Read Trickery, Treachery, & Truth
to bring out your inner sleuth.
In the pages, you will find
fortune telling, American Indians, ghosts,
and a short story about a woman
stranded on a sea coast.
The four fictional tales wouldn’t be
complete without thieves and illusions.
Fantasy, action, and mystery will lead
readers to the final conclusion.
Each chapter in Word of Mouth: Five Peculiar Short Stories is told from a different grieving character’s point of view. Brave readers will uncover how the characters are linked and if there is a hero. Each gloomy chapter can be read as a stand-alone story or together to create a greater whole.
The Poetry of an Escapist: A poetry collection with castles, caves, and everything your beating heart craves.
Vicious soldiers guard me.
They are all waiting for their objective.
Warriors try to fight their way in.
Some will die, and some will live.
A bloody mote surrounds my castle,
crammed with hungry sharks.
They are waiting for their next victim,
as the sky becomes dark…
My Heart is Still Beating is a book bursting with poems about dreams and the night. In this poetry collection, Harper Peters takes it easy on readers by giving them decaffeinated dark poetry, a combination of dark poems mixed with love and hope. Can you find your way out of the darkness before the book ends?
I let the darkness
flow through my body
like it’s a tiny match
trying to ignite a flame
Patiently, I wait to see
if gloom or I will win this game
This fighting round
doesn’t end quickly
It reaches inside my body,
and drags me down to
the doorstep of hell…
Harper: Have you ever felt so much remorse you wanted to write about it?
Stranger: Yes, I could write about a lifetime of guilt.
Stranger: What has caused you the most regret or guilt?
Harper: Not saying goodbye to my mom when she died. Here is some of a poem I wrote about it.
You haven’t come to visit,
because you can hold a grudge,
even as a ghost.
I picture heaven as a kinder place,
where you always have a smile on your face.
When we poured your ashes into the ocean,
your favorite place to be,
I saw them form into an angel,
and swim away free.
Stranger: You should write a bittersweet poetry collection for wounded and distressed people like us.
Harper: I already did. It is called A Life in Poems.
Poems inspired by phrases we say or hear, such as I’m fine, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it must be that time of the month
Pour melted gold over my face, and watch it trickle down my soft shoulders and slender arms. Then I’ll tiptoe carefully out of the Colosseum without triggering any alarms. As I take each step, gold drips down my bare legs to my feet. Find me by following golden footprints on the dirty cobblestone street. Meet me before the illusion wears off and I solidify. Meet me before my soul darkens and my weaknesses are identified. Now, I’m tarnishing and slowly turning green. Turn your back and forget what you think you’ve seen. Initially, your hopes and expectations were high, wrapped in my splendor. But I must retreat; I must return and surrender. I’m not the answer, but I am a damn good distraction. My soul feels as old as this historical attraction. Communicating with the phantoms trapped in this ruin would be easier than with this one flawed human. “I’ve met the least flawed human and the most beastly, so I know nothing good and worthwhile is ever easy,” said the hopeful one.