Free book coming soon!

I've decided to offer my new edition of collected and new poems (I'm ready for my nervous breakdown now) free (at least initially) on Amazon Kindle. I've spent ages trying to work out what price to ask and just ended up spinning my wheels. So the Kindle version will be free for as long as Amazon permits and I thought I'd offer a friendly challenge to anyone brave enough to download it and have a read. 

First, if you do take the trouble, then let me thank you in advance for your time and interest.

Second, if you find anything worthy of a nice review comment, then please add one on the Kindle page. Positive review comments travel really quickly and are a huge help in marketing. If you think it's not worthy of comment, then feel free to abstain from commenting - all you lost was a little time. But, if you really passionately hate it for some reason, then please do say why. 

Third, if you actually like it or any part of it (whether you've commented or not), then please consider buying me a coffee at the Buy Me a Coffee page on MinistryOfWords. It's a while since I've worked now and every little helps. (This probably breaks Amazon rules, but I'm betting that they can stand it.)

Fourth, irrespective of the first three points, let me know what price you think I should ask for a paperback copy, which I'll publish once the initial free Kindle period is over. Or maybe during it. This might depend on your feedback :)

Fifth, consider buying the paperback when it's available. It might make a perfect gift for the right person, or for your bookshelves. 

Kind souls who might have bought my previous collections should note that it contains mostly collected, curated and (in some cases) updated versions of many of my previous poems, plus a bunch of new ones not previously published anywhere. 

That's it. I'm hoping for an early December release, so watch this space and other social media pages.

Waiting Room, by Peter Neary-Chaplin

This seems appropriate as my old Mum is now on palliative care at the end of her journey.

Dying is a long thing,
a million bright moments carefully collected like stamps,
pressed between powdery pages,
an uncurared gospel of fragments.
Interpretation comes only
with the final part.
For now, we hold skinny hands in this waiting room.
The mattress pump purrs.
I witness every flicker of her alabaster face,
and dream of returning to memories of days with heart,
knowing that this book must close
and another life for each must start
with her repose.