Of Prose and Poetry


 [[File:Moran Thomas Romantic Landscape.jpg|Moran_Thomas_Romantic_Landscape]]

Hi, Everyone:


Now that Unbound is out in the world, I can relax a bit. But I thought I'd give you a little "inside baseball" about the spell at the back of the book.


As some of you may know, I've built an hour into each day to study writing techniques and try to keep improving my chops.


I got it into my head that studying poetry might amp up my writing. In the process, I stumbled across spell poetry, which evolved out of poetry by John Donne. He certainly didn't intend the poem I'm posting below as a spell. But with its commands, it sounds like one. Today, you can find all sorts of "instructional" witchy poetry with this John Donne-vibe in magically themed magzines and collections.


(Note: spell poetry is not to be confused with incantations. I was taught incantations were most effective as 17-syllable rhyming verse. I include two incantations in my upcoming Doyle witch short, Druid).


Anyway, there are many afternoons when I feel like these poetry classes are breaking my brain. But I like to put stretch goals in my writing, so I included a spell poem in the "John Donne style" in the back of Unbound. I hope you enjoy it.


Below is the promised poem by John Donne. Since it's over 400 years old, I'm assuming it's out of copyright!


Go and Catch a Falling Star


GO and catch a falling star,

Get with child a mandrake root,

Tell me where all past years are,

Or who cleft the devil’s foot,

Teach me to hear mermaids singing,

Or to keep off envy’s stinging,

       And find

       What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou be’st born to strange sights,

Things invisible to see,

Ride ten thousand days and nights,

Till age snow white hairs on thee,

Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,

All strange wonders that befell thee,

       And swear,

No where

Lives a woman true and fair. If thou find’st one, let me know,

Such a pilgrimage were sweet;

Yet do not, I would not go,

Though at next door we might meet,

Though she were true, when you met her,

And last, till you write your letter,

       Yet she

       Will be

False, ere I come, to two, or three.


Donne, John. The Complete John Donne: The Complete Poetry Collections, Prose and Letters (p. 31). Bybliotech. Kindle Edition.