Magenta Sweeney, aka Magenta Shaman reminisces on the day - twelve years before - when life finally threw her into the gutter.

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Magenta's mother Rosa has a hard time dealing with her daughter's fits and trances, her visions and healing hands. A shaman from birth like her errant father, Magenta has always unwittingly terrified Rosa, even though the girl is desperate for her mother's love. No longer able to cope Rosa gives Magenta an ultimatum - find an elixir to cure her baby half-sister's worsening skin disease, or get the hell out and leave them alone.

***

Although the books are solid fiction, Magenta's memory spills out as poetry here. I haven't asked her why.

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Find out more about Magenta's terrifying shamanic journeys by downloading the very first episode in the Magenta Shaman series to your Kindle from Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com.

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She’s Leaving Home

Just sixteen,

she’s bouncing off strobe lights

at Slippy’s.

No drink.

No drugs.

Livid pulses flood

her eyes.

Throbbing beat

loving her feet,

she dances -

all ballet and wedgie sandals.

Arms flail.

Fingertips pitch and point

to the flickering

in the dull ceiling.

With clubbers clubbing

all around

Magenta takes the spinning world

by the Minotaur’s horns.

She jumps on his back,

transcends the borders.

Falls fast, eyes wide open

rising and falling in trance.

Touches, pale snatches

at slivers of skin,

the shaman reaps the harvest.

It is morning.

Baby sister cries and squeals.

Magenta grafts

ancient epidermis

as their mother looks on.

For once... for once

all fails.

Her sister is gone

and her mother wants none

of her strangest of skills,

and her father –

missing -

for ever and ever...

it’s too much.

“You’re just like him.

“Get out.”

She walks down Brighton’s streets

alone.

Veils of power

shield Magenta from

the dark and the desperate.

Mourning and lonely

she slips into a damp corner

to sleep.

“My darling.”

Daddy’s voice, always in dreams.

“It’s time.”

The shaman awakes,

money in her pocket,

a typed address on a note,

a key of gold in her hand.

More about Magenta Shaman...
Download the first episode in the series from Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com

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Woe La Poxette

Doxy’s got the pox.
Poxy Doxy’s in the dock,
Face all lumpen
Dropping scabs
Of blackened blood
Onto the courtroom floor
Of hated Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s gonna drop.
Cocky Doxy’s got to hop,
Her legs deformed
And broken.
The noose awaits
Courtesy of last year’s
Lover, filthy Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s got the knock.
Stroppy Doxy’s got to stop
The hangman’s hand.
She shudders,
Kicks, dies screaming
Spitting out the curse at
Killer, vile Judge Malcreed.

Doxy’s dumped on top.
Rotting doxies turn to slop.
In the courtroom
Blind man cries,
Cock collapsing
Balls of green erupt all
Over desperate Judge Malcreed.

Poxy’s got a stump.
Poxy falls before he jumps
Off Tower Bridge
He drools for help
But no-one comes.
He begs for death, but death
Won’t entertain old Judge Malcreed.

Poxy’s gone to pot.
Poxy lives a doxy’s lot
His body’s bare
Ravaged and scarred,
A limbless whore.
He sells his soul, condemned
To hell.

Poxy Judge Malcreed.