Patreon: The Hungry Field

Careful where you wander on May Eve… Photo courtesy of Germanywx; no changes have been made. (Source)

I am pleased to announce I have another original horror story up at my Patreon. “The Hungry Field,” up in its entirety, is a short and terrifying jaunt through the Springtime landscape. Here’s the first few lines:

It must have been some strange perversion of heart, some peculiar twist of concupiscence, that made James Harvey want to read ghost stories at Easter. Joy and sunshine stirred only sepulchral thoughts. Perhaps some deep paganism inexplicably awakened under his conventional belief in the resurrection. I don’t know. But as the days lengthened on the fields of chrome-yellow rapeseed, he turned to books that fed an appetite for darkness.

“The Hungry Field”
New on the Amish Catholic Patreon

You can read more over at my Patreon. Please consider becoming a Patron today!

Patreon: Mirrors – Part II

Who is it that Jonas sees on the swing? (Source)

Over at Patreon, I’ve published the second part of my weird story, “Mirrors.” Novelist Jonas Beckley is having a more and more unsettling time in his new lodgings.

Here’s an excerpt:

There was a strange smell in the staircase today. Heavy, piercing, wet, rotten. Familiar, somehow, though I couldn’t place it. I think it must have been connected with whatever that black substance was on the stairs leading up from my floor. When I went to tell Wilson about it, he was nowhere to be found.

“Mirrors,” Part II – By Rick Yoder

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Patreon: Mirrors, Part I

Over at Patreon, I’ve published the first part of a new weird story, “Mirrors.” A popular writer moves into new lodgings, only to discover that the odd neighbors aren’t the only thing strange about the place…

Here’s an excerpt:

I still have not met any of my other neighbors, but I have heard them. Last night, I was woken up some time past midnight by several large thuds from above. It sounded as if someone was dropping bowling balls again and again on the floorboards. Just when I got out of bed and was halfway to making up my mind about whether or not I should go complain, the noise stopped. I hope this will not be a nightly recurrence, as it will surely impact my writing.

“Mirrors,” Part I – By Rick Yoder

Take a moment to become a patron today! Thank you to those who have already pledged and donated.

Five Poems by Clark Ashton Smith

15-clarke-faust

One of Harry Clarke’s illustrations of Faust. He also produced a celebrated set of illustrations of Poe. (Source)

Clark Ashton Smith (1893-1961) was most famous for his publications in Weird Tales and his consequent literary association with H.P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard. He had a profound talent and produced copious work in the Eldritch School of American Decadence. In Smith’s work one can easily discover similarities with both Lovecraft, his more famous colleague, and greater predecessors like Poe and Baudelaire. The violent inventiveness of his language calls to mind a demon-crazed Hopkins. I have selected five representative poems that all treat a common theme: beauty.

A Dream of Beauty
(1911)

I dreamed that each most lovely, perfect thing
That nature hath, of sound and form and hue—
The winds, the grass, the light-concentering dew,
The gleam and swiftness of the sea-bird’s wing;
Blueness of sea and sky, and gold of storm
Transmuted by the sunset, and the flame
Of autumn-colored leaves, before me carne,
And, meeting, merged to one diviner form.

Incarnate Beauty ’twas, whose spirit thrills
Through glaucous ocean and the greener hills,
And in the cloud-bewildered peaks is pent.
Her face the light of fallen planets wore,
But as I gazed, in doubt and wonderment,
Mine eyes were dazzled, and I saw no more.

 

The Refuge of Beauty
(1918)

From regions of the sun’s half-dreamt decay,
All day the cruel rain strikes darkly down;
And from the night thy fatal stars shall frown—
Beauty, wilt thou abide this night and day ?

Roofless, at portals dark and desperate,
Wilt thou a shelter unrefused implore,
And past the tomb’s too-hospitable door
Evade thy lover in eluding Hate ?

Alas, for what have I to other thee ? —
Chill halls of mind, dank rooms of memory
Where thou shalt dwell with woes and thoughts infirm;

This rumor-throngèd citadel of Sense,
Trembling before some nameless imminence;
And fellow-guestship with the glutless Worm.

 

The Mirrors of Beauty
(1922)

Beauty has many mirrors to ensphere
Her presence or her passing: orbs of dew;
Far-flooding Amazons with margents new;
The narrowing circlet of the desert mere;
Deep wells on which the ruby planets rear;
Blades from Damascus; gems of Xanadu;
And pools that hold a falcon-hovered blue
Or eves whereon the ghostly owlets veer.

Often, upon the solitary sea,
She lieth, ere the wind shall gather breath—
One with the reflex of infinity;
In oriels filled with some conflagrant sky
Her vision dwells, or in the ring-dove’s eye,
Or the black crystal of the eyes of Death.

 

The Orchid of Beauty
(1922)

Beauty, thou orchid of immortal bloom,
Sprung from the fire and dust of perished spheres,
How art thou tall in these autumnal years
With the red rain of immemorial doom,
And fragrant where the lesser suns illume,
For sustenance of Life’s forgotten tears.
Ever thy splendor and thy light appears
Like dawn from out the midnight of the tomb.

Colors, and glints, and glamors unrecalled,
Richly thy petals intricate revive:
Blossom, whose roots are in eternity,
The faithful soul, the sentience darkly thralled,
In dream and wonder evermore shall strive
At Edens lost of time and memory.

 

You are not Beautiful
(1923)

You are not beautiful; but, ah, too long
I sought, and found a slowly growing grace;
Till fairer now than beauty is your face,
And all your silence dearer than a song.