Monthly Archives: June 2014

Ladies and Gentlemen May I Introduce You to Sherrie Hill

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Sherrie Hill

Sherrie Hill

 

Sherrie Hill was born in Southeastern Illinois, near Hickory Hill (The Old Slave House). Her grandmother and great-aunts instilled the importance of knowing the past. The teaching tools they used were storytelling and piling the children in the back of an old pickup truck and hitting the back roads, on what would usually be the hottest, driest, dustiest days of summer, to visit the old country settlements of their youth. (‘Visiting’ meant driving by, telling stories and stopping if there was still an old country store that sold ‘ice cold’ Coca Cola, then heading off to the next settlement.) Growing up in a time when children were to be ‘seen and not heard’ lends to a lot of listening.

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Revenge is best served Cold…and who to serve it colder than a blood thirsty centuries old dead witch.

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Revenge is best served Cold...and who to serve it colder than a blood thirsty centuries old dead witch.

The Witch of Devil’s Woods [Kindle Edition]
James Baack (Author), Eric S. Brown (Author)

Decades ago, in the ancient village of Crooked Hollow, the townspeople condemned a hideous and unholy witch to torture and death. Fulfilling her dying promise, she would return from the pits of Hell, in an attempt to take her revenge and destroy those that stood against her – only to be defeated again.

Now… She has come once more to fulfill her dark and twisted vision, to wreak bloody havoc on the innocent descendants of her long-gone persecutors. And this time she has the aid of a coven of deranged and bloodthirsty killers!

The Witching Hour is drawing closer…

A NERVE-FREEZING EXPERIMENT IN SMALL-TOWN BACKWOODS TERROR FROM THE MINDS THAT BROUGHT YOU STRAWS, TERROR OF THE ABOMINABLE SNOWMAN, BLOOP, AND DRACULA’S ORGY OF THE DAMNED!

Ahoy Mates, come along and hunt for treasure…but you’ll have to fight some demons along the way…

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Ahoy Mates, come along and hunt for treasure...but you'll have to fight some demons along the way...

Waters of Darkness [Kindle Edition]
David C. Smith (Author), Joe Bonadonna (Author), Janet Slike (Editor), Dawné Dominique (Illustrator)

Bloody Red Buchanan and Crimson Kate O’Toole sail against the tides of Hell.

1640. The Age of Pirates. Bloody Red Buchanan and Crimson Kate O’Toole sail for eastern seas and the Isle of Shadow, looking for treasure. Their galleons take them into the tides of Hell. More of their crews die than stay alive as they fight the ancient sorcery of an undying priest of Dagon and the sorcerer with efreet who follow his commands. The seas will fill with blood, and Hell will scream with the freshly dead, before these pirates fight their way free of the evils they have loosed.

A journey into the heart and soul of Steven Thomas.

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A journey into the heart and soul of Steven Thomas.

Drummer Dancer The Lyrics
By Steven M. Thomas

Collected here are the complete lyrics of Steven M. Thomas from his acclaimed autobiography “I was a drummer she was a dancer.” A fascinating insight, he offers up stories behind each of the lyrics not mentioned in the book. Includes handwritten excerpts and reviews of the original book.

Now
It’s funny how little perspective you have when you’re 21. Yet some of the best poetry is written by very young people. That’s probably because it is honest and full of emotion. I wrote this one with the thought in mind that I was going to be with this one girl for the rest of my life and that was the most important thing in the world to me. There were a lot of very attractive girls out there, but I was only going to be with this one forever. That was my choice, and I was happy with it. Even then, I was reflecting back on my past, even though I hadn’t much of a past at that age. It’s all perspective. And it’s all honest and full of emotion.
My Love Speaks From The Sky
I had to go deep inside myself to write this one, but when I did, it came flowing out like water. Intentionally Dylan. It is just a wide open love song. And it is one of those I wrote during the course of writing the book, so it is this year. Not when I was twenty-one, but fifty-four. I wanted to see if I could still do it, and it turns out, I could. Maybe even better now. It is full of imagery and word play and of course, I wrote it in one sitting.

My love speaks
from day to day
Reciting silent poetry
I see her eyes
What no one sees
Casting spectrums of
academy
What words just
Can not own

And whistling through
The bus lined streets
An image slowly matching me
In spite of all
The energy
Their faces stand alone

In bluish traces from
A thread
The clothes give image
To the head
Despite the novelty, they’re dead
What the needle pricked
It has not sewn

The passing clouds
Envision things
And tumble slowly
Over me
The wise man looks
But doesn’t see
The prophecies above his
Head and home

The world spins like
A penny
Escaping more than many
Deflecting love and pity
Like the money
Passing through your bones

My love speaks from the sky
On cold nights
When trash blows by
She stays too busy
To ask me why
Never knowing what
The clouds may bring

I’ve Seen

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I’ve seen the heavens close their doors,
I’ve watched in silence as greed took more,
I’ve turned away from life somehow,
No longer caring for the now.
 
In this silent vacuum I found,
An alien of sorts making funny sounds,
He sits so pompously,
I almost forgot he was me.
 
I’ve seen the heavens close their doors,
I’ve watched in silence as greed took more,
I’ve turned away from life somehow,
No longer caring for the now.
 
Then there was a rush of wind,
Nothing like it before or then,
It came from a voice that I heard,
Behind a pulpit perching the word.
 
I’ve seen the heavens close their doors,
I’ve watched in silence as greed took more,
I’ve turned away from life somehow,
No longer caring for the now.
 
I sat and listened all day long,
To the man and his songs,
He did not preach the word of God,
Only wanted my money that is odd,
 
I’ve seen the heavens close their doors,
I’ve watched in silence as greed took more,
I’ve turned away from life somehow,
No longer caring for the now.
 
So a wrote the preacher a little note,
I placed it in the basket and put on my coat,
It said I’ll give you some tomorrow,
You make feel so full of sorrow.
 
I’ve seen the heavens close their doors,
I’ve watched in silence as greed took more,
I’ve turned away from life today,
No longer caring in bed I’ll stay.