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[sticky post] My Fics over the Centuries...


     this will become my archive post for my fics, which will be updated as regularly as I can manage until I am up to date.

Fics old; and maybe unwanted...Collapse )

  Here are two fics written way back in the first months after Tara's death in S6 of BtVS was broadcast here in the UK.

Two early successful, I think, buffy fics...Collapse )

  These six stories were all written as fanfics for The Chosen, as opposed to 'in the chosen!verse'. The first five got posted to the website itself; the last has only been posted to my previous lj. Hopefully one day it, it and the several fics I have written for that verse, will get posted to the website too.

Fics written for Jet Wolf"s The Chosen...Collapse )

  These five fics were written in the year following me joining livejournal in 2009. I no longer have posting access to this journal so, if you have any comments on them, can you send them to me here. I hope to change this at some point, but they will eventually be re-posted. Other details, including character; 'verses etc will be added as time passes.
My first lj fics 2009-10Collapse )These are all my fics from 2011; a CSI drabble; a crossover and a NuWho S5 fic; but mostly Buffyverse stories.

My fics for 2011; the pace increases...Collapse )April 28th 2014
  Looked like 2012 was going to be a slow year, but I seemed to hit the afterburners in August; especially helped by the series I started for elisi but have yet to complete. Must get on that.

Whew! What was I taking in the Fall...Collapse )

Please, if you have any comments on the stories mentioned above; particularly if you have advice on changes to The Anyanka Solution and ideas as to what could be used for future Buffyverses from Amshel; then email me at

  They will be most welcome.

  Goddess watch over us all,

POEM: April Rise by Laurie Lee (1914-1997)

As previously reported, I hit a poetry motherlode last week when I ventured into a local second-hand bookshop. Today's treasured nugget is from The Penguin Book of Contemporary Verse (1918-1960); this edition being published in 1962.

The Poet is Laurie Lee, not someone I've read much of in the past. His wikipedia entry says this - Laurence Edward Alan "Laurie" Lee, MBE (26 June 1914 – 13 May 1997) was an English poet, novelist and screenwriter, who was brought up in the village of Slad and went to the Central Boys' School, Stroud, Gloucestershire. His most famous work was an autobiographical trilogy which consisted of Cider with Rosie (1959), As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning (1969) and A Moment of War (1991). The first volume recounts his childhood in the Slad Valley. The second deals with his leaving home for London and his first visit to Spain in 1935, and the third with his return to Spain in December 1937 to join the Republican International Brigades.

April Rise by Laurie Lee.

If ever I saw blessing in the air
I see it now this still early day
Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips
Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye.

Blown bubble-film of blue, the sky wraps round
Weeds of warm light whose every root and rod
Splutters with soapy green, and all the world
Sweats with the bead of summer in his its bud.

If ever I heard blessing it is there
Where birds in trees that shoals and shadows are
Splash with their hidden wings and drops of sound
Break on my ears their crests of throbbing air.

Pure in the haze the emerald sun dilates,
The lips of sparrows milk the mossy stones,
While white as water by the lake a girl
Swims her green hand among the gathered swans.

Now, as the almond burns its smoking wick,
Dropping small flames to light the candled grass;
Now, as my low blood scales its second chance,
If ever world was blessed, now it is.

Goddess watch over us all,
'tis ok to be Takei,
kerk tehkek


As previously reported I paid a visit to a local secondhand bookshop and hit a veritable goldmine of poetry books; helped by a three for a pound sale offer. I was going to post something else from this book, but that will wait as it's, strictly speaking, not a poem and I want to check to see if there's audio (or video) evidence of same online.

This, as it says in the subject line, is dedicated to woman_of_ a dear friend who has been awol for a very long time now. I'm sure I'm not the only one who misses her. The last contact I had with her was shortly after we both had to cancel trips to Writercon in Coventry.

I thought she might like this poem by a star of British comic poetry who I have known my entire life, from the old days where you had to have real talent to even appear on a talent show.

There's Some Mistake

Mirror, mirror. on the wall,
Where am I? I'm young and tall,
I'm not like that old bird at all,
There's some mistake . . .
So that old gal, I say again,
Is much too old and much too plain,
With glasses on a chain!
For goodness sake . . .

Mirror, mirror softly lit,
Where is my husband strong and fit?
Raconteur and wit,
There's some mistake . . .
I know my man and he's not it,
That bald and boring stooped old git,
He looks about to quit,
Give him a shake.

Where are my children young and free,
So beautiful for all to see?
They are not here with me,
There's some mistake . . .
They're scattered now, gone to achieve,
With partners I could take or leave,
In silent rooms I grieve
For old times' sake.

The old grim reaper's on his way,
To cut his corn; to make his hay,
The closing of the day,
And no mistake.
He runs his thumb along the blade,
And steps towards me from the shade,
I think I've overstayed
And start to quake . . .

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
I don't like what I see at all,
You're heading for a fall,
You need a break.
So stand well back and mind the crash,
Here's the brick and there's the smash,
See? Younger in a flash,
A piece of cake.

May the Goddess watch over us all,

kerk tehkek
     Ok, so today I ventured into a secodnhand book shop in Blairgowrie and hit a veritable gold-mine of Poetry books.

   Over the next (however long) period of time I'm going to post as many of the poems that catch my eye; first time around one from each book.

   In no particular order.

  The first book I pulled from the overladen carrier bag is a collection of poems by John Burnside. Since he's not a name I know I'm popping the biog at the back in here :-

  'John Burnside was born in 1955 and now lives in Fife. He has published six previous books of poetry, two novels and - most recently, a collection of stories, Burning Elvis. He has won a number of awards, including the Geoffrey Faber Memorial Prize.'

   The poem is laid out here as closely as possible to how it appears in the book

                     THE DANCE OF LIFE

                             after edvard munch

   It's the summer we'll never reach:
                                                        the final
   arrangement of bodies.
   given to the air
                          becoming light
                                                 or evening
   or the memory of rain

   as grass is.
                     It's the habitable place
   we make
                 not of death
                                    or absence
                                                      but of how
   the dancers move together
                                              to become
   these disappearances.
                                       No aftermath or stain
   though somewhere across the lake
                                                           amongst the rocks
   where someone has hauled an upturned boat ashore
   - the white of the hull in the moonlight
   like a sign -
   their conversation carries on the wind:
                       and the rhythms we've come to expect
   from the painted dark.

   May the Goddess watch over us all,


   kerk tehkek



Circumstances have left me with no funds to top up my internet once it runs out; meaning I may not be able to get online again until the local library reopens on Tuesday. May be able to get online there tomorrow morning though. Need to assure myself cats have what they need until next Thursday, but I have enough packet soups and so forth, so that's ok. No money for bus fares, of course, so won't be able to get through to Dundee or Perth to get online there.

Worst of all, I won't be at Glasgow City FC's match tomorrow, to see Suzanne Lappin's final appearance. This, more than anything else is gutting. She's been there at City since I first started watching them on a park pitch; apart from a short period away from the club a few seasons ago.

That side saved my life; giving me back my love of the game, and a reason to persevere with my feeble attempts to keep my life going. Not been doing so well at that lately, but I am over the worst.

Speak soon,


Returning to one of the poets from the Three Tang Dynasty Poets collection issued as part of the Penguin Classics 80th Anniversary. This caught my eye yesterday morning; think it was the image of the Moon floating that did it. I watched Apollo 13 twice in about thirty-six hours; one of those movies/tv eps that I go to when I need comforting. Of all the lines in it that captures my imagination is Gene Krantz defiantly stating that, "with all due respect, I believe this will be our (NASA's) finest hour."

Anyway this is Night Thoughts Afloat by Tu Fu (Du Fu)

Night Thoughts Afloat

By bent grasses
in a gentle wind
Under straight mast
I'm alone tonight,

And the stars hang
above the broad plain
But moon's afloat
in this Great River:

Oh, where's my name
among the poets?
Official rank?
'Retired for ill-health.'

Drifting, drifting,
what am I more than
A single gull
between sky and earth?

Goddess watch over us all,
'tis ok to be Takei,
Kerk TehKek

POEM: Otis by Hamish Whyte

Another one from Scottish Cats; different poet though.
This is dedicated to my dog, Tuppence; Bimbo, my cat, and Tessa a doggy who seemed as though she was around for ever. I'm sorry that I had to end your lives; sorrier that I have so few tangible memories of you, now that mine is failing. I will miss you always.

Otis by Hamish Whyte

I'd like to see you in my dreams, old cat,
nose pushing at the door
in welcome, warming your snowy
underside at the fire; ginger hovis
on my lap. Instead, I can't help
seeing you in your last minutes
staring at us with blind open eyes,
wheezing as your lungs shut down,
as all of you shut down,
your chin coming to rest
on the table as the drugs took
hold, put you to your dreamless sleep.

Hamish Whyte (b.1947)

Goddess watch over us all,

Kerk TehKek

POEM: The Cat's Tale by Valerie Thornton

Sleep evades me, so I shall post this now. Second poem from Scottish Cats; second by Valerie Thornton - must find out more about her.

The Cat's Tale by Valerie Thornton

The cat doesn't understand
about reading
or the space between
my eyes and the paper
or the stillness.
The silence.

She pops up
between my propped elbows
soft as peach and ashes
under my chin
executes feline twirls
then lodges her tail
below my nose
so I can smell
how clean she is.

She sits on the page
translates the words
into thrumming
cheek/butts my nose
jaggy/licks my eyelid shut
and spins me
a compelling tale
of love beyond words.

Valerie Thornton (b.1954)

Goddess watch over us all,

Kerk TehKek

POEM: Familiar by Valerie Thornton

Feeling Feline-friendly right now, so here's the first of some poems from a collection called Scottish Cats published in 2013; hardback, by Birlinn.

Familiar by Valerie Thornton

When I lie on the rug
the cat settles
in the small of my back
and we are a camel.

When I sit on the chair
in my big woolly jumper
the cat burrows under
and we're seven months gone.

When I stand by the window
longing to fly
my wings are rolled up
purring, across my shoulders.

When I'm trying to sleep
on a cold winter's night
I am near stifled
by a rumbling fur hat.

When I'm cooking our fish
and she tries to be slippers
I am a stumbling monster
she, a mouse under the dresser.

Valerie Thornton (b.1954)

Goddess watch over us all,

Kerk TehKek

Poem for a cat I never met

I learned today that a beloved friend lost a beloved friend of her own. She and that friend's sister are in pain just now. I'm feeling pain of my own; for them, and for the furry friends I've lost over the years.

For Tibby and Tuppence; for Bimbo and Tessa; for Tiger; Snowy and Pharoah, and many I knew who must be gone to pastures new where they can chase cars, and mice, or rabbits.

This is for Kira; whom I never met, for Arline and her other furry friend Chloe.

This is also for Amber Benson and the character she made live, over whom Arline and I bonded.

Poem for a cat I never met

I touch them as they snuggle; feeling tears for you
I remember friends I have lost who comforted me as they do;
feeling tears for you
I recall a Rabbit who made me cry; outwitting one of them;
feeling tears for when you made her laugh
I know they are lost; I felt lost when they died; whom I loved
I know that these three who have stolen my heart will
one day
make me feel these tears, as they feel tears
Tears I feel for you
though I never met you
I knew you because they loved you
Farewell; friend. Rest now by the fire, and sleep.

for Arline, my friend; Chloe who is still with her,
and for
GrPr. Devorgilla Morgan - Kira - 03/02/97 - 28/03/15.

Goddess watch over us all,
'tis ok to be Takei,
Kerk TehKek


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