

I have always been entranced by the story of the Pharaohs, especially with the boy king, King Tutankhamun, born Prince Tutankhamen, and the many various rumors and stories of his life and the drama surrounding his tomb. Though I believe in historical research and preservation, certainly the desecration, horrible handling, and theft should have been avoided. What must King Tut have thought? I think he had every reason to curse those greedy fools…and maybe still has revenge to get still to this day.

******

A word of gratitude to my son Nassem, who while in college in D.C., was up late into the night with me discussing these poems – he’s always been one of my best and most candid first readers – and photos that might go with them.

And if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading my poetry.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN! mummy-smiley.png

Erin

P.S. Also, if you missed it, you can read my new short fiction story, “The Witch’s Cottage” over at the Ladies of Horror Flash Fiction Project for free.

P.S.S. If you want to support the artist, you can find more of my poetry in my dark poetry and short story collection, Breathe. Breathe., here on Amazon.

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