Quote of the Week by Vincent van Gogh

Quote of the Week

by Vincent van Gogh

Vincent van Gogh

"Love Poems" by Dr. Tony Beizaee

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Love Poems

by Dr. Tony Beizaee

Author Dr. Tony Beizaee stops by today to share an excerpt from his debut book of poetry, Love Poems. Get your copy FREE with Kindle Unlimited.

Description

Explore the Beauty of the Human Heart and Spirit!

A collection of romantic Love Poems intermingled with passages of spiritual enlightenment, Love Poems promises to take the reader on a sublime journey of both written imagery and visual artwork by the author, guiding them to the truth behind what LOVE is and how it connects us all …

When you read Love Poems, you’ll enter Dr. Tony Beizaee’s special world of love, connection, and openness. You’ll learn how to forgive, explore the all-encompassing nature of love, and feel the touch of someone special in his words. You’ll also delight at the heartfelt and touching artwork illustrations, lovingly created by Dr. Tony, himself. Born from author’s profound imagination as he searches for answers to the ultimate question, Love Poems is a collection like no other.

This beautiful book will have a huge impact on your heart. Get ready to be swept away by Dr. Tony!

When you order this fresh and fascinating book of love, you’ll discover a wonderful new perspective. You will feel Dr. Tony’s passion and absorb his life wisdom in the 25 love poems he shares in this powerful book:

My Love
Your Devoted Loving Hands
The Sea Of Love
My Longing tears
Mother
Love Vows
The Season Of Love
Love Touched Me
The Blanket Of Love
Forgiveness
Your Loving touch
The Attainment
Love enfolds Forgiveness
Vanished into Love
Open thine own heart
The Sunrise Of Love
Heart
The Infinite
Inception Of Love
Secret Place
The Anatomy Of Heart
Loving Souls
Jerusalem
The Prayers
Face Of Love

Don’t miss this chance to feed your heart the beauty it craves. Get your copy of Love Poems today and let your spirit fly free!

Excerpt

My LOVE

My Beloved,
My fervent Solemn passion,
My LOVE bound to you
My Darling, I am entirely thine
As kindling in pure Formidable flame
My Beloved, My precious love
My better self,
If the moment of Immortality
Unveil to exist between us
I shalt whisper your Beloved name
As phantom of delight
Riveting as melodious
As mating birds

My Beloved,
My fervent Solemn passion,
Your elegance and beauty
As begotten rapturous vibrant
ebullient portrait of LOVE
As blissful birth of precious
glittering mother of pearl
Invigorating to purify
my tumultuous untamed heart

My Immortal Angel,
My Dearest LOVE
My Joyful Darling
My eyes, worships Your Eyes
In pure adoration
My eyes can NO longer
hide my addiction

My Immortal Beloved
The LOVE of sublimity,
Should I not let my eyes
become lit, before YOUR eyes
As my heart’s pupil of febrile eyes
Dives in your endless ocean
of LOVE to be drowned in ecstasy

My Beloved,
My fervent Solemn passion,
My hunger has become a fain of fasting
My Darling,
Your Lips, a provocative budding beauty
which Loves to flaunts itself
shalt be my eternal
Adoring site of pilgrimage,
As my tender lips, as nourishing
As endless waves of ocean
can not resist rushing to wet
to rescue YOUR thirst of ecstasy

My Beloved,
My fervent Solemn passion,
Faithfullest heart,
My Love bound to you, As we stem
As rose garden of Elysium
As sweet scent of LOVE
Emanating from the blossoms
As our tender hands entangled
with Majestic Red Robe Of LOVE
As Our eyes wed
For moment of eternal serenity
to cast our Hearts net in endless
ocean of sublime ecstasy
to capture our own image of ONENESS

My Immortal Beloved
Sanctuary of Love, My Darling,
I am entirely Thine,
I clasp the hand of Love
As I clasp my body
As fortitude of Love
Against YOUR body,
The Citadel of Heaven,
As my lips penetrates the silence
to whisper tenderly in Thy Beloved ears;
I LOVE THEE,
As My hearts infinite tender majesty
Shalt illuminate the Devine promise of bliss
As it echoes in eternity,
As my heart decorate the tent of LOVE

My Beloved, My fervent
My Solemn passion,
My Darling, My precious one,
My soul exclaimed in delight jubilation
My Beloved LOVE
As I am fain to see THEE
in the Bethel of LOVE,
For Eternity
Forever Thine
Forever Ours

[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book

“Dr. Tony Beizaee masterfully entwines the power of heart-felt poetry and striking images to weave a Rumi-esque gem in book form. Love Poems is a cosmic force to be reckoned with, that will awaken every crease and corner of your soul.” ~ Eva Xanthopoulos, Founder of Poehemian Press

“Dr. Tony Beizaee weaves matters of the heart with human spirituality effortlessly in this compendium of poems that explores love in its many forms. Metaphors sing off the page in these excellent verses. Prepare to be transported to a world of romance and passion.” ~ Lauren Rickard, writer and journalist for EastLondonLines

“You’ll read these verses with your heart as much as your eyes as you touch love, drift in an ocean of ecstasy. Love Poems, by Dr. Tony Beizaee, nurtures blossoming hearts and heals those mourning love lost.” ~ Cornelia Amiri, Romance Author

“His feverous passion runs through each stanza which he has deftly orchestrated to illuminate his profound imagination when it comes to seeking the answers to questions that plague the human psyche.” ~ Amelia Vandergast, Author

“Love Poems is an extraordinary poetry collection that takes each reader on an amorous quest through the realm of spiritual awakening and enlightenment.” ~ Eva Xanthopoulos, Founder of Poehemian Press

About the Author

Tony B. Beizaee, D.M.D., is a passionate innovator who has held multiple roles through his life, from dentist and entrepreneur, all the way to abstract artist and author. His unwavering dedication to philanthropy has earned him the reputation as an ambassador of positive change and compassionate community leader. Ultimately, Tony is driven by five key principles: integrity, spirituality, growth, love, and compassion. Combining these cornerstones, he serves as a devout advocate for the Jewish Voice, with Mission to awaken people to their God-given greatness. His ultimate aspiration is to create a legacy that will continue positively impacting people for generations to come.

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"A Perpetual Mimicry" by K. P. Ambroziak

ON SALE for $0.99

A Perpetual Mimicry

by K. P. Ambroziak

A Perpetual Mimicry is currently ON SALE for only $0.99. This is one for the literary connoisseur. Not to be missed! Read my review and some of my favorite lines below.

Description

Almega throws Ani to earth to rot and die in the body of a man. Simon finds him first, and shows him how to exchange his decrepit body for a new one. Ani thinks he is the best guide an exiled angel can have. But Simon is shrewd and wants Ani to help him get back the thing Almega has taken from him: his wings.

When Ani falls in love with Sarah, he does not know she is the key to a banished one's survival and the reason he forfeited his wings in the first place. Ani has to resist Sarah in ways he cannot, and somehow save her from the one creature who wants to use her up: Simon.

Excerpt

Simon was the only being I had heard speak until that moment and I thought I was imagining the voice. But this was no fabrication. As I scanned the horizon, I saw a man coming towards me from across the field.

“Ani!” he called a third time.

He was just a man. There was nothing luminescent about him.

Feeling unprepared for my first meeting with a genuine mortal, I contemplated running away. But as I shuffled my feet, I felt the binding of the ragged leather around them. The two black boots I was wearing gave me the courage to stay, reminding me my true identity was concealed beneath a costume of flesh. I headed in the man’s direction.

Deep lines marked his face and the corners of his eyes were drawn downwards. His countenance was unpleasant and his bottom lip puffed out a little as though his mouth were full. He spat off to the side every now and again as he chewed his bottom lip. Luckily his sour eyes and thick brows gave his face another point of reference. I kept my focus on his stern brow.

“Ya fly home now boy,” he said. “Yer father’s almos’ gone.”

He spat a wad of cud to punctuate his speech. I held my breath.

“Well, what’re ya waitin’ fer?” he said. He gave me a mean stare then spat several more times before looking up at the sky. “Ain’t no rain comin’. I’ll keep an eye on ‘em sheep.”

He pointed a thick thumb at his chest as he spoke and then spat again. I coaxed a nod in an attempt to convince him I understood.

“Better hurry,” he said. “Sarah’s waitin’.”

Sarah? The masquerade suddenly got more complicated. I considered making an exit once again, but Simon’s words ran through my mind: let his instincts guide you. I tried tuning myself into my body’s desires, letting the boy’s intuition guide me. My attempt proved successful when something inside me, an emotion really, made me want to abide by the man’s request. I had a desire to go to Sarah.

The man saluted me as he made his way back out into the sea of sheep. I watched him go and then turned to follow the path from where he came. As I walked into the woods on the border of the pasture, a distinct smell blew through the trees. Smoke. But unlike burnt flesh, this aroma was pleasing. There was a fire burning somewhere deep inside the forest and I could smell the crisp wood as though it were right at my feet. This was not the first time I noticed the intensity of my earthly senses. Ever since I nabbed the shepherd’s body, I had known an increased potency of my faculties.

I followed the scent knowing it would lead me to where I needed to go. I walked through the woods a while before arriving at the origin of the smell. When I found a quaint cottage amidst a clearing of trees, I knew I had arrived. It was the only marker I had seen in the forest and sure enough charcoal puffs of smoke were curling their way out of the roof’s chimney. The modest hut appeared to be fashioned from the trees that surrounded it. It was familiar, for I held a picture of it in my mind. I recognized the little red curtains drawn across the two windows on either side of the door, and I couldn’t help but recall the rows of golden-rays growing along the sidewalls. I quickly realized these recollections were the remnants of the boy’s memory.

I stood for a moment listening to a woodpecker puncture its way into a treetop far above me. Two doves made love with their requited coos, while sparrows chirped incessantly beneath the branches. The symphony echoed up through the tops of the trees, evoking my envy as I stood wingless on the ground. I led myself up the pathway to the cottage. As I got closer, the avian orchestra soon faded into the background and all I could hear was the soft hum of a girl inside. The sound was flawless and delicate, no match for the birds.

I listened, as remembrances flooded my memory. I envisioned what lay waiting inside as I stood outside the cottage. A girl’s face materialized in my mind, a memory of aesthetic perfection. I knew I had gazed on this face before. The oval visage was framed with long unruly tendrils, light brown and soft. I recalled their touch as I imagined them into reality. Her big green eyes were like olives floating in almond casings, and her aquiline nose marked the exact center point of her face. Her perfect top lip was slightly thinner than its bottom counterpart, and her mouth drew downward into a delicate pout. The lips made the shape of a heart when her mouth was closed. I knew this perfect face awaited me on the other side of the door, and just as I reached out to push it ajar, it swung open.

“Ani!” her voice peaked. 

My Favorite Lines

"Two doves made love with their requited coos, while sparrows chirped incessantly beneath the branches. The symphony echoed up through the tops of the trees, evoking my envy as I stood wingless on the ground."

"Water rushed over pebbles, as a palette of colorful wild flowers painted the water's edge."

"I longed to wrap myself around this girl and engulf her soul with mine."

"He was furiously splattering his brush across the canvas as though invoking a spell with his color wand."

"It was as though gazing upon her brought relief to anguish I didn't know I suffered."

"I wanted to tattoo the image of her living face upon the skin of my mind."

My Review

By Lynda Dickson

A fire angel is stripped of his wings, banished from his star, and forced to roam the Earth as penance. He plummets to Earth, landing in the desert where he encounters Simon, another banished one. Simon promises to help him regain his star. Wandering through place and time, our angel occupies a number of bodies and experiences a number of human emotions. First, he takes over the body of a shepherd, Ani, and comes to be known by this name. As Ani, he meets Sarah and discovers that there are worse fates than losing your wings and being banished from your home.

The writer has a fabulous vocabulary; the dictionary feature of the Kindle app certainly came in handy. I even learned a few new words, including: pinions, virescence, pulchritude, Lethean, sidereal, plumule, empyrean, and egregious. We may wonder what all the disparate story lines have to do with each other, but it all becomes clear in the end. A Perpetual Mimicry can be described as an angelic Groundhog Day.

This is one of the best-written and well-edited works I have read. A Perpetual Mimicry is the definition of beautiful writing; it is poetic and lyrical, profoundly moving, and will haunt you for a long time to come. I look forward to reading more by this author.

From the Author

I live in Brooklyn with my favorite person and just received a doctorate in Comparative Literature from the City University of New York. I'm happy (if not lucky) to spend most of my time writing while also teaching part-time. I want you to know that I appreciate the hours you spend reading my words and believe there's no greater gift than your time. Last but not least, I like basset hounds because they're funny looking, I'm bad at twitter, and I binge watch my favorite TV series - I'm talking about you, Sherlock, Vikings, et al.

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"Painting With Fire" by K. B. Jensen

NEW RELEASE and INTERVIEW

Painting With Fire

by K. B. Jensen

Description

Murder in the Windy City. Love without trust. Reckless justice.

These are the themes in Painting With Fire, the story of Claudia Wilson, a woman down on her luck living with a stranger, an artist named Tom. After the two of them discover a body on the street corner, buried in a snow bank, Claudia becomes obsessed with the murder and the fact that her roommate is not telling her everything about his past. While police search for the killer in her building, she wonders if she should be searching for a new roommate.

Claudia learns everything she can about the neighbors, as well as Tom. In the end, she makes a startling discovery. When art and violence collide, the results can be explosive.

Excerpt

Prologue

Steve Jackson was trying to get his Honda Civic through the snow, but the tires spun loudly and the vehicle wouldn’t swim through. “Come on baby, please, please, we need to get out of here now,” he coaxed and swore.

But the Civic couldn’t climb out. It slid back into its final resting place, crooked against the curb. He turned off the ignition and slumped forward with his gloved hands on the wheel and his forehead against the top of it. He felt drained, empty. He had said what he needed to say and it wasn’t wise to linger. They let him walk out the door but they could still change their minds.

“Thank you, God, it’s over,” he said. “Now, please help me get the hell out of here.”

He was surprised they hadn’t stopped him after he gave his “notice.” Drug dealers aren’t normally so courteous. They don’t give you a card and a goodbye lunch before you walk out the door. But the worst of it was over now and he just had to drive home in the storm.

Blinking the snow out of his eyes, he glanced up at the old, three-story brick building through the blur of snowflakes and saw a dark face in the oversized window. It moved back behind the curtain.

He got out of the car and started digging out holes behind the tires, kicking the snow with his boots. He shivered. He was only wearing a puffy black vest over a flannel shirt. He had been too preoccupied to listen to the forecast that morning, too nervous about getting killed to worry about what clothes he’d be wearing when the shots would ring out. Snow had been the last thing on his mind when he showed up to tell them he couldn’t work for them anymore. His conscience wouldn’t allow it, that feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he made a delivery. A 13-year-old girl had thanked him, for what? For helping her kill herself slowly. He knew he had to answer to God one day and the day was coming soon, sooner than he’d like.

He bent down and dug out the snow with his gloved hands. The blur of white snowflakes stung his eyes so he could barely see. He didn’t hear the footsteps in the snow behind him through the whistle of the wind. He didn’t hear the metal slide through the air as it sliced down and cracked open the top of his head. He spun sideways from the blow and fell.

For a matter of seconds, he lay there flat on his back in the snow bank watching the flakes twirl and land on his face. His vision whirled. He had bitten his tongue, but he could still taste the snow melt and mix with blood as it dropped into his open, gurgling mouth. He thought of his mother, what she would say when she found out? Did she know that he had changed? She’d never know.

“Jesus,” he gurgled. It was a prayer this time.

Then the heavy metal blade came down again, and the white out turned to a permanent black out.

Review

By Mary Most

When you read the first paragraph or two of a book and feel the pulse of a good mystery based on the happenings of the following page or two, you know you're in for a good read. Add strong characters, most of whom seem suspicious and lead you to thinking you know 'who dunnit' only to find yourself second guessing yourself. The book keeps your interest and pulls you deeper into the story. As the plot thickens and builds momentum, the relationship between Claudia and Tom keeps you guessing as well. You will absolutely not be able to put the book down as an action packed finish will rivet you to its pages and very effectively pull it all together for you.

Congrats to K. B. Jensen on her first book. It's a clever mystery.

Interview With the Author

Hi K. B., thanks for joining me today to discuss your debut novel, Painting With Fire.

For what age group do you recommend your book?

Sixteen and over. Adults of all ages seem to enjoy it, but it’s too gritty for children.

What sparked the idea for this book?

I used to work as a crime reporter in the Chicago suburbs and one of the stories I wrote about involved a body found in the snow. The person was lying there for hours and could have lived if they had been found earlier. Many people I interviewed heard the gunshots but didn’t call the police. To my knowledge, the police never caught the murderer, and I always wondered who he/she was. It bothered me. My book is not based on that case, but it started out as a kind of a daydreaming about what might have happened.

Also, I had this clear picture of the villain in my head, this perfect villain and I wanted to explore that.

Which comes first? The character's story or the idea for the novel?

The characters should always come first. They drive the ideas.

What was the hardest part of writing in this book?

It was like arranging puzzle pieces. Getting everything to click in place just right took a lot of crafting. Also, the journalist in me wants everything to be realistic but you have to take liberties and free yourself as a writer to tell the story.

How do you hope this book affects its readers?

I hope it gets people to think. I hope it’s also a good time, an entertaining read.

How long did it take you to write this book?

Four years off and on.

What is your writing routine?

I don’t have one. I write when the mood strikes, which is often. The only real routine I have is journaling. That is an every day occurrence and keeps my writing sharp.

What do you like to do when you're not writing?

I’m a downhill ski instructor. I also love to travel. I enjoy jogging and biking next to Lake Michigan.

What does your family think of your writing?

My family is very proud. My husband is my number one fan, of course. My dad said it was excellent and he’d tell me if it wasn’t. He said it was “not so predictable.” I liked that, because he’s a smart guy and he couldn’t figure out the killer.

Fantastic! Please tell us a bit about your childhood. Did you like reading when you were a child?

I loved reading. I stayed up all night reading. You can see the dark circles under my eyes in my second grade school picture. I look terrible in it. Just five pages more, I used to tell myself, then I’ll turn out the light. But I never did, not until I was finished. That’s the power of good books on a young mind.

When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

When I was in third grade. I told my dad and he told me, “You’ll starve.”

I hope you prove him wrong! Did your childhood experiences influence your writing?

Not as much as you would think. My childhood teachers influenced it though. I had a third grade teacher at North Star Elementary School in Minneapolis named Mrs. Grein who used to send me to the principal’s office to read my stories. I don’t think I would be a writer if I hadn’t met her.

Which writers have influenced you the most?

That’s a tough question. When it comes to life, I’d say Paolo Coehlo. I like his idea that the universe is conspiring to help you achieve your dreams, if you follow them. When it comes to style, I’d say all the great journalists I’ve met working at newspapers and magazines have really trained me to write in a clean, tight manner.

Do you hear from your readers much? What kinds of things do they say?

I do hear from readers. They say they liked the twists and turns in Painting With Fire, also the romantic elements. I think that’s kind of funny, because I’ve never envisioned the book as a romance. They keep asking me to write a sequel. I’m thinking about it.

So, what can we look forward to from you in the future?

Currently, I’m working on a collection of short stories, but it’s top secret. The themes are impossible love and other craziness.

Thank you for taking the time to stop by today. Best of luck with your top secret project!

About the Author

K. B. Jensen is an author and journalist. Painting With Fire is her debut novel. As a reporter, she has written extensively about crime in the Chicago suburbs. Jensen grew up in Minneapolis and currently lives in Chicago, with her husband, daughter and rescued border collie/lab mix. In her spare time, she enjoys teaching downhill skiing and traveling the world.

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"Lilith" by N. Lalit

ON SALE for $0.99
15-21 April

Lilith

by N. Lalit

Description

Debasis Sahu is a painter par excellence, a prodigy, who arrives in Mumbai to fulfill his goal. Here, he encounters the true personality of the bustling city and its people when his only contact and friend, Krishna, is unable to help him.

All alone, in a metropolis notorious for its exorbitant room charges, he spends several nights with a prostitute in Kamathipura, to conserve his finances, a trick he learns on his very first day while having tea in a small eatery, Ram Bharose.

After several weeks, he runs out of money. His visits to the prostitute with whom he keeps a safe distance ends abruptly. He turns into a roadside bum. It is at this point in time he meets Sheetal Sanghvi, a beautiful but ruthless art dealer. A woman who lusted after men and money.

Debasis falls in love with her in their very first encounter. Sheetal too rejoices at her discovery. However, Debasis' limp puts her off. She labels him as an "incomplete artist", a cripple.

Book Trailer

Excerpt

December 2004 - BOMBAY CENTRAL RAILWAY STATION

The Golden Express rumbled into the platform with a potpourri of sounds, its tired wheels screeched in protest and the air horn blew in triumph, scaring everyone, especially the weak hearted. Debasis stood up even before its sixteen carriages came to a halt and trudged towards the exit as the train finally stopped with a noisy belch. He stood his ground, looking outside, with a rainbow of emotions.

“Thief, catch that scoundrel.”

The thud of the running feet, loud calls and cuss words broke his thoughts. Debasis reacted a little too late. A violent push forced him out of the train. Even before he could regain his balance the culprit scrambled across the tracks and disappeared through the emergency exit.

A little later, a group of people came rushing out of the compartment, heaving and puffing in anger.

“Bloody thief,” said the teenager, sporting a pink top and black jeans.

“He's lucky. Had I got hold of him I would have killed him,” said another, apparently the father of the young girl.

“And you. Are you deaf or something?” said the arrogant old man wearing a Gandhi cap, offering Debasis a murderous look.

The group glared at him for a while before climbing back inside to fetch their belongings. Debasis checked his pocket. Everything appeared fine. I guess I was spared. The incident stunned him. What astonished him even more was the sheer size of Bombay Central terminus, its classic looks and the number of people walking in and out of it.

He lowered his handbag on the ground and with a flurry of finger strokes brushed his long black hair; tying it into a short ponytail at the base of his neck. The woven narrow tape that secured his hair displayed the word “Om” all around it. He towered over everyone by a good six inches. Debasis was tall, athletically built with long hands and fingers. His bronze skin gave him that rugged village look and his sage-like eyes scared many people, particularly impostors and liars. Debasis picked up his bag and walked towards the gate. At the exit, he turned around, his painter’s gaze locked on the magnificent edifice, the pride of Indian Railways, memorizing its architectural highlights. The late afternoon sun forced him to narrow his eyes as the rays cut through several glass and concrete structures close to his object of interest.

What a contrast!

He formed a canopy over his eyes with his free hand to protect them from the glare, squinted at the building till each and every section was etched in his mind. Debasis was mesmerized by the arches, the huge porch and the gigantic clock at the top, the size of twenty footballs.

He felt an urge to draw the sketch of such a majestic monument, but discarded the idea. There was no hurry. Patience was his biggest virtue. He turned around and walked out of the tall, ornate metal gates, excited at the thought of returning one day.

A ribbon of vehicles greeted him as he looked down the road from the pavement. His head spun, forcing him to hold the lamp post. It took him some time to regain his balance. He pulled out a piece of paper from his trouser pocket, read the content and headed towards the taxi stand. His eyes darted across the road, observing everything with childlike enthusiasm. The note in his hand bothered him. He looked around in desperation, seeking directions to the address.

The ubiquitous noise, a cocktail of human voices and auto reverberations heightened his anxiety, making it difficult for him to stay focused. Every nook and corner was crammed with peddlers, labourers, sarbat-wallas and casual visitors. The constant movement of people walking in and out of the shops located in old, rickety buildings on either side of the road distracted him further.

Review

By Juanita Couch

5 stars. I chose this rating because it is a well written and engaging book that kept me engrossed for days until I finished it.

  

About the Author

N. Lalit, raised in Mumbai, India, is an engineering graduate. He started his writing career by authoring innumerable technical papers. Later, he began writing short stories which evolved into full fledged romance novels of various sub-genres such as thriller, drama, mystery and comedy.

Lalit also writes on freelance basis and enjoys the challenges of creativity. He has written over a dozen short stories and film scripts, and his articles have appeared on many popular websites. Currently, he is busy editing Koffee with Kiran, his second contemporary romance work.

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