Goodreads Giveaway – Darkness Between the Stars

At night, he watches the stars and dreams of flying between them.
And when he sees them begin to disappear, he knows what will happen…
The beginning of the end.

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Darkness Between the Stars by J. Edward Neill

Darkness Between the Stars

by J. Edward Neill

Giveaway ends October 01, 2019.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

Chasing Death – a New Poem

I fear you none.

For though you give chase across time, across ages,

through valleys blackened by pain

and pastures greened with hope,

the labor is solely yours.

You know my name, but yours will go unsaid,

indifferent,

unlooked for

until the moment of leaving, at whose gates I will no longer care.

For though I might gaze across years, across oceans,

toward a horizon whose distance I will know only once,

you cannot touch me until then.

And so I fear you none.

Strip away the leaves of others, take them as you must.

Peel dry the orchard in which I live, whether summer sapling or wintered oak,

whether friend or foe, whether loved or despised.

I care not.

For they are mine forever, and yours but once.

And whence they come to you, wordless and unchangeable,

they are immortal to me.

In spirit indomitable.

In memory indestructible.

So take them. I care not.

Once the forest falls and I am the only one left,

you may cast your shadow upon me.

Victory, you may claim, fleshless, arid, and everlasting.

And you may laugh to see me kneel in the dirt, under grey skies,

under columns of black clouds in which no heaven awaits.

But nameless, I will hold you.

And bittersweet, your conquest.

For the dark line, drawn in the sand at the time of your choosing,

is no loss to me, no more than a whisper in the eon of my soul.

And I shall fear you none.

Whether sharp and sudden or a slow carrion crawl,

my burdens will be shed,

my thousand aches mended,

and sleep again I shall until the ending of all ages.

But you, my friend,

you must toil on.

For whether here or there or a in place yet unnamed,

your work is never done.

 

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J Edward Neill

The Muse – A Poem

Were I a stone in a pale river,

the water would teach me

sculpt me

beguile my bones into shapes

I’d never known.

Were I a cliff, lording over the sea,

the wind would, over patient eons

move upon me,

at times a gale, sharp yet sincere,

at others, carrying the mist softly to my face,

that I might feel things

to which I’d never awakened.

Were I grass, short-lived and thirsty,

but always a friend to the sun

the rain would nourish my roots,

and beneath its clouds, it would remind me

that no day is ever-bright,

but nor is the darkness always my foe.

Were I fire, booming in the hot belly

of the earth untamed,

my release would raze the life from all things

yet in the end,

I would gladly perish,

and all else grow anew.

And were I a maker of words,

quill in hand, burning hearth in place of ordinary heart,

she would smile at me,

and whisper thoughts undreamed into my ear,

that I might wake the next morn beside her,

with always another page,

another tale,

and never a dry spell

for the garden in which we live.

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J Edward Neill

Lords of the Black Sands – Digital Giveaway!

Want a free digital copy of dark, dystopian thriller, Lords of the Black Sands?

Review it on the ‘Zon when you’re finished reading, and I’ll send your copy today!

Click here (or click the book cover below.)

The Riot – A Poem

She lives in the wind

or so the riot tells me.

A golden flame, a pale rapture, an elemental catastrophe,

all of this, and more, the riot will say.

An invisible trail, she leaves,

on the streets we have walked, in our rumbled bed.

But she is never lesser.

Her hours of toil beget mere moments of calm,

for there is no taming her, only the lie thereof.

She walks never straight, but in tangles, in weaves,

and on wild paths only the trees can name.

She lives in the wind

or so I’ll say

from now until the end of everything.

Many will try, and many will dream of her at peace,

only for a moment’s breeze to unravel her.

to take her skyward.

to unleash her.

The riot, she is.

In body, in spirit.

And those who would tame her,

had best beware.

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J Edward Neill

Photographing Art – Easy or Hard?

In the world of making a living with art, 25% of an artist’s power lies in their talent.

25% lies in their dedication.

And 50% lies in their ability to take pretty photos of their work.

Today I share my efforts.

Please enjoy.


See more at

 

Let’s All Have Sex – 101 Sex Questions

A deeper, sweatier take on philosophy.

Meant for hot nights with your partner, candid conversations with a lover, and parties during which (almost) everything goes.

Includes questions on relationships, love, and of course, TONS of smoldering sex.

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101 Sex Questions

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Horror of Horrors – The Circle Macabre

Erisa Stavrou, hunter of hunters, stalks her final prey into the sprawling city of Valai.

She brings nothing but her shirt, her sandals, and her unbreakable blade.

She is the only one who can end the cycle of one dead, every night, forever.

She is the last hope to break…

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The Circle Macabre

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Beautiful, Deadly, Immortal – Nadya the Deathless

Having survived the Night of Knives, beautiful Nadya rises to power as the baroness of Tolem.

There’s just one problem. The Emperor of Vhur has just dispatched his largest army to retake Tolem and burn Nadya at the stake.

She’s left with only two choices: Run for her life…or kill every last man in the Emperor’s army.

She has no intention of running…

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Nadya the Deathless

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The Hecatomb – A great loss of life

In a drowned village, on a dark shore, in a city of white stones, an ancient evil stalks.
It has no name, no face, and no desire but to see the death of everything…
…and everyone.

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The Hecatomb

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A Dark Poem – Leaving in the Rain

It began the moment I left.

The clouds, black and burgeoned with dark water,

caught me, contained me.

Drums in the sky pounded the only message

my body needed to know.

For all their thunder, my bones shook.

For all their streaming rivers

falling down my fractured panes,

I should have turned back.

Brief, I expected them,

and easily swatted aside.

But the sky told no mistruth,

and the serpentine road, swallowed by the rain,

scrawled into my tired eyes

the lie of leaving.

 A wager, I made with the advancing night.

‘You’ll break with the sun when I return.’

‘And go black again with every retreat.’

And impatient, I threatened.

And railed.

And made war against everything.

Even knowing the deed was mine.

But the rain only laughed.

And the night shrugged at the hidden moon.

Daring that I should do it again.

That I should return, and stride the storm

a thousand times over.


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For more words, go here

 

A Poem at Midnight – Black River

On a black river, I race toward the waning light.

Westward, burning, the smoky clouds breathing their last.

My carriage vibrates on the shallow water,

the wheels wanting to break, but lacking the will.

There are others besides me, but there are none.

I am alone here, but for one.

A dusk-born bat, I see nothing, and feel everything.

Flying, wings biting at the dark, nothing slows me.

Save death.

At the witching hour, to a theme which shakes the world,

I ride.

Sweating. Aching. Hellbent.

At the black river’s end, everything.


More here.

Books, Tattoos, & More Books

Hey you.

Like sci-fi, dystopian books, tipsy memoirs, or books illustrated by eight-year old kids?

I knew it.

Watch this.

 

Then go HERE. 

The Box – A Poe-esque Poem

Am I dead, I asked her?

In a box, I did molder,

rotting, shapeless, my nightly sleep.

Dead, but dreaming, of what waited

beyond my comfortable dirt, beyond

my opulent world of worms and disquiet.

But when they asked, wake me none I said

until the day my box is broken.

 

And then the first of dreams

drained through the holes where nails once lay.

I listened. I woke. And pushed away the cold dirt.

My insides, new, pumped with raw life,

and I recalled the days I’d never lived.

The moon, she burned my face. My eyes, she scalded

with such light my box never allowed.

Still hushed, she bade me walk beside her,

and her smile drank away my grave-dust.

 

For hours, we tread lightly

On the shadowed fields, unseen.

Of the world below, of worms, of coffins, she asked,

and for the moon, we floated high,

in the wind, the light, and nothing.

But to the silver jewel, we never did come,

for at last, she saw the dusk within,

and feared, with me, the sun

would not rise.

 

Quickly, we climbed back down.

The dirt waited, starved of me.

Where now will you go? the dream asked me in lament.

To sleep, I said. My home, it is,

in my tomb, dead but dreaming always.

Down, she lay me, shining no more, but gloaming

as I slid into bed, shivering.

Again, I’ll see you? she asked.

Long from now.

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J Edward Neill