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29/10/08 - Mary gets off her broomstick to pen poem
A HUTTOFT writer is getting on her broomstick and launching an e-book of her poems on a horror and supernatural theme in time for Hallowe'en. Mary Cook, a former member of the Standard's editorial team, has compiled the work entitled Collywobblers, Perverse Verse for Guys and Ghouls.
Mary earned her first break as a writer when she entered a fiction competition run by a regional newspaper in the area where she was living at the time. Her short story They Eat the Eyes was the winning entry, earning her the grand sounding title of Essex Chronicle Writer of the Year in 1987.
This very minor success made her realise horror was her true calling – but always it had to be leavened with a little humour.
She went on to have many articles, poems and short stories accepted by a wide range of publications.
Some time ago she decided to lump together her dark poems, both published and unpublished, in a disgusting and jocular amalgam for publication.
The collection is published by Inkspotter Publishing, owned by Betty Dobson, a renowned Canadian poet, author and editor.
Advance orders are already being accepted at:
http://inkspotter.com/publications/books/collywobblers.htm
ROCK-A-BYE
Rock-a-bye baby, you're safer up there
In your cute little crib swaying high in the air
Grandpa is standing below with an axe.
We think he's the one who's behind those attacks
On little old ladies: he shoots them for fun.
(He's losing his mind but he still has his gun.)
Grandma is sobbing and holding her head
But most of her fingers are under the bed.
Mother sits catching her blood in a pail:
Her leg's hanging on by a thread – from a nail.
Your cousin is tending the wounds to his knees.
He's sucking a thumb, but I don't think it's his.
Rock-a-bye baby, keep dropping those rocks:
We don't want to see you end up in a box.
Your sister fell foul of that serial ripper _
He cut out her liver and put in a zipper.
Be sure to take very good aim with those stones.
It takes just a few to break Grandpa's old bones.
Careful now, baby, he's cut through the tree!
You'll just have to die – you're not landing on me.
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Weather for Skegness
Wednesday 23 May 2012
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