Christmas with Miss Lionheart and the Laboratory of Death

Happy Christmas, time to kidnap yourself into mad scientists territory...
 Yes, the perfect gift for anyone with an e reader, and the need to take over the world with mad-science is now available as an ebook - just buy a copy and contact me, or my publisher phantomfeatherpress(at)gmail(dot)com and you could be in to win one of five paperback copies - yet to be officially released in April 2016


"Rabid rodents, a fun read!" Lee Murray
Miss Lionheart and the Laboratory of Death from award-winning writer A J Ponder is the first part of a science fiction adventure intended for middle grade readers.
The story opens with the heroine, Miss Lilly Lionheart, snatched off the street by Mr Big, the CEO of GKS Laboratories and the least important crime lord in the World Wide Web of Evil. Bundled into his underground bunker, Lilly is being forced to genetically engineer a dreadbeast for Big’s Spring Catalogue of Evil. She has no choice in the matter, not if she plans to live to see New Year. But even if her science skills were up to creating an arachnid-reptilian hybrid in the short weeks before Christmas, her social skills are not, which makes managing her rag-tag scientific team somewhat problematic. As if that isn’t enough, someone seems to be watching her, someone other than Big’s ruthless security thugs and their ubiquitous cameras…
A former scientist myself, and slightly nerdy, I wish this book had been written when I was younger. Just as Lewis and Tolkien opened our imaginations for fantasy, Ponder’s is the kind of tale to prompt an interest in science in its young readers. Just how long would a squirrel-snake hybrid need to gestate anyway...

Happy Christmas everybody and don't forget to say goodbye to the Tuesday Poem blog, with the final poem, What I didn't know then

A.J. 
Author of Quest, Prophecy, Omens, Miss Lionheart and the Laboratory of Death, Wizard's Guide to Wellington, Attack of the Giant Bugs - a You Choose Science Adventure, and The Frankie Files. 

Find my stories and support my writing on ko-fi   And tell me which poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024

 

Tuesday Poem: Ahi Kā by A.J. Ponder and Eileen Mueller

Ahi Kā

(Prose and interwoven sonnet, Truth Lies in Fire and Dies in Flame)

Winning entry (first equal) in NZSA NorthWrite 2013 Collaboration Contest

By Eileen Mueller and A.J. Ponder

Howls pierced the fog of my dreams. I clutched Ahi, shaking her awake. “Are they real?” Yowling wound through my ear canals, ricocheting inside my head. “The dogs, Ahi, can you hear them?”

She woke, startled. “Hurry, Manaaki. They’re coming.”

We scrambled out of our bush-clad hideout, dashing up the hillside, sliding in the damp earth, ponga fronds whipping our faces.

Frenzied yelps closed in on us. The creatures’ vicious snarling drowned our laboured breathing.

Blue eyes pursued us, hot gas flames in the dark.

Were they real?

I yanked my meds from my pocket. Pills scattered in the dirt. I scrabbled for them. One stuck in my throat before sliding down.

#

Cry havoc and let us unloose the dogs

the dogs, let slip those hellish brutes of war

for tonight Manaaki will have to choose

to run—

#

“Hellhounds,” Ahi yelled, bounding up the mud and crumbling rock.

Menacing growls raced through the underbrush. Ahi yanked a nail from her fingertip. It flared to light, illuminating the black-hackled beast leaping towards us.

“Ahi?” In all our time together, her fingernails had never exploded into fireballs. I stared at her and swallowed another pill, tasting dirt.

The hound, with pain-stricken yelps, was devoured by flame. Wild baying echoed in the valley below. More hellhounds.

Ahi stood, fingertip bleeding. Her hand, with only four nails, reached out. Warm blood sticky in my palm, she yanked me uphill.

Had my medication stopped working?

To be sure, I gulped another down.

#

Laugh in the shade of the slavering beast

let fire light his eyes and make death tame

the boy is mad—

#

 The hellhounds thundered behind us. Racing through the darkness, we tripped, smashing our knees on jutting rocks.

I gagged on the stench of the hounds’ hot breath. They snapped at our heels—and bit deep. I screamed.

Ahi ripped off another nail, flinging it over her shoulder. The beast yelped and fled, trailing flames.

Fingers spraying glistening blood in the flame-light, Ahi aimed nail after nail at the perilous beasts, until only two nails remained.

#

The boy is mad to thwart this hunter’s feast

the dirt he tastes will never bear his name

and yet he stops and turns—

#

Ahi flung her penultimate nail through snarling fangs.

The beast combusted. Singed fur and burning flesh. A pale demon loomed behind the hellhound’s flaming carcass. Worse than hellhounds. Worse than my lover-turned-stranger beside me, oozing blood from her torn fingertips. Worse than hallucinations.

I screamed.

Ahi smiled through her blood and tears. She tore the final fingernail from her hand and pressed it into mine. “Swallow this,” she whispered.

#

Truth Lies in Fire and Dies in Flame

Cry havoc and let us unloose the dogs
the dogs, let slip those hellish brutes of war
for tonight Manaaki will have to choose
to run through fire and flame or face the maw

Laugh in the shade of the slavering beast
Let fire light his eyes and make death tame
The boy is mad to thwart this hunter’s feast
The dirt he tastes will never bear his name

And yet he stops and turns, his wild fear tame
Ahi Kā, Manaaki keep the home fires burning
In blood and fire—with life he stakes his claim
Ahi Kā, let us stand where he is standing

Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds;
But burn those who chase Manaaki out of bounds

Story and sonnet A.J. Ponder and Eileen Mueller

I hope you enjoyed this foray into literary fantasy,

cheers,  
A.J. Ponder

You can find A.J. Ponder at:

Ponder Books - Get ready for Adventure

Bookbub

& Amazon

Amazon aff link

Tuesday Poem: The Hero - Movement 3 Political Evolution

Movement 3 Political Evolution

Today

All

Is still

Except the carrion call

Rising triumphant

Into the

First rays

Of the new dawn

Today

We shall eat

Drink and be merry

My fine vultures

Today we feast

on heroes 

A.J. Ponder

And that, my friends was the last exciting instalment of "The Hero." 

If you're interested the first instalment, Corpse Road is here at 

http://anafflictionofpoetry.blogspot.co.nz/2013/10/tuesday-poem-hero-first-movement.html

"Baby Teeth" signing pic curtesy of Matt Cowens

And the second instalment, Last Stand, is at  http://anafflictionofpoetry.blogspot.co.nz/2013/10/tuesday-poem-hero-movement-2-last-stand.html

Busy week this week, Baby teeth launch on the 30th and the White Cloud World Exhibition at Rona Gallery is still in pre-production - although it's certainly coming along, lots of work to do still though - and to make it harder, it's the Hobbit Fan Event today and Phil and I have tickets!  Totally crazy.  Totally shouldn't be going.  But so long as the world isn't about to end, we're going to have a blast - have some fun and then I've got to hurry back to work and sort out the catalogue etc etc etc 

Hoping to catch up with everyone's poems late Wednesday night, until then, why not get a headstart and check out the Tuesday Poem blog?

Tuesday Poem: The Hero - Movement 2: Last Stand

The Hero

 Movement 2: Last Stand

Atop the bodies
Strewn akimbo
Awkward arms stretched out
in
Broken pleas for mercy

He stands

He falls

Pleas for mercy
Broken arms stretched out
Awkward
Akimbo
Strewn
Atop the bodies

A.J. Ponder

Another cheery little number, the final in the series might turn up next week - heck it probably will and if you're still with me after that maybe, maybe something with some laughs.  Of course if rallying dirges are your thing, The Hero - Movement 1: Corpse Road is lying in wait in this little linky here http://anafflictionofpoetry.blogspot.co.nz/2013/10/tuesday-poem-hero-first-movement.html

 And The hero part 3 "Last Stand" is here: https://anafflictionofpoetry.blogspot.com/2013/11/tuesday-poem-hero-movement-3-political.html 

Here I am ten oclock on a Monday night wondering if I should trust to a timer - and why not?  Let's see if I can convince the blog Tuesday is a good day to post.  After all it is the best possible day to catch all the Tuesday Poets at their watering hole right here at the Tuesday Poem.

Also my short story, "Friends" finds a home "Baby Teeth" -

a remarkably horrible, and occasionally funny collection of stories by well known authors in the Speculative Fiction community.

BOOK LAUNCH THIS WEEK!!!

October 30, 2013 @ 5:30 pm – 6:30 pm

Quality Hotel
223 Cuba Street
Te Aro,Wellington 6011
New Zealand

No Tuesday Poem

Yeah
there is no Tuesday Poem
not here
no words about the weather
no exuberant escape
no tales of branches smashed on cars
water washing beaches onto the street
and time spent in the dark
cold
powerless
night

Because this is the morning
and in time, the wind eases
and the sun comes out
it always does
uncaring
unflinching
pulling everything into stark relief

A.J.Ponder

Storms happen, this poem was more about the aftermath - I hope you're all having a better week than some of the poor souls catching the worst of this storm

A.J.

A.J. Ponder's books are available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, Paper Plus and good Wellington bookstores.

The Weary Traveller... by Mary Wroth

The weary Traveller, who tyred, sought
In places distant farre, yet found no end
Of paine or labour, nor his state to mend:
At last with joy is to his home backe brought.
Findes not more ease though he with joy be fraught,
When past is feare content like soules ascend:
Then I, on whom new pleasures doe descend,
Which now as high as first-borne blisse is wrought.
He tyred with his paines, I with my minde;
He all content receiues by ease of lymbs:
I, greatest happinessse that I doe finde,
Beliefe for faith, while hope in pleasure swimmes.
Truth saith 'twas wrong conceit bred my despight,
Which once acknowledg'd, brings my hearts delight.

The poem.  Now why did I choose this poem?  I was looking for a travelling poem, something a llittle upbeat because I wasn't going to post today (except maybe to acknowledge Mary for being one of the winners in this year's flash fiction competition. Congratulations Mary!) but here I am completely non-functioning - and trying to cheer myself up and the last line just said something important.

Of course now that I've looked up the author - I'm seeing the poem in a whole different light.  And maybe that is why I like these old poems -- for all their dense writing and obscure phrasiology, it gives the imagination so much room to play.  Anyway I hope you enjoyed this one too, and if you want to find out more about Mary Wroth, she was born 1587, married at 17 and quite an interesting literary figure, so it's well worth reading about her life here http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/mary-wroth

have a fantastic week, everyone, cheers,
A.J.

A.J. Ponder's books are available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, Paper Plus and good Wellington bookstores.

Census - On the night of Tuesday 5 March 2013

On the night of Tuesday 5 March 2013

were you dutifully filling in your census?

did you?

mark as many spaces as you need

knowing this bold exploration

could lead to strange new worlds locked in dusty old boxes

if you are 15 or older

which questions gave you pause?

the burning need to discover the not so private world of

your current legally registered marital/civil union status?

the reverse solidus almost blushing with awkwardness

or the truly brutal

if you are female, answer this question...

phrasing is everything

this might not be a question you want to read

number born alive?

so do you object? Surely every woman does
even when they see the numbers ticking behind
mark as many spaces as you need
in this five year mission to discover
New Zealand in numbers

I declare the information I have given is true and complete as far as I know

A J Ponder 


Is there such a thing as a "partially found poem"?  If so, then that is what this is.  Looking around for things to write the poem on - and knowing the lateness of the hour - I happened to spy the census forms on the dresser - perfect - because tonight is census night in NZ.  Everyone is being asked to supply personal information that is geared for running a country, and track how New Zealand is changing as a population.  When viewed on this level it is perfectly straightforward and the questions make perfect sense, but on a more emotional level, for many people some of these questions must cut to the quick.

 Cheery, damn - the idea when I started was meant to be cheery.... but there are some fantastic poems up on the Tuesday blog - enjoy, below are some, not all, of my highlights.

 First off I enjoyed Zireaus's choice of poem "At Melville's Tomb" by Hart Crane (even though it made my head hurt).  Ben Hurr's - "The Unheralded" - was lovely, sweet and poignant - whcih was odd given it started witha  blaze of infamy, Tim Jones' Jump in the Fire, such fun, but not nearly half so hilarious as Helen McKinlay's Careless Love, and then there's Hermit in Winter by Eileen D. Moeller - such a  strong finish, I had to stop, think and read it all over again - and finally why not visit the Tuesday Poets with Kathleen and put faces to all the poets you have been following? (except me, I didn't quite make it)  But whatever you do - have a great week :)
Cheers,

A.J.

A.J. Ponder's books are available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, Paper Plus and good Wellington bookstores.

Tuesday Poem - for sale

I'm afraid my Tuesday Poem is a little belated today-
my only excuse is that -
somewhere in the world I am sure it is still Tuesday
and next week it will be Tuesday again
but I'll still have the pile of ironing
striving for the ceiling
I'll still have the floor
needing to be swept
only so much debris can go under the rug
The only difference is that - hopefully
there'll be a for sale sign
advertising the only slightly grimy exterior
and the newly hacked green
enticing newcomers
all the way down the garden path...


I don't know what you'd call this - an extemporised poem I guess.  All because it's so hard to get into the Tuesday Poem headspace when there's so much to do and I'm running around like a headless chicken - off to iron curtains now - sigh.  I'll try to pop in on all the Tuesday poets tonight - it's always so refreshing to see what everyone else is up to :)

Cheers, and apologies again for being so late. 

A.J. Ponder 

 A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Wynken Blynken and Nod by Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
   Sailed off in a wooden shoe---
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
   Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
   The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
   That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
                     Said Wynken,
                     Blynken,
                     And Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
   As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
   Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
   That lived in that beautiful sea---
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish---
   Never afeard are we;"
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
                     Wynken,
                     Blynken,
                     And Nod. 

All night long their nets they threw
   To the stars in the twinkling foam---
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
   Bringing the fishermen home;
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
   As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they 'd dreamed
   Of sailing that beautiful sea---
   But I shall name you the fishermen three:
                     Wynken,
                     Blynken,
                     And Nod. 

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
   And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
   Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
   Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
   As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
                     Wynken,
                     Blynken,
                     And Nod.




I was cleaning out the house and going through the bookcase  when I found a beautifully illustrated book of a poem I have loved since my childhood.  So of course I rushed to the net to see if there was much variation.  Apparently not.  Nobody seems to be able to better the original, and I would have to agree, it is truly beautiful.  The edition above was published when my daughter was born.  So of course, just like her - it's extra special :)

The poem has such a lovely rhythm and tone and contains truly beautiful fantastic elements that it's hard to believe it was written over a century ago.   Originally published under the title "Dutch Lullaby" - presumably because of the shoe.  

A.J. Ponder

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Spider

Obviously I can't see you

dangling like a tiny stick

lurching

twirling

not spinning as such

vibrating upon the invisible thread

around and around

Obviously you're not really there

as you drop onto pages

vast as football fields

hiding in the subtext

Obviously 

Now spiders should always understand subtext.  After all I'm sure Charlotte did.  Which is possibly why they do so well at hiding in it.  This spider (a cute little katipo) isn't bothering to hide, but I can assure you the little house spider that dropped onto my page the other day, sure did.    

A.J. Ponder

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Alicia's World of Warcraft Poem

It seems a certain game

requires

you bring my poem

past the dangers

of war

through death and

through danger

to complete your quest

in a world

unreal.

This is not the truth.

I require

only that

you wend your way

through my reality

along the stony path

past the troll

of misunderstandings

to the mountain of disbelief.

If you stand there

upon the tip of your toes

you'll see the world

as it never was.

This is not the truth

For in my world realities sail

bright as ships on a shining sea -

only slightly beyond the pixelated

blood, sweat and tears

of conformity.

So take those words back -

if you can -

past the horrors of war

through death and

through danger

to complete your quest

in a world

as real as

you.

A.J. Ponder

It has come to my attention (P.S. never google your name and poem - it can be a pretty hair raising experience)  that there is a certain quest in Warcraft that requires taking "Alicia's Poem" from somewhere to somewhere else.  Presumably.  

-- I had to include this - in my comments Tim Jones outlined the true origin of the World of Warcraft poem - it's such a touching story, the death of a player inspired writers of the game to create this quest - and the poem to go with it - the real "Alicia's Poem" can be found here.  Try not to cry.

And I thought, as any poet might (at least after the initial dicombobulation), that there had to be an actual poem in there...somewhere.    Enjoy, have fun, and don't forget there are more worlds of poetry waiting for you...

A.J. Ponder

I hope you enjoy my poems on this blog, for more of my work check out Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Ode to the World Cup while doing the Washing

Let the men kick pigskin.

For what is it about life

that cannot be learnt

out on the field?

Take it on the chin

after all everyone wants a knock-out.

Show no mercy

it's always in short supply.

Take the opposition down -

go for the legs:

Below the belt is always the best way

to trip someone up.

Kiss butt

and team together,

run with the pack

or get eaten

I mean beaten.

With shades of running into a brick wall - and stringing it wide

Let the games begin

Let the All Blacks win

Let the men kick-

pigskin.

A.J. Ponder

I was in fact doing the washing, and in my own terribly unpatriotic way, not particularly looking forward to the world cup - sorry, and yes, for non-New Zealanders, that's the rugby world cup - when some rugby phrases popped into my head.  You can't live here without hearing them.

So then I started thinking about what those phrases might mean and what the broader impact of rugby in the community might be, in a more than slightly unfair way - because where's the impact in being fair?  Besides otherwise I would have mentioned "play hard, play fair" and all the positive features of hosting a world cup.  Like gosh, wasn't Wales v. South Africa a great match?  And all the wonderful visitors dropping in from all around the world.  OK fine.  I hope everyone has a great time, enjoys the rugby, and remembers that taking it on the chin is actually a great expression - so long as some idiot (sorry, that was me) doesn't decide to take it literally.

So have fun, and remember the best way to watch the word cup is from another room ;) - Preferably with the computer set to check out the poems on my blog ;)

A.J. Ponder

Find my stories and support my writing on ko-fi 

And tell me which poems you'd like to see in my upcoming poetry book—2024? https://ko-fi.com/ajponder

The Sleeping Beauty, by Sir Alfred Tennyson

Year after year unto her feet,
She lying on her couch alone,
Across the purpled coverlet,
The maiden's jet-black hair has grown,
On either side her tranced form
Forth streaming from a braid of pearl:
The slumbrous light is rich and warm,
And moves not on the rounded curl.

The silk star-broider'd coverlid
Unto her limbs itself doth mould
Languidly ever; and, amid
Her full black ringlets downward roll'd,
Glows forth each softly-shadow'd arm,
With bracelets of the diamond bright:
Her constant beauty doth inform
Stillness with love, and day with light.

She sleeps: her breathings are not heard
In palace chambers far apart.
The fragrant tresses are not stirr'd
That lie upon her charmed heart.
She sleeps: on either hand upswells
The gold-fringed pillow lightly prest:
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
A perfect form in perfect rest.

Another Fairy Tale poem, boy am I a sucker for the old-fashioned stuff!  The way it rolls off the tongue, its beautiful (apparent) simplicity.  And of course as a fairy tale cover, it will be a lovely addition to my Fairy Tale portal. 


A.J. Ponder

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Ozymandius by Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert... Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains.  Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away"

I just love this poem, and the vastness of it, the overwhelming image of the great and mighty thrown into dust.  I only hope Helen can forgive me because she posted it up not so long ago.

Interestingly enough this poem was written in 1817 in a friendly competition with fellow poet, Horace Smith.  (Isn't Wiki useful?  - although poem shape was endlessly more interesting from a writing point of view with an analysis of each poem (even if the conclusions were a little pedantic). And although I agree Shelley's Ozymandius is far and away the better poem, I rather like Horace Smith's last few lines -

The last lines of Horace Smith's
Ozymandius

Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He (the hunter) meets some fragments huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

I think it works better at a remove from Ozymandius the statue - not only because Smith's vision compares poorly to Shelley's - but because the two images in Smith's poem are clashing.  The green image of London turned to forest sits badly against desolation and desert, so that instead of enhancing the feeling of waste, the reference diminishes it - and yet I still find the possibilities of a wild London rather inspiring and I wonder that Smith didn't forget the whole desert motif and truly move onto the wild green pastures that he hints at :)

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this foray into the past  
A.J. Ponder

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

The Face of Beau

 

It's beauty 

pageant season.

Every profile 

a revelation

in

make believe

dressed to display

smiling faces

plastered into -

shoehorned into -

the perfect dress

glittery

slinky

devil may care.

It's beauty pageant season

what the hell should I wear?

A.J. Ponder

Winter has decided to hit hard, power cuts in this weather seem rather excessive hardship, and yet Wellington is full of smiles.  The wonder of snow right outside the door.  On the hills by the sea.  It is like we have all been transported to somewhere else.  It seems, finally Wellington has found a number it enjoys wearing - but for how long?

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Amazon, and good Wellington bookstores

Surf Security

Surf Security doesn't like my words

Red circled exclamation marks

Proclaim to all

The unsafe nature of this text

Seeing fit to warn you

Of its revealing nature

After all

Poetry is for the mad,

The troubled,

The ghosts who lock themselves within galleons adrift

Never straying into in sight of

The breathy sea of swimming beaches

Choosing instead to listen to the

echo

Of reality booming

And the shrill cry of seagulls

So now you must choose

To fly far to distant lands

Far, far away from this uncertain brig

Where I lie

My breath thrown

higgledy-piggledy around me

In uncertain 

indecency

or turn your wings to the distant lands

to whence lies the unknown

the unknowable

the distant shore-

Or return to your cell.

 Alicia Ponder

An exciting weekend because I was lucky enough to have my poem, "The Trouble with Time Machines" published in "Eye to the Telescope," .  Check out in particular "Rapunzel," by Mary Victoria but there are also some great poems by people like Helen Rickerby (first up), Janis Freeguard, Peter Friend my oft partner in crime, and the surprising Joe Dolce, (better known for songs such as "Shaddup you Face" than his poetry).  Edited by the redoubtable Tim Jones its well worth a look - because as Tim says, 'Whether you love poetry, you love SF, fantasy, and horror, or you just want to find out what on earth speculative poetry is, there is something for you in "Eye To The Telescope 2".'

Also received my contributors copy of Challenge magazine, with "Survival" co written with Peter Friend.  Of course it's not Frankie, as my kids are quick to point out.  Thanks guys - but the magazine is absolutely awesome and I'm so proud to have been a part of it.  :)   I even bought some extra copies from Australia because I knew it would be popular and I'm already running out!  They're mine.  All mine.  

A.J. Ponder's work is available through Rona Gallery, Arty Bees, The Children's Bookshop and good New Zealand bookstores