“A Lost Love Letter”

This is perhaps Rob’s most brilliant piece of poetry. Beautiful & powerful.


So, frankly

All my work is free. For now.

That’s not to say it hasn’t been edited within an inch of its life. It’s not crap. It’s not word vomit.

It’s “I have 2 jobs and 2 kids and I just want someone to read my stuff with an option to donate” free.

It’s “I just want eyeballs for Christmas” free.

It’s “Are you accepting new patients?” free.

Check it out. *CHEESE*

31 Short Horrors!

Darlings! 31 Short Horrors is COMPLETE and READY FOR YOUR EYEHOLES!

Get it for FREE for a limited time at Smashwords with coupon code KU45W

This collection is the result of three years of agony and ecstasy and all the laughs and tears in between. I really hope you check it out because I worked my bazoombas off to put it together for you. Honest to gawd, 31 complete works in one spot? For free?

I’m a giver, that’s what I do.

final cover

Tentacles (a #31ShortHorrors special selection)

Darkness surrounds her

Fog swims in her ears

See flailing, flayed open thoughts

Tentacles sliced top to tip

Writhing and thrashing

Gelatinous overflow blurs thin jagged borders

Slimy trails of entrails

A broom a mop a sharp edge

Flip and flop and gather and miss

And the edges slide under

Rolling slithering slime escapes and

Covers, darkens the cold cement

Frantically, panicking limbs try to scoop

And a mouth sucks and slurps but the

Entrails spilt from filleted tentacles

Squirt and slide and roll away

A dark trail of sick leading away in a web

Catching touching grinning licking

The fishnet of horror bleeds away from the center

Contaminates, cuts the darkness

Shrieks of crimson strike bolts of ice and

The gentle fog drops sharp as hail

Tentacles dry up, wind up, curl tight, thin, empty

Skins await the growth and bubbling expansion

Of another metastatic matched set of agonies and fears

And the wheel spins and the moon rises

And again she hopes to cleanse another year.

Copyright 2017 Shannon Cooper


Aroma and depth draw my breath

the morning windows sprinkled in lustre and copper aspen leaves

silken clouds wandering the heavens like a lost child

impatient and wild, riled yet beguiled

and do not ask me to halt this moment

when moments are treasures and pleasures in overwhelming haze

a mist, a mist of time, a dream of graces 

where roe deer amble in forest spaces 

My pockets full, my shoes inspired

to carry these limbs to rocky spires

the love of worlds born in these places 

no quandaries no lust of sapphire and diamonds

just the spring waters untroubled by hands and hostility

through vivacious ferns the powdered breeze whistles

serenading the dance of the bonniest thistle

the trail of heather whispering and awesome

ne'r bereft of vibrant blossom

And i straddle these peaks and variant landscapes

eyes set down upon a world gone mad

its captivation cemented in its own dereliction

a world without honour, a world steeped in hate

a cauldron boiling over 

a soup of disdain

roll it into a ball, roll it away

man’s destiny dressed and disguised by its own demise 

nor the prescience of mind but the ignorance of shackles 

and the echoes of death fading to crackles

for all that they know is not what they know

so how can they grow, how can they grow

The blackbird sings to me 

awakening me from my tempest of human shame

for i have lingered in a world of senseless crowds

and one night stands and crumbled shrouds

i have seen the dark i’ve heard the bell

toll for me 

the wheel of lucifer roll to me

i am for all i am and all i can ever be

the pillars of life now my branches 

my trees

if i should meet the sound of the morning once more

then i am a flower in sunlight

i am home 

Copyright 2017, Robert Taylor, @ClanRobTaylor