My book, Klubbe the Turkle and the Golden Star Coracle, now listed as a Medallion Honoree on indieBRAG

My book, Klubbe the Turkle and the Golden Star Coracle, now listed as a Medallion Honoree on indieBRAG

I have great news about my book, Klubbe the Turkle and the Golden Star Coracle, published in March, 2015, which here I share. It is now listed on Medallion Books on the website: http://www.bragmedallion.com/medallion-honorees
It can be found on the page for Science Fiction books.
It will be featured on the Homepage: http://www.bragmedallion.com on Sunday, Ist, November, 2015.
B.R.A.G. is an acronym for Book Readers Appreciation Group.
indieBRAG has its own group on Goodreads: http://goodreads.com/group/show/83438-indiebrag

More about me and my three books, Angel War, Klubbe the Turkle and the Golden Star Coracle, and Still the Dawn: Poems and Ballads can be found on my new website: http://philipdodd.yolasite.com

Two Keys For One Door

Two Keys For One Door

Days I lived without you,
I knew nothing about you,
now I do not doubt you
were the one I was looking for.

Soon we will unlatch our window,
have two keys for one door.
We must fly through air,
high over seas,
to have two keys
to open one door.

Though I sought, I never thought
I would learn what you taught.
Our twin souls will taste mystic wine.
Saved from the cold,
your body will enfold and bathe with mine.

What you said
were words that led me to your land.
I love you is what I understand.
We have two keys
to open one door,
two keys, silver and sure,
two keys to open one door.

My spare key will now be your key.
With your key you can open our door.
We have two keys to open one door.

Still the Dawn: Poems and Ballads published.

Still the Dawn: Poems and Ballads published.

Still the Dawn: Poems and Ballads

Philip Dodd

published by Publish Nation

publication date: Thursday, 15th, October, 2015
Kindle Version now visible and available to buy on Amazon.uk and Amazon.com
price: £1.99p  Asin: B016Q1BVZ2
Paperback version will be available to buy before the end of November, 2015.
Still the Dawn contains 109 works, written between 1983 and 2015, and has 181 pages.
Here is the blurb I wrote for its back cover:

Still the Dawn. A book of poems and ballads.
Poems written to preserve memories, explore moods, emotions, art, myths, real events and dreams, together with some attempts at light verse, even nonsense.
Ballads that tell tales, reflect on the seasons, time and its passing.
The poet enters the mead hall, un-lids his word hoard, recites. He shares his gift.
Those who attend to his works, he hopes to entertain.

Last Flocks Of The Geese

Last Flocks Of The Geese

We are late, late in our going,
the last flocks of the geese
seem to say in the sky,
but maybe we will be
early in our returning,
they call as they fly away,
leaving us with the crow and the sparrow,
the robin to sit on
the cold, bare branches of winter,
and we forget about the geese,
until we hear them returning in spring,
would that I were a bird
first learning to sing.

The Works of Dudley Duo Flush

The Works of Dudley Duo Flush

Dudley Duo Flush, little known composer,
was known and was little,
let his reputation rust,
until it was quite brittle.
Made his own hand harpsichord
out of coral, sea shells,
silver wire and honey brown barked wood.
Its sound and his compositions were unique.
Even high critics agreed,
they admitted they were good.
They asked him why
he did not play his tunes on piano,
organ or violin.
“I cannot play a note on them,”
he answered with a grin.
This rather baffled them,
but on he swam in his own seas,
a fish with golden gills,
and flashing silver fin.
“While the wheels of the world
turn against love,
still you must make the heart vulnerable,”
he said. “And uncage the dove.”

Matterhorn

Matterhorn

These chords were never played this way before,
never will be heard like so again.
No moon or star and no sound from the shore,
I finish my song, put down my pen.
This tune now born, I wonder what it will be.
You may listen to the wind in the corn
to try to find your key.
You don’t have to climb the Matterhorn
to feel free.

I go up, ascend in a lift to the topmost floor.
Once there, by itself, opens the door.
I climb stone steps, to stand on the roof,
and all around me, I see the proof
that life is good.
But really, I am only in the kitchen,
waiting for the kettle to boil,
so I can have a mug of tea.
Your loom may be broken, your tapestry torn,
yet you can still weave in the air
more beauty than first you could see.
You don’t have to try to hear
the pipes of a dolphin to plunge in the sea.
You don’t have to climb the Matterhorn
to feel free.

Grand Hotel

Grand Hotel

One he was a bell boy at the Grand Hotel.
O, the stories, the stories, he could tell.
Now he sat in its foyer, an old man in a brown coat.
More than eighty, nearly ninety,
he would say of his age, to precisely quote,
more plainly, eighty seven,
far from the cradle, close now to heaven.
That is, he would say,
if the angel with the book at the gate
would let him in.
O, but the stories. Where would he begin?
Taxies, cars, parked outside, he observed,
may be more modern than in his day,
but they transported the same people,
they being the rich. Such things would stay.
“I used to work here,” he would tell them,
in the dining hall, as he supped afternoon tea,
with the silver tea pot on his table,
feeling happy to be.
“That must have been a long time ago,”
they would say.
“Oh, yes, it was,” he would answer.
“But it is all clear, as if it were yesterday.
There I would stand, at the foot of the stair,
by the lift, at reception, smile on my face,
and I watched them go by,
like lights in the air,
all of them noble to me, fine and high.
There was one famous actress,
yes, some of them were involved in the arts,
others were gentry from foreign parts.
Rich business men, some of them were.
Can still see their faces.
I wept when it was over, my time I was here.
There was no one to tell it to, no one to care.
Stories I could tell.
Always thought it deserved its name, Grand Hotel.”