I hope you like the cover for the new book, The Castle, which will be released at publication in March 2023. I'll keep you posted on the release. Many thanks to McNidder and Grace (Crime and Thrillers — McNidder and Grace). I also attach a design by Euan Baillie, which will be included in marketing material, many thanks to Euan.
I raise my snout to sniff the sweet air. I seek his familiar smell, his rough hand on my coat, his call to hunt. We ran together after the deer through the heather bound trail. He weaved as I flew bracken high with every bound, his loyal hound.
I recall the heat of running with my lord, the sweat dripping from my coat, as we fell together in the chill of the hill. We rolled in the peat, as I wrapped around him, his faithful hound.
He left me with no command to stay, with no mention of return. I pined for his voice, his touch, the thrill of his reaching for his coat, his hat, his gun.
He was gone so long, I lost heart and found a mate. We made a lair, a life, and pups.
I never lost hope, but my speed left me with age, as my pups grew strong and fast.
Then the day his smell returned to me, my heart leaped, I jumped to my feet.
He was swimming across the loch to the home he left. Naked, he stood tall on the shore of his island, looking for me. I howled as though my lungs would expel with my cry.
But he was unknown to those who were mine, and they killed what my life was for.
I ran but they were on him before I could reach there, and they scattered blooded. I licked his wounds, but he lay like the deer on the hill, open and defiled. My cry was heard through the glen to the sea.
They came and killed what killed what was mine, and they carried him away and the dark arrived in my heart to my soul.
Then they dug a hole and put him there, leaving a mound that would become my lair.
But while I couldn’t reach him in the earth I would wander the hill to find him in death.
So I run, across the glens, the hills, through the machair and the peat, looking for him, to hear his call, and I can never rest until I do.
Tom O. Keenan
March 2022
We were young then
We were young then, when the bright light of our soul lit the way
We were young then, when the night was brighter than the day
We were young then, when our dreams outshone our fears
We were young then, when our laughs were longer than our tears
We were young then, when our lives were new, our hopes on song
We were young then, when memory was short and life was long
The Oystercatcher and the Eagle
To be by the sea, gay galore, like the oystercatcher on the shore
Picking, dancing, taking to the sky; it’s such a thrill, I could cry
To be on the hill and hear the shrill, the cry of an eagle in flight
Soaring, diving, gliding so high; it’s such a sight, it makes me sigh.
The sea talks
The sea talks, listen, hear it.
It whispers, it shushes,
Go on in, it pulls and it pushes
It cries and sighs, it lives and dies
It lifts and falls, it beckons and calls
It washes and wishes and caresses and kisses
Unleash your soul
Fill your mind with beauty, let your thoughts go free
Follow your dreams, vigorously
Find a place within you, where your love should be
Give it others, vicariously
Stop the self-deprecating, you don’t need to agree
Unleash your soul, blissfully
The warmth of the night
The warmth of the night follows the coldness of the day
The tender moon moves the clouds away
The hustle and bustle of the city throng
Gives way to the night ‘s sweet song
The shrieking starlings, the squawking gulls
Are no match for the wise owl’s calls
The constant chatter, the shouts and cries
Are softer now, in evening lullabies
A harsh word, a piercing rebuke
Are but an echo of a mellowed look
The push and pull in mindless race
Are all but now a warm embrace
Tom O. Keenan Jan 2022
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