Literary Skulduggery from Shetland, courtesy of poet Chris Tait

 


I am excited and delighted that poet Chris Tait has agreed to contribute to the Quill. Chris is not only an outstanding poet, but is also a playwright, fantasy writer and spoken word supremo. She currently lives in Glasgow, but her writing still very much flows from her Shetland roots.

The poems are from her anthology Literary Skulduggery. https://amzn.eu/d/11yOlvM


The Stone Solitaire Islands

A skull in a blistered helmet
Called from the Nordic crews
His bones marched streets in amulets
And sailed seas like a bruise

His ruined croft was Camelot
A golden egg by a goose
Rings on cushions from rats
Bonds for the guizer jarl's house

The ruffled manes of hamlets
In a rock measured radius
Crofters jousted for their plots
Tassels are handcuffs and a noose



Beelzebub and his Minions

Patrick's criminal fingerprints
He clumsily slipped the sovereign
At the castle with razor points
The carriage burst to a pumpkin

The little match girl was a servant
Learning spells with cauldrons
Banquets for the evil president
He was a headless chicken

Patrick syphoned the rents
Entitlements of twisted cousins
Lilliputian  in their tents
By Beelzebub and his minions

Peasants were hounded in witch hunts
The castle is a midden
Winds clash with the north sea's grunts
In rooms poked of their puddings

The moon drips cow's milk in mints
Fleas piggyback rats coiling curtains
Rock hatches gargoyles with crooked joints
Who have long since dropped the baton

Stone heels like slugs slither squint
Giant's feet trod the gardens



Other poetry anthologies by Chris Tait:

Rumpelstiltskin Illusions  amazon.co.uk/Rumpelstiltskin-Illusions-Chris-Tait/dp/B0BZF8WFC5/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1BVGE78PLMGJ2&keywords=chris+tait+rumpelstiltskin&qid=1700832835&s=books&sprefix=chris+tait+rumpelstitskin%2Cstripbooks%2C195&sr=1-1

Tweetieshee in the Caves  amazon.co.uk/Tweetieshee-Caves-Chris-Tait-ebook/dp/B0CH45W91X/ref=sr_1_1?crid=13BXWNJ1J33F9&keywords=chris+tait&qid=1700832739&s=books&sprefix=chris+tait%2Cstripbooks%2C1127&sr=1-1

Fantasy fiction audio drama:

A Toon Built upon Shenanigans

open.spotify.com/episode/1z5zAvZfo5L90NXDMLkPGb?si=_nOZ0cjCRvOWE19RwcwqVA&utm_source=native-share-menu&nd=1&dlsi=2220fd4ba27943de


Poetry and Painting:

Three Men in a Tub https://youtube.com/watch?v=6Cgql1j19lk@feature=shared

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Irish Folklore by Nina Oram

Image
  I am delighted to welcome Irish based writer Nina Oram to the Quoyloo Quill. Nina's books are bulging treasure chests of Celtic folklore, some of which are not too far removed from Orcadian folk legends. When Babs offered me the chance to talk about my writing and Irish mythology and folklore, I was thrilled and honoured. I thought it would be so easy, after all, my trilogy and many of my stories are immersed in Ireland’s rich tradition, and yet the more I tried to put my thoughts down, the more elusive they became. It was like unpicking a knot. My YA Dark Fantasy Trilogy started with a trip to the Carrowkeel Tombs, five neolithic tombs perched on top of a hill in County Sligo in the province of Connacht. Being able to sit inside stone walls that had been built millennia ago, listening to the wind shriek past, was for me, sublime. Evoking, as it always does, that strangely wonderous feeling of having connected with something magical. But old magic. The magic of the crow,
Read more

Saving Private Diaries by Orkney Scriever Alison Miller

Image
Thanks to Orkney Scriever, Alison Miller, for her reflections in this blog piece. Would I like my personal diaries and letters to be read by other people when I’m dead and gone? Would I like them mined for works of fiction? It’s not an easy question to answer. Sure, while I’m still on the planet, the thought of somebody raking through private letters and journals feels somewhat uncomfortable. What did I say? What did I reveal about myself that I would rather keep hidden? Did I malign people? Was any of it actionable? I could ensure this scenario never happens by getting rid of diaries and letters while I still have time. On the other hand, when I’m dead, I don’t imagine I’ll give a stuff.   I recall a writer friend telling me she’d destroyed all her journals, written over decades of her life because she didn’t want her daughters-in-law to read them when she’s gone. The pang I felt when she said this was visceral. How could she consign years of details of her life, years of thoughts, ye
Read more