Published Works

Raw Earth Ink

Hello friends,

This morning I woke up to over a foot of snow (when 3″ was forecast) and the FedEx driver calling me to say he would not drive down my road due to the deep snow. He left my package (proof copies of a client’s books) in a plastic bag in the snow bank and continued on. I, on the other hand, put my pants and boots on and headed down, down, down my driveway in snow up to my knees to collect my excitedly anticipated books.

Huffing and puffing aside, it’s all worth it to me, to open that box and pull out a beautiful book which an author has entrusted to me to edit, format, and ultimately publish. What an honor; I am blessed beyond words.

Recently, Hidden Bear‘s second edition book of poetry, Moleskine on a Coffee Table, released. I was delighted with not…

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‘Glass House’

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I woke up in the glass house, the rhythmic beat of the rain filling the spaces between my ears, its drumming echoing the beat of my heart. In an ocean of memories and dreams I watched myself float, unsure of which was which, backwards and forwards with the immeasurable tide. Each horizon – the mirror glass of the room that held me – bounced reflections of faces I would never be, and those that I had held as mine, deep into my eyes. I stared through the ages, to where this had all begun, and further, further still, to a point before this had all been some fantastical wish in a young girl’s eye. Back, back to a time before the bonds of dogma, before the settlers had lost their nomadic feet, before the chill had come. In an endless moment that flashed quicker than the fork which tore the darkness apart I saw each turn that had led to this. 

The umbilical current pulled at me once more dragging my eyes towards another mirror. This one seemed to hang like a ghost before the panes beyond it unsure of its purpose. I felt compelled to stare as if expecting it to reveal its secrets at any moment.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

Creation and the Cosmos

I am delighted to be able to announce the imminent publication of the latest anthology of poetry from Raw Earth Ink.

Creation and the Cosmos is packed with an incredible range of poetry inspired by nature and the natural world.

I am thrilled and proud to have five of my own pieces included in this anthology and would like to take this opportunity to thank Tara Caribou who edited this book for her hard work and deducation to this project.

The book, both in physical and electrinic version will be available from March 23rd and I have attached the relevant links below…plus some images to whet your appetite!

Available in paperback at:
lulu

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Kindle

Lost Words

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I lost some words today

Words that I had watched over

Like a parent

Like a hawk,

Words that I had nurtured and fed

With my flesh and blood

Held in my hands

Like gems

Like eggs,

And when in the moments between

The gunshot beats of my heart

My eyelids fell

They were gone

Like the seasons

Like the storms,

The clouds that swept from eye to sky

Which scratched the marks

Implied the meaning I had known

And held each page

Each verse each line

Like a child

Like a curse.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

The Guest House (an excerpt)

Below is a short excerpt from my short story ‘The Guest House’, which appears in the rather marvellous anthology ‘Static Dreams – Volume 2’.

If you enjoyed this excerpt (and are hopefully intrigued by it) the entire story (along with some other wonderful stories) can be read by purchasing the book in either physical or e-book format.

Details can be found at the end of the excerpt.

THE GUEST HOUSE

Room One

Duncan’s dream had been the same each night since he had first booked in to the small seaside guest house nearly two weeks earlier. He woke every morning at around eight-thirty with the image still swimming around his head as if it were afraid to let him leave and stumble into another day. The picture was as clear as anything that he might have seen the previous day, or the day before that, except for the fact that it wasn’t. It wasn’t his mind recalling events or restructuring facts; it wasn’t conjuring a vision or a particular fantasy, nor was it his subconscious playing idly with images that he had seen or imagined from books. His dream came at some point when he was asleep and hung around until the moment that he awoke and then thrust itself in front of him. Or had it only just formed itself in the moments immediately before his body began to stir to the rhythms of a new day? Duncan was unsure, but of one thing he was certain – the dream remained the same.

To say that it was a dream was perhaps affording it rather more significance than it deserved however. When Duncan first started to emerge from his slumber, when his brain began to acknowledge the sounds that emanated from somewhere outside of himself, and his eyes began to accept the light that had invaded his room, the scene inside his head was as vivid as any reality, and yet that was all it was – a scene. For ten consecutive nights he had awoken to the same scene and yet was unaware of what had happened prior to that point in his dream. Of course he had tried to imagine the events which might have led to the scene that replayed behind his eyes; he had daydreamed fantasies and build entire scripts around it, but as the morning light made itself fully known to him, he had always realized that these dramas were not his dream, and, as a result, left him disappointed and cold. Try as he might, Duncan was unable to drag himself back into his dream, even though it revisited him each night, to see what was hidden from him. All that ever remained was the fleeting image weaving itself in and out of his consciousness until it slipped away quietly like a fishing boat into the fog.

He was laying face down on the bed, the woman’s thighs, full and as smooth as satin, spread on either side of his head. Her knees were bent up, or at least he assumed that they were, and he was aware of the creamy texture of her flesh, so close to his face. His arms stretched out from his shoulders, but seemed to disappear before forming hands, his awareness of the feel of her skin reaching him in subconscious waves. He knew that he was kissing her and also that she was drawing pleasure from his movements. He tried to raise his head, to lift his eyes, straining in desperation to gaze across her belly, the form of her breasts and to see her face, but each attempt proved fruitless. As pleasurable to her as his actions were, however, Duncan, with each passing night, was finding less gratification and greater frustration in his dream. Each morning, as his eyes forced themselves open, flickering momentarily against the light, Duncan found himself more and more consumed by one passion, one desire: to discover the identity of the woman who had hijacked his dreams.

To purchase your own copy of either ‘Static Dreams – Volume 2’ or its sister publication ‘Static Dreams – Volume 1’ simply follow one of the links below (and enjoy):


Static Dreams Volume One, distributor link

Static Dreams Volume One, Amazon link

Static Dreams Volume One, Kindle link

Static Dreams Volume One, Barnes & Noble link

Static Dreams Volume Two, distributor link

Static Dreams Volume Two, Amazon link

Static Dreams Volume Two, Kindle link

Static Dreams Volume Two, Barnes & Noble link

On The Loose

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A SHOUT OUT FOR ALL LOVERS OF COUNTRY ROCK MUSIC

The new single by the very talented singer/songwriter Charlotte Young is now out.

If you have never heard her music before then you should definitely have a listen. (I may be slightly biased as my son plays guitar with her and co-wrote ‘On The Loose).

It is available to stream on Spotify or purchase on Amazon.

Pre-order Hidden Bear’s Poetry Book “Moleskine on a Coffee Table”

Raw Earth Ink
I would heartily recommend checking out any work published through Raw Earth Ink – whether poetry, prose or photography it will.always be of the highest quality and satisfy the most discerning of palettes.

Raw Earth Ink

Available for pre-order is Hidden Bear’s debut poetry book Moleskine on a Coffee Table, Second Edition.

You can get the e-book on Kindle. The 54-page paperback will be available at lulu, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble on its release day: 05 March 2021.

And if you haven’t seen his work before, I highly recommend you head over to Hidden Bear Poet and check out his excellent poetry. It’s been such an honor working with him.

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Sketch – 1

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The winter had never bitten so hard. Birds that had drifted in huddled like scared children awaiting their next disappointment, wondering if they had strayed too far north. Somewhere a broken Sun was hiding, hoping against all logic that its hiding place would remain a secret and that it would be freed from its eternal curse: cold, warm, cold – the cycle never seemed to have a happy conclusion.

In a framework he sat, impervious now to the cold which had splintered first his skin, then his bones and finally his will. He sat, framed like a priceless artwork, a portrait within a landscape, invaluable and, as such, unvalued. The winter held no more terrors.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

My Hands Tied

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And did you think

I wouldn’t care,

To watch you burn

What I’d lain there,

Or did you think

I wouldn’t see,

With my hands tied

And yours set free?

I took a seed

In time a spark,

And drew from night

Light from the dark.

I grew the Earth

Above it all,

A place for dreams

To catch your fall.

Upon the green

Deep in the blue,

I fashioned life

And all things new.

I birthed the tree

The vale and hill,

The swirling tide

And night so still.

And when I held

It in my hand,

I breathed you life

To nurture land.

I gave you all

In faith and trust

A wasted gift

You turned to dust.

And did you think

I wouldn’t care,

To watch you burn

What I’d lain there,

Or did you think

I wouldn’t see,

With my hands tied

And yours set free?

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021

Trapped

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Did you miss me

When my smile died

And my mouth would not move?

When the light that burned for you

Flickered low and, starved of fuel,

Fell silent still behind

Dead eyes?

Did you miss me

When you held my hand

And felt the skin replaced by ice?

When you looked beyond the veil

To gather moments to bring me back

To capture all that you

Had lost?

Did you miss me

As trapped behind the glass

My cries fell like snowflakes?

Did you miss me then

As much as I missed

Myself?

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2021