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#HistFicThursdays - Circus Bim Bom by Cliff Lovette - Author Interview

Today's #HistFicThursdays blog is a fantastic interview with  Cliff Lovette ,   as part of his  Yarde Book Promotion  tour! Read on to find out about his influences, inspirations, and the emotional rollercoaster on which  Circus Bim Bom carries readers away. But first, let's meet the book... Blurb Soviet circus performers arrived in America hoping to build cultural bridges. Instead, they became unwitting pawns in a Cold War game of international intrigue. When the first privately owned Soviet circus arrived in 1990 in America as the Soviet Union disintegrated, its elite performers expected to build cultural bridges through spectacular shows. Instead, this prestigious troupe faced a perilous journey through Cold War America. Circus director Yuri had to navigate treacherous waters where American mobsters, Soviet agents, and political forces circled like predators. Young aerialist Anton dreamed of becoming a clown against his family’s wishes, while forbidden romanc...
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#HistFicThursdays - The Weave of the Norns - Free Poem

 Continuing from last week's post which explored Artwork as Inspiration (the starting point for Proof of the Old Faith) I'm sticking with Norse culture. Here is The Weave of the Norns, a poem I wrote a few years ago about these three frightening women.

Enjoy!

The Norns by Arthur Rackham


Weave of the Norns
Beneath the threat of utter doom
he sought them at their fabled loom.
The king searched on until he found
them on the morrow’s battleground.
The tallest worked the wheel alone;
the next, a shuttle made of bone;
the shortest bore a silver sword
with which she severed each loose cord.
What pattern spun these women three,
dictating mankind’s victory!
“I come to beg you demonstrate
a gentle weaving of our fate.”
“Then know you this, oh man of peace,
we weave the thread and cannot cease.”
“Weave us an ending to this war
and grant us threads of peace once more.”
“What cost would such a wise man pay
for us to change our weave this way?”
And now he saw the bloody thread,
time’s fabric dripping crimson red.
As though she took him in her hand
he felt her pull aside one strand.
“You have forgone your chance to leave.
Your life is foretold in the weave.”
The sword cut clear, the thread hung down,
the mediator lost his crown.
For Fate demands a sacrifice
to cast aside her weighted dice.

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