Artemis II captivated the entire world while sending astronauts to the Moon for the first time since 1972. While no one landed on the lunar surface this time around, we got pristine images of the Moon’s far side that’s never visible from Earth. Seeing those photos is both surreal and thrilling.

I love expeditions to planets, dwarf planets, and moons in our solar system. The discoveries made beyond Earth will inspire a new generation of storytellers. Ancient people often looked to the stars to explain things on our planet. This is how folklore and mythology were born.

Checking out photos from Artemis II of the far side of the Moon inspired the new poem in today’s newsletter.

Shrouded in dense shadow. 
Always fleeing from light.
Day is a total stranger.
In a realm of eternal night.

Distant unmapped exotic lands.
Guarded by foaming choppy towers.
Sweet music from a siren song.
Lured in the bold and the brave.

Space is an uncharted ocean.
where lonely ships roam.  
Ancient craters and rocks.
Barren islands far from home.

Mysteries make contact.
Puzzles beg to be solved.
One small step there.
Equals a giant leap here.

One face stays hidden
Veiled like a new bride.
The call never stops 
To reveal the other side. 

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives. And please help me create other poems like this one by leaving a small one-time tip.

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Science tells us dreams are the brain’s way of working through the experiences of a single day. Everything we’ve seen and heard is tossed into a mental blender and reshaped into random scenes that play out inside our minds amid a deep slumber.

Some philosophy and religious thought categorize dreams with greater significance than a random mishmash of memories. Dreams can be warning visions of the future. Dreams can be gateways to alternate realities. Lives lived in sleep influence lives lived in the waking hours.

One fact is certain. Dreams are shrouded in mystery. This is why they have inspired countless stories, songs, and poems through eons of time.

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Dreams are strange random portals
Opening doors to hidden memories.
Building roads to future prophecies.

Time does not flow linear. 
Space is both seen and unseen.
Jumbled words and images.
What are they supposed to mean?  

Other lives lived in minutes.
Birth. Marriage. Death. 
Dew on grass before sunlight. 

Parallel worlds abound. 
Homes for other shades of you. 
Good or bad or just ugly.
A mind and soul you hardly knew.

Flying high and falling low.
Fighting and running. 
Open ended apocalyptic visions. 

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Life is filled with so many unanswered questions. Finding the right answers isn’t always a simple matter.

This fact hits the hardest when facing adversity. One person loses a job. Another person sees their marriage crumble. Another person suddenly battles a serious illness. Life can knock the wind out of your sails fast and set you adrift on an endless ocean of frustration and despair.

Compassion and empathy from friends and family is treasured more than gold in those moments. What isn’t welcome is that smug soul who takes it upon themselves to “solve” your problems for you with unsolicited advice that only turns things from bad to worse. And, of course, it usually involves blaming you for your problems.

We all know this person. We all want to slam the door in their face forever.

They are the inspiration for today’s poem.

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Ever notice how some people
seem to possess all the answers 
when the questions involve you? 

They know everything you should say 
and exactly what you should do. 

Yet, strangely, these same people
apply no discernible wisdom 
to fix their own lives of confusion. 

Making all their quick and easy solutions
nothing more than a simplistic illusion. 

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives. And please help me create other poems like this one by leaving a small one-time tip.

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eBook News!

I’m thrilled to announce that Bookshop.org now carries eBook editions of many Samak Press titles.

Bookshop.org distributes fiction and nonfiction books to approximately 3,400 independent bookstores throughout the United States and the United Kingdom. Readers buying a book on Bookshop.org can donate a portion of their purchase toward supporting their own local independent bookstore.

Print editions of many books from Samak Press were already available through Bookshop.org. Now with eBooks added to the mix, you have a good alternative to Amazon for finding human-written stories.

You can read eBooks purchased from Bookshop.org in your web browser or download their app onto your iPhone or Android phone.

eBook editions of these Samak Press books are now available on Bookshop.org:

• Alien People

• Dark Metamorphosis

• Among Hidden Stars

• Under a Fallen Sun

• Hollow Planet

• Snow Dragon

• The Crimson Reaper

• The Ghost Diaries

• Feral Lands

• Ripples in Space

I’ll add to this list as the eBook editions for other titles become available to purchase and download.

Go check out these stories and find your next favorite read today!

Our world is designed to keep us awake when we need to sleep.

Constant stimuli is fed through videos on our smartphones. Our eyelids refuse to stay shut while we seek fresh dopamine hits like hopeless addicts. Stress accumulates from non-stop jobs and unpaid bills like snow and ice from a winter storm. Blissful slumber is replaced with coffee-fueled exhaustion and anxiety.

I spent my childhood living outside a rural town far from city lights. Moonlight and starlight were the only lights. Now, as a middle-aged adult, city lights have turned into a constant unwanted companion. Sleep is not the companion it should be.

I am not alone in this experience. When relaxing music, meditation, or sleeping pills are not enough to put you out like a light, how will you drift off and sleep like a log?

My newest poem meditates on the horrors of sleepless nights.

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Counting sheep are sheared.
Sandman was swallowed by a dune.
One Z after another eludes capture.
Slumber is an ungranted boon.

Mind racing on an invisible track.
No checkered flag nor finish line. 
Green light for uninterrupted rest.
Yielded to a four-way stop sign.

Nerves crawling around like ants. 
Thoughts swarm the brain like flies. 
Head to toe drenched in sweat. 
Nightmares thrive beyond closed eyes.

Tossing and turning is bad.
Limbs rigid and unmoving are worse.
Shadows at the door and by the bed.
Messangers delivering a curse. 

Eyes playing tricks for laughs.
Conjuring only breathless screams.
When sleep runs away and hides.
Terrors never stay bound to dreams.

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Do our choices determine our reality?

I’ve always believed in free will. We determine who we are through the choices we make. Original sin is a garbage belief. Our souls are pure upon birth. Our minds and hearts are shaped through our thoughts, words, and actions as life unfolds.

Naturally, I must believe in manifestation, right?

Not really.

Manifestation is a new age philosophy focused on tricking your brain into changing your reality to meet a desired path or goal. Manifesting has an inherent flaw. If you truly believe in free will, then you understand free will exists for everyone — not just you alone. Choices made by others affect you in ways you can’t control, like it or not. The same is true with your own choices and how they affect others.

In other words, you can’t force a reality governed by your choices alone into existence when other forces opposing that reality exist outside your control.

Today’s poem is a reaction to manifesting.

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I exist in a single form.

Hour upon endless hour.
A puppet dangling on strings.
Tethered to an outside force.
Eager to crush my spirit.

The cruel puppet master.
Hides me from happiness.
Endlessly destroys my peace.

Always dancing my captive limbs.
Pulling me in unwanted directions.

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives. And please help me create other poems like this one by leaving a small one-time tip.

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Smashwords Sale!

I’m excited to let you know that all current Samak Press titles are available as part of the Smashwords 2025 End of Year Sale! Through December at Smashwords, you can buy any eBook from Samak Press at a 50% discount from the normal retail price.

The End of Year Sale homepage is here: http://smashwords.com/sale

My author page at Smashwords is here: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JohnCoon

Please share this exciting news with your friends and family. Forward this email to anyone who would love a chance to find their next favorite book! Thank you so much for your help and support!

Happy reading!

Life is not fair.

It goes without saying, but sometimes needs to be said anyway. You want to believe people are good and want to be good. Then, like a rattlesnake in the grass sinking a pair of fangs into your ankle, they show you their true nature.

The world is harsh and unforgiving.

So is the universe itself.

One minute, you’re enjoying life on a spinning rock circling a star. The next minute, you’re vaporized in a fireball when a comet or asteroid slams into your home.

What are you supposed to do?

• Option A: Ignore reality and pretend the universe likes you.

• Option B: Fight back and make each day your own.

• Option C: Run away and hide in your own little world.

• Option D: Surrender and spend your days watching cat videos.

Today’s poem ruminates on exactly what the universe thinks of the average person on one random world among billions of habitable planets.

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Going the wrong way forever.
On a one-way eternal road.
Freedom to make a U-turn gone.
Unable to change direction.
Caught in dense traffic. 
Keen on swallowing you whole. 

Yes, time and space are cruel.
One endless day after another. 
Unable to run away or fight back.
Resistance truly is futile. 

Scream into the void all you want. 
Earth, the sun, the moon and the stars.
Laugh at your pain together. 
Foolish to think they ever cared.

Just accept your identity as a speck. 
Only existing to amuse unseen masters.
Serving random capricious whims.
Hating what you have become. 
Undone by unrealized hopes and dreams.
Always bound down by "real life."

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For a limited time, get a great deal on the Alien People Chronicles in paperback at Amazon. Discounts starting at 26% off the list price.

I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to relationships.

When I fall in love with a woman, and we become a couple, I craft poems to express what I love about her and how much I love her. Yeah, it probably sounds like a plot point ripped straight from a typical movie made for the Hallmark Channel.

So what?

Flowers die. Candy gets eaten. Beautiful words remain.

While reflecting on this yesterday, I pondered love in a science fiction context. How would a human feel about having a fling with an alien visitor? (Yes, authors do ponder oddball questions like this. It’s how we’re wired and it’s how we create our stories.)

Anyway, this latest poem pokes fun at love of a more cosmic variety. Happy Reading!

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How do I define love? 

Words are mere synonyms.
Intangible love – 
true and deep – 
resides in actions.
from night to night.
from day to day.

Our definitions are not equal.

Aliens are no different. 
than their human counterparts.
Saying the right things.
Doing the wrong ones.
Betraying the meaning.
Couched in endless words.

Let me explain … 
 
Aliens make sweeping promises 
Offering a deeper purpose 
Answering tough questions
Opening locked doors 
Showing signs and wonders 
on an unmatched galactic scale. 

Explorers promising the world
for unfettered access 
first your head 
then your bed. 
Humans are not alone
in owning one-track minds.

Different stories. 
a singular predictable plot. 
Conquer your planet?
Make you their conquest?
Same difference. 
The ending doesn't change. 

They never call. 
They never write.

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Video killed the radio star. Then it melted down human brains into junkyard scraps.

Social media has birthed a practice known as “doom scrolling.” For social media neophytes, doom scrolling is the act of spending excess time reading negative news online. Doom scrolling often sends you careening from hot button political issues to reality TV celebrities doing stupid things and creates an anger and anxiety spiral that swallows you whole like a black hole slurping matter from a nearby star or planet.

Doom scrolling can also send a person diving down conspiracy laden rabbit holes where education, intelligence, and basic common sense are discarded like empty pop bottles. Why believe proven facts and science when you can embrace end of days fan fiction on YouTube, TikTok and elsewhere?

This second form of doom scrolling inspired my latest poem.

The world will end soon.
Random videos warn on my feed. 
The real truth is hidden
They are opening eyes.
Tilling hard soil and planting seed.

So did you know? 
Our maps erase many hidden lands.
Civilizations forgotten. 
Footnotes in history.
Memories turned to shifting sands.

Aliens lurk among us.
Reptiles clothed with human skin.
Power, wealth, and fame.
Tools for a diabolical trade. 
Eternally ruling is how they win. 

Everything is a simulation.
Time and space were never real. 
Red pill or blue pill.
You are programmed.
Told what to see, hear, and feel.

A dark global conspiracy 
dances the world on a puppet string.
Secret ancient societies. 
Smothering minds and hearts.
Until no real songs are left to sing.

The world will end soon. 
Will a comet or asteroid bring doom?
Fire mimicking raindrops.
Falling from the skies. 
Armageddon enters the chat room. 

Death and despair have become all the rage.
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Ever feel like a hamster stuck in a wheel?

I know it’s a cliche, but life indeed comes at you fast. Days start to feel like one long endless to-do list. You check off all the boxes only to realize sunrise has marched straight into sunset without drawing your attention. Staying busy becomes a vicious never-ending cycle.

We turn into travelers always in motion. Forever journeying to an unreachable destination without a rest stop in sight.

Are we truly human if we never take a moment to stop and rest? We need to hit the pause button occasionally to give ourselves time and space to think, learn, and create.

My latest poem draws on this feeling of perpetual motion.

Always one in perpetual motion. 
Never finding a place to rest.
from baked desert to wild ocean.

Driving on a narrow one-way road.
Speeding to the end with zest. 
Relaxing not included in cheat code.

Buzzing about like a worker bee.
Never finding a place to rest.
Uprooted like a wind-blown tree. 

Blasting from ground to deep space.
Speeding to the end with zest.
Life only exists at unrelenting pace. 

Wandering predator seeking prey.
Never finding a place to rest.
Motion shapes both night and day. 

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives. And please help me create other poems like this one by leaving a small one-time tip.

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Summer/Winter Book Sale!

All of my books on Smashwords are included in their Annual Summer/Winter Sale! This is a chance to get any of my books — along with books from many other great authors — at a discount from the normal list price.

The sale lasts through July 31st. Head over to Smashwords to see the full list of available books. You can go directly to my Smashwords author page by clicking on the banner below.

Please share this news with friends and family and any avid readers in your life!

Change is inevitable.

It rippled through my life, this past weekend, like an ocean wave splashing on beach. I moved out of the house where I had lived for the last seven years to a larger house in a neighboring city. This move represents a chance to write a new happier chapter in my life and a chance to escape from a place filled with bad memories.

Going to a new house inspired this poem in today’s newsletter. Moving is so often a fork in the road. It can lead to a fresh start, offer a way out from an unforgiving past. But a cruel irony often emerges. No matter how much we try to leave the past behind, it tags along like a shadow and keeps pouring new salt into old wounds.

One life packed into endless boxes.
Every square inch of the car 
inundated and swallowed 
by a cardboard and plastic sea. 

An empty house I leave behind.
Memories stuffed into a garbage bin.

I enter the busy freeway 
Driving toward a fresh start.
Not a starter house
or a temporary pit stop.
My destination is a new home. 
A place to rest aching feet, 
heal a broken heart. 
 
New neighbors greet me
with a wave and a smile.  
Or so I picture it in my head.
My lower back and the boxes
weave a different tale.
No selfless volunteers join me, 
walking that extra mile.

A silent house behind the door.
Other people's memories wiped clean. 

Change is a cruel fleeting dream.
One day resembles the next.
You never score a touchdown,
when life always moves the goalposts.

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Platitudes are the bane of humanity.

These trite phrases crop up again and again, shared in moments they are not wanted or needed. Everyone reading this newsletter could recite one. “Everything happens for a reason.” “Time heals all wounds.” “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Platitudes are simplistic nonsense that gloss over actual problems with non-solutions. They are a shallow substitute for empathy, sympathy, and helpful advice. Rather than offer meaningful answers, platitudes ignore the question and insult the intelligence of the questioner.

Today’s poem is dedicated to anyone who ever feels like smacking some sense into people that love to spout worthless platitudes like they are Solomon reincarnated.

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Why does the chicken cross the road? 
The grass isn’t always greener 
on the other side of the highway. 
It turned brown like their eggs.

Life is like a bowl of cherries.
It crushes and grinds your body 
then stuffs fresh fruity pulp
inside a made-from-scratch crust. 

A journey of a thousand miles 
begins with a single step.
Tell that to a cosmic giant 
devouring countless planets.
Their step covers a light year.

You miss 100 percent 
of the shots you don't take.
Advanced stats show 
you're also the league leader.
in missed shots taken.

Actions speak louder than words.
They never shut their mouths.
Always spreading new gossip, 
like a pack of middle-schoolers.

Knock knock. Who's there?
Opportunity waits for you,  
but only just long enough 
to doorbell ditch your house. 

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I had fun experimenting with narrative poetry a while back. Last October, I shared a poem that chronicled a weary time traveler preventing one apocalyptic event only to see it replaced by another. I returned to sci-fi playground this week with a new poem about clones.

Science fiction is littered with stories about clones. In many of these stories, clones are created to complete tasks beneath original natural-born humans. They live to serve limited, designated purposes of their creators.

What happens when clones rebel and reject the purpose for their creation? What if they don’t want to do the jobs for which they were created?

Sentient and intelligent beings will not simply accept endless servitude. A desire for freedom is hardwired into every human. Clones produced from any human would share the same capacity for learning and intelligence as much as they share the same DNA. They would be as human as their creators.

My new poem explores this concept.

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Clones solved a complex riddle.
Big dog eat small dog daily.
Endless, pointless buffet.
Always one caught in middle. 

Silence the frustrated scream.
Freedom outside the door.
No longer spending a life.
Living someone else's dream.

Clones assigned their place.
Started acting original. 
Rejecting work and school.
Fleeing endless rat race.

New goals, nothing unique.
Family and friends.
Happiness and love.
Things all life wants to seek. 

Adopting an altered plan
Clones turn into new creators.
Servants assume role of gods.
Shaping woman and man.

Copy of a copy of a copy.
Twisted Russian nesting dolls.
Feet all gnarled and dragging.
Face sagging and floppy.

Body perfectly matches mind. 
Endless sideshow of horrors.
Made for new inferior clones.
Pioneers for their tortured kind.

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A white minivan is parked in front of the duplex where I live. It has not moved from that spot, as far as I can tell, in many weeks. This invites multiple questions about the owner and the vehicle itself.

• Does the minivan need repairs?

• Did the owner abandon the vehicle?

• Has a sinister fate befallen the owner?

One solitary vehicle is enough to get the wheels of your mind turning. Humans are hardwired to solve mysteries. Every question needs an answer. Sometimes, the answer is a simple and straightforward one. Other times, it sends us down a life-altering inescapable rabbit hole.

In my case, a seemingly abandoned vehicle in front of my residence serves as a perfect metaphor for my latest poem.

One lonely vehicle 
parked along a quiet street.
A forgotten statue 
made from rusted metal 
and cracked, flaked paint.

Forever rooted in one spot.
Mimicking nearby trees.
A bulky magnet for leaves. 
Fading colors of autumn
splashed over a white canvas.

An engine has ceased to roar. 
Tires no longer spin. 
Torn and faded seats.
Dusty windows on every side.
No map for the road ahead.

For sale by owner? 
An inaccessible exit ramp 
stuck in a rearview mirror.
High mileage adventures
lost in a memory scrapyard.

A car without a driver. 
Fate and time stripped away 
purpose and function.
Reasons for existence 
trapped on a directionless road. 

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives. And help me to create other stories and poems by leaving me a $1 tip through Ko-fi.

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I’ve always wondered how an animal perceives the universe.

For an animal like a cat or a dog, their yard and neighborhood are their whole world. They have no real conception of life beyond what they directly experience through their five senses. Do they look to the stars and dream like a human does?

I don’t think we are much different than our animal friends when it comes to finding answers to deeper questions. Our world is shaped through our senses and experiences. It is also limited by the limitations of those elements. Whenever we think we have a gained handle on life, death, the universe, and everything in between, new discoveries challenge the knowledge we thought we had acquired.

This poem is framed as inner thoughts of a small animal leading a simple life within a complex world.

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Prowling through tall grass.
Relying on my senses alone. 

What do my eyes see? 
Which sounds greet my ears?
Where does the breeze blow 
carrying deceptive aromas 
straight to my nostrils?  

Predator seeking prey.
Prey fleeing predators. 
Both scenarios apply 
within this outpost 
along the food chain.

This is my own world.
This is where I belong.
Why do I need to build 
a towering death ray? 
Destroy an unfamiliar world?

Stars tell countless stories.
Skies are an ancient library 
holding faraway tales.
Filled with mysteries 
better left undisturbed. 

Tall grass is my sanctuary
My world and my home. 

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Everyone wants to find deeper meaning and purpose in their lives. We are all drawn to answer questions and solve mysteries. That’s the crux of human nature.

Maybe that’s why it feels so frustrating when life doesn’t make sense. News headlines speak to the violent, chaotic, and unpredictable nature of our world. One step forward and two steps backward. An endless cycle where the exit sign is hidden or removed.

Today’s poem speaks to the maddening randomness of life where a jumble of words and images add up to nothing at first glance but something deeper below the surface.

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Words are odd squiggles. 
Only takes a few
to shape the world.
Obscure clear vision.
Blur fact and fiction.

What rhymes with orange?
Impossible questions.
Clueless answers.
Oranges forever oranges.
Until reclassified as apples.

The streetlamp dims
along a narrow road. 
Shadows stir among trees
rooted behind wide eyes. 
Climbing, then hewed down.

A tabby cat prowls, 
showing off a crooked tail.
Seeking new friends? 
Scouting fresh prey? 
Meows reveal hidden tales.

Diving from a plane.
Clouds are billowing doors.
Wind buffeting skin.
Rocks and soil. 
Speedy meet and greet.

The world is a jigsaw puzzle
where pieces don't fit. 

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives.

We are always faced with the end of the world.

When I was in college, the Y2K glitch was supposed infect our computers and cripple modern civilization. Nothing of note happened. Then, the world was supposed to be destroyed in a cataclysm once the Mayan calendar allegedly ran out in December 2012. We all rang in 2013 without incident.

Each time a predicted apocalypse fails to deliver, the goalposts get moved forward to a new impending doom. Tough to sell prepper supplies and sensational end time books if you’ve got no catastrophic scenarios to prep for.

Today’s poem dips into the sci-fi realm. What if a time traveler were responsible for averting predicted apocalyptic events? Does their intervention make the world better or worse?

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A strange visitor claimed a barstool.
Offered a weary, sardonic grin. 
Their dark, piercing eyes probed me.
Sent goosebumps across my skin.

A shot glass lifted high to heaven.
Bourbon their lone friend. 
Medicine for a soul torn asunder.
Wounds too deep to mend. 

“It isn’t worth the effort, you know?
Everything I’ve ever done.
Changing the world and our future.
Meaningless. It saves no one.”

Words crafted to mystify.
Couched in an outlandish claim.
Polishing a different glass.
I silently puzzled over their aim.

“Stopped an invasive bug
Built to make computers drown.
What was my reward? 
Two towers tumbling down.”

“Extended an ancient calendar 
Beyond apocalyptic strife.
Then a simple disease
Disrupted every single life.” 

“Expiration dates only shift forward.  
When does the madness subside?
One change breeds another.
I want off this apocalyptic ride!” 

A slammed down glass punctuated. 
Their loud, frustrated rant. 
The cosmos denied wish fulfillment.
Flicked them away like an ant.

They stabbed their lanky index finger.
Left an ominous warning with me. 
“Saving your world is now a lost cause.
Enjoy what lies ahead in 2030.” 

Then the stranger abruptly departed.
Without another word said. 
Their face and their message lingered. 
Festered inside my head. 

Were they a secret powerful being? 
Molding time and space? 
Did they just throw in the towel?
Give up on the human race?

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives.

Looking for a scary story to enjoy for Halloween? Get started on the Deer Falls horror series today! For a limited time, at Barnes and Noble, buy one book in the series and get one free. This discount is exclusively available to Strange New Worlds subscribers.

• Snow Dragon

• Pandora Reborn

• The Crimson Reaper

If you enjoy reading any of my published works, please leave a review on Goodreads, Bookbub, or with the book retailer where you purchased the story.

Scientists will coldly inform you it is impossible to travel faster than the speed of light. Like cantankerous interstellar cops, they breathlessly enforce this speed limit and smack down the dreamers who dare to dream.

Dreams cannot be stopped forever.

Discovery charts new roads. What seemed like impossible fantasies a century ago are now as common as bread and butter in our time. The thought of even finding new planets outside our solar system was dismissed as impossible during my childhood. Now new exoplanets are detected every day.

Will the rising generations reach other planets inhabited by intelligent life? The odds say someone will crack the code sooner rather than later.

My newest poem imagines that first journey beyond our solar system …

Dropping like a puck.
Hitting the sticks.
Barreling down smooth ice.

Moving beyond light speed.
Blink and you miss. 
Hidden signposts. 
Marking an obscure road.

Limitless signs and wonders.
Natural kaleidoscope
for curious wandering eyes. 

First star shooting past.
Make another wish.
Second star to the right.
Morning lurks ahead. 

Running free like a dog
shedding my leash.
A new world without fences. 

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives.

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For a limited time at Google Play, get 50% off the list price for any eBooks in the Deer Falls horror series. This discount is good worldwide and is available exclusively to subscribers of the Strange New Worlds newsletter.

Snow Dragon

Pandora Reborn

The Crimson Reaper

Ever feel like you’re running on empty? We all experience those moments.

The culprit? A busy life.

Schedules crammed full of tasks. To-do lists that never seem to get checked off. These sorts of days can feel overwhelming, until your body, mind, and soul crash like a cheap glitchy laptop. Finding a balance is easier said than done. With me, I always crave feeling like I made the most of my day. Guilt and frustration seeps in when the needle on my internal tank becomes stuck on E.

This poem is dedicated to those poor souls battling the fatigue monster.

I am an empty bottle
waiting to be refilled.

Juice drained away.
Parched barren land.
Vultures hold sway.
Rulers over rough sand. 

I am a tattered shoe
filling with holes. 

Second wind gone
No model upgrades.
cruel fate's pawn.
The finish line fades.

I am a drained battery 
refusing to recharge. 

Feet slowing down
Eyelids growing heavy. 
Smile turning to frown.
Slumber beckons me. 

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The Ghost Diaries Update

Mark your calendars!

The first episode of my new serial The Ghost Diaries will debut on September 13th. (That’s right, Friday the 13th. 😎) This comedy horror tale will consist of eight weekly episodes, with the final episode running on Halloween itself.

All episodes of The Ghost Diaries will be featured here in the Strange New Worlds newsletter. Weekly episodes will also run simultaneously on my Patreon page and my soon-to-launch Ream page. The first episode here at Strange New Worlds will be free for all subscribers and the other seven episodes will be made available exclusively to paid subscribers.

These will be your only options for reading The Ghost Diaries in 2024. Paperback and eBook editions will be published through Samak Press on a date to be determined in 2025, but do you really want to punish yourself by waiting until sometime next year to devour this must-read story?

Exploring fear is a staple of the horror genre. Scary stories are often nightmare fuel for those who read, watch, or listen because these tales expose hidden common fears.

Aging is a part of life that embodies many fears.

At one point, birthdays turn from a celebration to a reminder of an expiration date drawing near. Advancing years bring reduced mobility and diminishing mental clarity. Our minds and bodies betray us and quietly refuse to let us live the lives we’ve grown accustomed to living.

Change happens around us and mocks our inability to keep pace. My newest poem explores what aging wants do to us.

Once young, now old. 
Once warm, now cold.

From happiness to grief.
From trust to disbelief.

Pleasure turns to pain.
Clouds becoming rain. 

Comfort yields to distress.
Confidence now a guess.

Friends all drift away.
Family will not stay.

Golden years nearing the end.
Death's grasp around the bend.

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives.

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The Crimson Reaper Pre-orders

Exciting news! You can now pre-order a paperback edition or hardcover edition of my soon-to-be-released novel at Barnes and Noble. The Crimson Reaper will be released on September 10th and your book will ship out to you on that date.

The best part? You get free shipping with orders of $40 or more.

Get the whole series for yourself or knock out some shopping for holiday gifts early this year. Don’t let this opportunity slip away.

Pre-Order Now

If you spend any time browsing social media, you inevitably encounter an influencer. You can sniff out these obnoxious clout chasers from a mile away. They will say or do anything to go viral, so they can successfully avoid working for a living.

Influencer culture has had a negative effect on our world. Rampant stupidity reigns whenever an influencer creates or chases a new trend. They seem to take pride in showing off a poor education and a lack of common sense through their photos and videos. Sometimes, their behavior even breeds lawlessness and violence.

My latest poem explores what makes the annoying cookie-cutter creature known as an influencer.

Punchy videos.
Colorful photos. 
Littered with hashtags. 
Sharing a common tale. 

Sophomoric skits.
Outlandish stunts.
Chasing all hot trends.
Riding a fleeting wave. 

Likes multiplying. 
Follows climbing. 
Simping for subscribers.
From cradle to grave.

Staged is new real.  
Content is identity. 
Pride, intelligence, soul.  
Fresh swag for sale. 

Did you enjoy this poem? Check out my other poetry in the Strange New Worlds archives.

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The Crimson Reaper is now available to pre-order at several major booksellers, including Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Apple Books, Kobo, and Google Play. Get your copy this terrifying new entry in my Deer Falls horror series today and read it on your kindle, tablet, or smartphone on September 10th.

Preorder The Crimson Reaper