Oops!… We Did It Again (a grief with no name)

Erm… hullo there. (This is rather awkward…)

Dear Reader, the stuff that was originally posted here has been removed.

We have done this because said stuff has since been included in one of our published books. We hope you’ll believe us when we say we’re not trying to be stingy. No, this has been done to honour the people who have already spent their hard-earned money on our eBook creations.*

If, however, for some reason you’re unable to buy one of our books, and feel you’ll die without seeing this piece of writing, then please contact us via admin@unbolt.me. We won’t allow our Dear Readers to fade away in the dark. We’ll send you the piece in question, and it will be absolutely free. All you need do is ask.

* Of course, we would be like two happy puppies if you too decided to buy one of our books.

© All rights reserved 2017-2018

The Odd Days & Life of Elatha Jarlath McGhille. Part B. Feabhra ~ The one came in from the cold collaboration

Scylla Beach

∼ Part I ∼

It’s midday and there are anxious knocks at his front door.
He wonders if the neighbors’ friends got the wrong door.
Opening to see about the commotion,
Seems to only heighten his confusion.

Nothing is there. Nope.
Nothing is there.

At his back door he hears those knocks again.
He rushes through his home like a madman,
To open his back door hoping to see who’s knocking,
Again he sees nothing.

It’s like staring into a nebula of discombobulated shadows.
Back to his living room he goes, then finds a black unicorn, a purple owl, and two black crows.
Overwhelmed. The sight further rattles his compunction.
As they fuse together causing a huge static emersion.

His body wilts to the floor

∼ Part II ∼

“I told you, Clothra, owls can’t look like a bush of lilac!
See? What will we do with this unconscious sack?!
We should bring him to Emain Macha until Beltane
And I’m not going to get it in the neck again!”

“Shut up, Sweeney! Give you a choice and you’ll paint black
Even a rainbow. It would be better if you stop to clack
Like a clocking hen and help me to bring him round…
Hey! You, twins! Hurry up! Are you too spellbound?!”

“Clothra, don’t go playing the big boss!
Sweeney is right… you make too much of gloss!
We’re not buffoons… We’re… Oh! Did he open his eyes?
Hush! Hush, guys! Turn on the fireflies!”

The air is filled with a subtle glow

∼ Part III ∼

His eyes. The color. Vacillates between black & violet
In a haze, volcanic echoes vibrate. Commanding him to fight…
Fight! Fight! Fight! Finger snaps, claps, and slapping wings
Bellows him to awaken with voices like un-Earthly beings.

He hears voices commanding him to come forth to receive his messages
A feeling as if his body is being bent into a set of strange corsages
He hears another set of voices, “Oh! Did he open his eyes?
Hush! Hush, guys! Turn on the fireflies!”

His visage of things seems blurred but are truly clear.
His mind again perambulates confusion and fear
As a hybrid bird stands before him speaking strange things,
Talking a language known and unknown, then odd names.

He surveys the room, their faces, and concludes there is no hostility here.
Soon enough he loosens up, wonders about message, curiosity wins here.
Wings extended, inviting him to take a seat. He does.

Their beak opens

∼ Part IV ∼

…in the far country, where springs are crystalline,
Where trees are vibrant and women hiss like a feline,
At the world’s end where all must be as was foretold,
She embroiders a shroud with pearls and gold.

A needle pricks,
A horologe ticks…

She whispers prayers mixed up with ribald couplets
About kings’ weaknesses and queens’ merits,
She sips thick gin, wiping her mouth on the sleeve.
Intricate patterns on white samite interweave.

Beltane is soon. She looks at the dark sky.
A lone star gleams like a tiny firefly.
Elatha… She bites through a gold thread
And limply drops her body into bed.

A horologe ticks,
A door latch clicks…
Hush, guys! No monkey tricks!
Please, let her sleep!

© All rights reserved 2015

P.S. Happy Birthday, Greg!


Part A. Eanáir

The Blog Tour Award. The four winds. Part 1 – Boreas

You and me
take three simple words
You and me
start to compose a haiku
Just Five-Seven-Five

You and me
aren’t original
Look – ‘The Sun
shines brightly
The Moon shimmers tenderly
in the boundless Sky’

You and me
juxtapose haikus
We’re amazed
It’s the same
as we spot the difference
between fingerprints

Your Sun warms
My Sun burns, ground out
Your Moon is
for poets
My Moon is for those who have

Your Sky… well,
Skies are similar
A canvas
No, rather
a blank sheet of paper for
our diagnoses

You and me
lay under the blue
where two Suns
where two Moons
hang out in one boundless Sky…


Well, guys… It’s the first part of my journey where I have been kicked by one charming Babe. And it looks like I decided to turn to dismemberment. Dammit! Yes, my sweetie, it’s too late to apologize!

How does my work differ from others in my genre? It differs almost as much as my gene combination differs from others.
(see poem above)

And today I deliver the first gold ticket to the north, to Matthew Cauffman aka This Mortal Flesh. Matthew, there are proper rules for you:
(your date is Monday, June 15th)

1) Pass the tour on up to four other bloggers.
2) Give your nominees the rules and a specific Monday to post.
3) Answer four questions about your creative process which lets other bloggers and visitors know what inspires you to do what you do.
– How does my work differ from others in my genre?
– How does my writing/creative process work?
– Why do I write or create what I do?
– What am I working on at the moment?
4) Compose a one-time post on a specific Monday (date given from your nominator).

Unbolt has done her duty. Let him go… well, not for long.

© All rights reserved 2015