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Elle Wonders

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Little Hollows Beckon

A synopsis of my novel-in-progress:

After spending years rebuilding her life, things are finally moving forward again for Willa Hawthorne. With a successful gallery exhibit behind her and a second collection underway, she’s making a name for herself in the art world. But after she becomes engaged to Evan Mercer, a handsome estate attorney, Willa still can’t let go of Jamieson Corbin.

With an uncanny sense of timing, Jamieson returns and pushes his way back into Willa’s life. Not only does his reappearance threaten her relationship with Evan, it challenges her very sanity, because there’s an impossible catch: Jamieson has been dead for three years.

From a small idyllic town in Rhode Island to a remote hamlet in the Highlands of Scotland, Willa embarks on a provocative journey of love and betrayal with an unexpected ally. When the two of them discover long-hidden secrets of Corbin Family folklore, they are beckoned to a place where light and darkness intersect, and spiritual boundaries are redrawn. After unearthing painful truths from the past, Willa must reexamine everything she believes about life and death and find the passage that connects the two worlds.

 

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Reading of The Albatross

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Reading of Swell

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Reading of Spare Time

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Reading of El Baile

5

Reading of Ode to a Corbie

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Ode to a Corbie

Ode to a Corbie copyright
Photo of E. Wonders by E. Andreas  –  Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

Ode to a Corbie

 

Swift an’ black, wi’ feaithers sleek

He looms atop th’ branches.

Wi’ time, an’ tide, an’ moors sae bleak

His battered sool, entrances.

 

Mirk ushers in, oan corbie wings

Deid silence. Ah wait an’ listen.

Fur th’ lest c-r-r-r-ruuuck! tae me, he sings

Passion stirs, an’ mah een, they glisten.

 

A yearnin’ quaver, rises up frae th’ glens

Roosed by his calls, his tooch, an’ his need.

Frae his swellin’ soonds, a’m oan edge, he kens

Fur his keen, whetted glances, Ah heed.

 

When love’s een close, nae glancin’ back

Yit charms an’ spells sometimes daur.

With his unearthly grasp, Ah shaa ne’er lack

Each other’s longings an’ vices, we baur.

 

Th’ sharp, duple pitch, shaa ne’er be far

Fur oor wayward ambition, lies a nether.

Mooths against skin, mak’ e’erlastin’ scars

Stronger than time, is oor tether.

Tho ne’er was he, a raven pure an’ reit,

Forever blows th’ win’ thru mah bones.

A new wicked yearnin’ micht willin’ tak’ flight

Upon th’ day, his black heart, atones.

 

© Elle Wonders – 2016

 

 

Ode to a Corbie (English Translation)

 

Swift and black, with feathers sleek

He looms, atop the branches.

With time, and tide, and moors so bleak

His battered soul, entrances.

 

The dark ushers in, on corbie wings

Dead silence. I await, and listen.

For the last C-r-r-r-ruuuck! to me, he sings

Passion stirs, and my eyes, they glisten.

 

A yearning quaver, rises up from the glens

Roused by his calls, his touch, and his need.

From his swelling sounds, I’m on edge, he kens

For his keen, whetted glances, I heed.

 

When love’s eyes close, no glancing back

Yet charms, and spells, sometimes dare.

With his unearthly grasp, I shall never lack

Each other’s longings, and vices, we bare.

 

The sharp, duple pitch, shall never be far

For our wayward ambition, lies a nether.

Mouths against skin, make everlasting scars

Stronger than time, is our tether.

 
Though never was he, a raven pure and right

Forever blows, the wind thru my bones.

A new wicked yearning, might willing take flight

Upon the day, his black heart, atones.

 

© Elle Wonders – 2016

 

 

13

Kidnapped for the Ages

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Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas  –  Artwork by HenriAltersLife

“Because she was the trigger, the bullet and the gun.”

-E. Wonders, Dirty Little Shrine

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Inside a Nocturne

13738135_281798318848188_3555104409671331569_o
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas  –  Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

“The sound of it opened a new world inside her heart, and it swallowed her whole, from the inside out.”

-E. Wonders

1

The Path of the Not Undeserving

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Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas  –  Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

He wanders down the path for the not undeserving, to a place where sometimes is enough. A place where electricity surges and hums through his chest, as the yellow light filters down through the canopy, glimmering like a bright spirit who understands – one of the happy few.

-E. Wonders, The Dirty Little Shrine

7

The Weight of Want

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Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas  –  Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

“He draws a pastèque bath in a large wooden tub, and they sit nestled in bunches of melon, crushed under the weight of want.”

– E. Wonders, The Dirty Little Shrine

1

Le Bzou

alternate bzou art with copyright
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

Et que ce n’est pas chose étrange
S’il en est tant que le loup mange.
Je dis le loup, car tous les loups
Ne sont pas de la mesme sorte :
Il en est d’une humeur accorte,
Sans bruit, sans fiel et sans couroux,
Qui, privez, complaisans et doux,
Suivent les jeunes demoiselles
Jusque dans les maisons, jusque dans les ruelles.
Mais, hélas. Qui ne sçait que ces loups doucereux
De tous les loups sont les plus dangereux.

-Charles Perrault

 

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Umbra

Transparent with copyright
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

It came in rushes, then slowed – that longing for a place that wasn’t enough. Her skin glowed around his shadow, and with her ear to his heart, she let it pulse.

– Elle Wonders, Pour Mon Bzou

4

Found

 

Found with copyright
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas – Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

“It’s evening in the morning when he finds his dirty little shrine. She is surrounded by torches that coax the truth like he coaxes the sound that her tongue cannot make.”

– E. Wonders, The Dirty Little Shrine

1

Awakening

Awakening with copyright
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

“The forest is dark and damp, and she feels the soft, loamy earth underneath her. The night brings them fear, and awakening, and a language that has no home.”

-Elle Wonders, The Dirty Little Shrine

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A Life Ephemeral

Life Ephemeral with copyright
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

“It was a trap, but not a trap. It was an epoch of abundance. An embarrassment of words…”

-Elle Wonders, Pour Mon Bzou.

1

Mon Coeur

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Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas  –  Artwork by HenriAltersLife
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Sanctuary

Castle photo with copyright
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

“When he awakens her, they begin to build a confessional from all that they have. A sacred place, where words can be stripped bare. A sanctuary for thirst and ambition.”

– Elle Wonders, Mapa da Boa.

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La Chambre du Poète

Poet chamber with copyright
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

1

Betrayal

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Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

 

Excerpt from Pour Mon Bzou:

“A blaze of epiphany. Like baneberries in dim light, he could not have imagined the whites of her eyes. Her stare caught his flaws, like fireflies in a bell jar, and his good fortune wandered off like a gypsy.”

 

5

The Fire Begins

Her Fire Begins with copyright
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

 

Excerpt from The Dirty Little Shrine:

“She sees the hunger in his face, but not in his heart, because like the sound on her tongue, it has been hidden. “If my heart was pulled out of my chest and put, beating, in front of you, would you know what it wants?” he asks. Look how easily he betrays his heart for her, ripping it out of his chest like an Aztec god. She just nods as they sit in their dinner bath, and play like warriors, and he sees how her fire begins in her mouth. Like a dragon.

And there was feeling back in his chest.”

 

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Mon Coeur, Que le Diable l’emporte

elle rouge photo
Photo of Elle Wonders by E. Andreas   –   Artwork by HenriAltersLife

 

C’est Lou qu’on la nommait

Il est des loups de toute sorte
Je connais le plus inhumain
Mon cœur que le diable l’emporte
Et qu’il le dépose à sa porte
N’est plus qu’un jouet dans sa main

Guillaume Apollinaire (1880 – 1918)

There are wolves of all kind.
I know the most inhuman.
My heart, the devil takes,
and deposits at his door,
is no more than a toy in his hand.

 

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