Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Ghostly Visits

Ghostly Visits

Ghostly Visits
By Nomar Knight

Glaring eyes freeze my skin
Knowing I can never win
The past creeps and haunts
Her presence she does flaunt
Can't help but see her taunts

What happened to us
Feel as if smashed by a bus
Tell me where I went wrong
Do it in prose or with song
Pain inside has lasted so long

Cunning grin makes me weak
Peace of mind is what I seek
Tell me what I need to do
Start over somehow just us two
I thought our love was true

It'd be easier to die by a knife
Now I've been scarred for life
Forbidden love tastes so sweet
It's great when my heart skips a beat
Oh how I wish we could meet

I'd tell you through haunted eyes
Your ghostly visits make me die
But I guess it's better than losing you
Have to settle for an encounter or two
And though my heart is blue

Remember I still love you. 

©2011 Copyright.  Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills Poem

A Forbidden Love topic. 

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Keep Love Alive

Keep Love Alive

Keep Love Alive
By Nomar Knight

Don't blame me for being human
I feel like that guy Truman
Locked in a bubble unbeknownst to him
Living under a microscope  so he couldn't sin

Appreciate the time you gave me
Didn't expect we'd hit it off you see
Two souls that clicked in the night
But our bodies remained out of sight

Technology's to blame for our interlude
Don't say I hurt you and was rude
The truth lingers in the air till it stinks
Forget about typing and have some drinks

But there's more to me than you can see
I'm a writer with feelings trying to be me
Life's hard for all of us you know
Let's have a slice of paradise and grow

Friendship is golden and misunderstood
You joined me to do all we could
Keep love alive forbidden or not
Time will fix everything we've got

How can a love like this be wrong
We don't hold hands or talk for long
Together we'll strive to be happy
Even if our worlds remain crappy

Don’t give up hope love ain't blown
When things are bad know you're not alone
Feel my virtual hand on your cheek with love
We do fit together like a perfect glove

Close your eyes and I'll be near
Put to rest pain and your darkest fear
Not sorry I met you I'll never be
Thanks for loving little old me

©2011 Copyright.  Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills Poem

A Forbidden Love topic. 

Don't forget to visit some fabulous poets at One Stop Poetry 

Monday, June 27, 2011

Unveiling Secrets: An analysis of Forbidden Love

Unveiling Secrets: An analysis of Forbidden Love

By Nomar Knight

Forbidden emotions are hard to bury, but unspoken emotions are torture.
You may not know how it happens, but it’s possible you get into a situation where a powerful attraction towards someone who on one standard or other is considered forbidden.  The most popular of scenarios isn’t falling in love with kin, but the wanting of a married person.  So for the purpose of this post, we’ll look into the eyes of someone caught in a web of false hope.  We’ll delve into the world of forbidden love.
Emotions are the waves that carry lovers to crash against each other.  Whether the passion is realized physically or mentally, once two souls establish a powerful connection, it is impossible to reign in their feelings.  When one hurts, the other hurts, only the realization that one can’t do anything physically to help the other is a torture that can drive one mad.  As a result, one must learn to live by hiding their emotions.  If you know where to look, you may find hints of that unspoken emotion seeping out of their haunted eyes.

 Love forbids you not to love.
Love, though it feels as if sent down from heaven with wings of freedom, actually comes with a set of unwritten rules which we must stumble upon through time.  Perhaps the most powerful rule is that once in love, it becomes impossible not to love.  And with that love come telltale signs in the form of subtle changes in behavior, an increase in wallowing inside a distracted reverie, the abandonment of old habits or philosophies, and the reality that fantasy is the preferred sentiment of choice.

Never just the echo of forever, 
Lonesome as a love that might have been.
Let me go on loving
And believing until it's over. 
Please don't tell me how the story ends.
            Denial of reality, especially when obvious obstacles you are so willing to blindly ignore, become the enemy of compassion.  We all want a fairytale ending where the couple lives happily ever after, but too often life is riddled with unspoken truths.  Like it or not, our lives affect others, and if there are innocents involved, to force your forbidden love to have a happy ending is to destroy another’s soul.  Nevertheless, you want to live for the moment because the end of the story is too depressing to face.

Unhappiness within our own life will lead us to find happiness in forbidden places.
            How many commit to a person without the full understanding that they made choices they were not prepared to live with?  It’s like a time bomb ticking away, and a chisel chipping away at our conscience until what’s left is the core self.  Once you’re able to identify what’s been missing in your life then you’ll yearn for something better.  The amazing thing is that no one has to know about your secret—forbidden desire.  However, fate knows and it will hand you what you seek when you least expect it, from the least likely of sources.   

We always long for the forbidden things, and desire what is denied us.
            The basis for original sin lies in the choices made before our birth.  It is a way of explaining that to yearn for the forbidden is as natural to us as any biological function.  We think the world cruel when our forbidden desires are denied us by a society boasting of their righteous ways.  Infidelity has been long thought of the mark of the beast which inflicts the weakest of men for the flesh was built for the appeasing of carnal desires.  To strive to rise above our natural inclination is a torture most are unwilling or unable to endure.

While the forbidden fruit is said to taste sweeter, it usually spoils faster.
            Ah, to quench a carnal thirst, even if it’s only with the mind and heart, is indeed sweet, but as the restraints of reality get tighter, sooner or later; forbidden love loses its luster and may leave a bitter taste.  Perhaps, some things are better left to fantasy.

Loving you is like trying to touch a star,
I know I can never reach you, 
But I can't help but try.

            Though our current existence may be riddled with heavy burdens, and our choices may not be the best for who we are now, there was a time when contentment lived inside us.  Yet, one can’t help but wonder if we could change our stars will happiness at long last find us.  The end brings us back to the beginning.  We must make the right choices and hopefully next time; learn to live with the consequences.

Catch you on the dark side of love.

Nomar Knight  

You may find these forbidden love quotes and more on

©2011 Copyright.  Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills Presentation

Thursday, June 23, 2011

A Quiet Torment

A Quiet Torment

A Quiet Torment
By Nomar Knight

         As a parent, I expect for life to at least run like a rollercoaster all the while praying that it maintains the “natural order” of things.  I can take it when life throws its serene moments, tender times, trying emotions, conflicting battles, and mournful losses.  However, I hope life doesn’t twist tragedy around until I’m left wondering if I spent the last few years walking on my head.  I expect for the person born before me to leave us first, so it disturbs me when a parent loses a child.  I’m a father of two and losing one of my kids is my biggest fear.  I expect to go first since I was born first, but of course; life doesn’t work that way. 
     Unfortunately, death isn’t the only way to lose someone.  Imagine losing that which is most precious to you because evil rears its ugly head and like a thief someone abducts your child. 
     Abductions occur often.  In 2010, according to the U.S. Department of Justice, 2,185 children were reported missing every day. About a third of the victims were abducted by family.  Significant small percentages were taken by non-family members.  Incredibly, out of close to 800,000 abducted children; only 115 were reported as a typical abduction, meaning the child was taken by either a stranger or an acquaintance for the purpose of ransom or with the intent to kill the child. 
 In my first eBook short story, Fountain of Death, Officer Victor Prospero lives the quiet torment of losing a daughter.  In Victor’s case, his teenage daughter was abducted on Valentine’s Day.  As is fairly typical, it was suggested to him that his daughter ran away from home, looking for a better life.    
Once his own kind turns their back on him, his daughter’s disappearance takes its toll on his marriage.  Imagine how many nights Victor spends wondering if he was a bad parent.  He knows his daughter, Hope, and is willing to bet his life that she wouldn’t run out on the family. 
I guess the silent killer in all this, from a morale standpoint, is the mystery of her whereabouts.  Not a moment passes when he begins to see her in every teenager with similar resemblance.  A quiet torment weighs heavily on our hero.  You feel sorry for him as his world slowly collapses into an abyss where evil thrives. 
Could Officer Victor Prospero’s daughter be the victim of abduction?  Did she run away with a man?  Considering how many kids her age are taken and forced into the sex trade, it stands to reason he may never know his daughter’s fate.  But then again, never isn’t a word I favor.
Find the answers in my first eBook short story, Fountain of Death, and prepare for a chilling ride.

Click on the cover to purchase it on Amazon 

You may also purchase the book at Amazon here 

 And Amazon de here 

Special gratitude to Rebecca Treadway - cover art
Alex Morgan - editor

Catch you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight

©2011 Copyright.  Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.
A Knight Chills Exclusive  

Monday, June 20, 2011

Dead Inside

Dead Inside
By Nomar Knight

I smile through lying eyes
Afraid to show my secret
Love to hear you laugh
Though you can't see
How selfishness kills me

My heart stings
And every day time passes
Courage escapes
Leaving dust
Where love once stood

Tired of pretending
All is right
When we both know
Circumstance beat opportunity
Casting shadows of doubt

Even though all is lost
I hear you sleep
Finding a moments peace
In my aching arms
My soul shivers

Delight a faded memory
Isolation drowns hope
And I wonder
Is it too late
Am I dead inside

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2011. All rights reserved. 
A Knight Chills poem.

Friday, June 17, 2011

It's in the Eyes

It’s in the Eyes
By Nomar Knight

            There’s something mystical about a person’s eyes.  I draw inspiration from the eyes for while the rest of the body is doing its best to conceal secrets, the eyes open a door into a person’s most private thoughts, and you just have to be relentless and fearless enough to enter.
            Here’s an excerpt from my short story titled, Eyes of the Dead.

           My first encounter with death stole my innocence at the ripe age of seven.  It came like a disturbing night creature whose purpose to astound and mortify entrapped innocence, while sucking its victims inside a dark abyss from which escape eluded the unforgiving heart. 

           As I leaned against the second floor window and watched a heated argument unfold between two patrons in front of the neighborhood pub, nothing could have prepared me for the event to come.  At first, dark, disturbing words spewed from the taller gentleman.  His frustration spread across his face.  A street lamp's iridescent glow illuminated his gaunt cheekbones, as his fiery eyes threatened the stout, much smaller man. 

         With one swift motion, the little gentleman produced what I now know to be a snub-nosed, .38 caliber, nickel-plated Colt, not unlike the toy my parents had bought me.  While thoughts of a comic drama unraveled before my virgin eyes, a sharp blast, followed by a puff of blue smoke, surrounded the duo.  The tall man recoiled, held his chest, pleading with his eyes.  Once again, the disturbing popping echoed throughout the street, followed by the ominous cloud.  Burnt metal permeated the night air.

         "That'll teach you to steal from me, you prick!"

         I ducked behind the curtains while the gunman searched his surroundings.  Somehow, I sensed his menacing stare penetrate through the wooden frame like daggers launched with expert precision.

         Curiosity drove me to rise while the frantic little man scurried away, leaving his nemesis on the pavement.

         At first, I puzzled over the injured man's safety, but when he moved his hand towards the heavens, a heavy sigh of relief escaped me.  Maybe the little man used a toy gun after all. Any delusions I had began to evaporate when my focus shifted from his bony fingers to his wide, frightened eyes.  They pleaded with me as if I, a young lad, could swoop down and take away his pain.  Although time whispered of its eminent departure, it froze when our eyes locked.  Then, like a wild fire's rapid consumption of its natural forested habitat, a pool of blood surrounded the man as if attempting to disinfect him of his sins. 

           Shivers traveled up and down my spine as images of evil flashed before me.  The pale man’s habit of thievery began at boyhood.  With every terrible deed I witnessed, an electrical sensation rocked deep inside my chest transferring energy all over my body.  The euphoric vibes dissipated when his eyes took on a glassy glow.  I sensed that the gentleman, who moments earlier demonstrated lively animation, departed to a world beyond my comprehension. 

           My fixation never wavered.

           His eyes, those empty huge eyes.

           The image of life's transition from pure energy to one of still condemnation followed me to my present state.  What began with the doomed gentleman, transferred unto neighborhood strays such as cats and dogs.  Their automatic whimpers did little more than entertain my morbid curiosity.  As I found creative ways to dispose of them, I concentrated on the eyes.  I felt like a god when witnessing the transfer of life, until that brief moment, just before the terrifying revelation struck their consciousness and morphed into total acceptance. 

          With the natural progression of curiosity, my experimental subjects evolved to beings with a more developed form of consciousness. 

          So, as I placed the drug dealer's tongue in the jar with the formaldehyde solution, my concentration shifted to his big wide eyes.  From prior experience, I knew his muscles tightened while he struggled with the sturdy straps.  His entrapped frail legs writhed side to side like a quadriplegic sprinting to an enticing, yet improbable cure.

          "Relax.  You should feel privileged that I chose you."

           My soothing voice lulled him into a false sense of slumber, creating the illusion of eventual freedom.  The spell remained unbroken until I lifted the foot-long machete from the steel tray. 

           The drug dealer's invalid assumption gave way to outrage.  His fiery eyes remained defiant, even when I pressed the edge against his throat.  Applying just enough pressure, blood trickled down his neck and onto the table.  Rivulets of urine cascaded down his legs, mixing with the stench of feces.  I basked in his newfound realization that arrogance could not make the journey with him. 

           There was no need for me to speak. In moments like this, nothing I could say would make the transition of power as alluring as the promise of certain death. 

            There you have it.  Proof that there’s power in the eyes and if you know what to look for, the eyes can reveal so much.
            You may find a version of this story on WDC, though I plan on tweaking it to the point it becomes publishable so that I may offer it as an e-book by the end of summer.
            I hope you enjoyed this eye-opening revelation.

            Catch you on the dark side.

            Nomar Knight

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2011. All rights reserved. 
A Knight Chills presentation.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Musings of a Dark Mind: Play Nice with the Neighbors

Musings of a Dark Mind: Play Nice with the Neighbors
By Nomar Knight

            Why is it bad thoughts creep in my mind when I least expect them?  I could be anywhere, anytime, observing anything, and dark clouds invade my train of thought.  It happens to us all.  One minute, you’re looking out the window and spot the neighbor waxing his shiny black Cadillac.  Normally, you’d appreciate the effort and the care he displays for pride is a marvelous thing to watch.  Just when you’re ready to glance somewhere else, an image of an egg pops in your mind.  Then you stare at the hood of his car and picture yourself throwing the surprising weapon of nice destruction, ruining all his hard work. 
            On another occasion, you’re sound asleep and the bickering neighbor is louder than usual.  Perhaps she’s jealous that her husband cares more about his car than her, so she lets the whole world know only you don’t care and at three in the morning you’re too tired to rationalize.  And that’s when it happens.  You picture yourself storming off bed and into the kitchen.  You grab the largest, sharpest knife you can find.  You make it to your neighbor’s door.  After some strong pounding you sense she’s sizing you up through the peephole so you force a smile that makes you look constipated.  She never sees the knife because you hide it behind your back. 
            She opens the door, looking ashamed.  “I’m sorry—” 
            It’s too late.  The rest of her lying apology is muddled since it’s difficult to speak clearly when her head is being decapitated. 
            Still at the window, watching your neighbors happily get in the Cadillac, forgetting all about their stupid argument, can't help but wonder if somewhere deep inside you there’s a killer waiting to get out.

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2011. All rights reserved. 
A Knight Chills presentation.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

A Dancing Machine

For One Shot Poetry Week 50

A Dancing Machine
By Nomar Knight

Ushered to center stage
Wondering what was the rage
The beat bounced and moved
My feet followed the groove
So much for being shy
Their cheers made me high

Sliding sideways back and forth
Dropping south and rising north
Three spins on heels for all to see
Many dropped jaws surrounded me
Kicked at the sky karate style
Sweating as if I ran a mile

Slammed my shoes down hard
Newfound attention could not discard
The cheers were all for me
Strange how dance set me free
Split my legs wide and far
On the floor became a star

Rose to the loudest cheers
This dancing gig rid my fears
Watch out world here I come
No longer timid no longer dumb
Electric beats sounded clean
Born again a dancing machine

 Jackson 5 - Dancing Machine .mp3
Found at bee mp3 search engine

© Copyright Nomar Knight 2011. All rights reserved. 
A Knight Chills poem.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Get Zombiefied: Interview with Author Armand Rosamilia

Armand Rosamilia

Another horror writer that impressed me is Armand Rosamilia.  His prose flows smoothly and his stories shock the senses.  Meet the gifted Armand Rosamilia. 

Here’s a brief author’s bio for Armand Rosamilia

Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida. When not chasing his kids, bothering his fiance' Kim or watching his beloved Bosox or listening to Heavy Metal music way too loud, he's writing about zombies. His extreme zombie novellas "Highway To Hell" and "Dying Days" are available now, and he's been featured in a bunch of cool anthologies so far this year. Go here to chat about baseball, zombies and Manowar...

Tell us about your latest book. 

"Dying Days" is an extreme zombie novella that continues the story of Darlene Bobich, who had her start in the Daily Bites of Flesh 2011 anthology (Pill Hill Press) in the flash fiction piece "Anything But Lucky" and then in the bonus story "Rear Guard" in the "Highway To Hell" extreme zombie novella release from Rymfire eBooks... "Dying Days" follows Darlene as she gets into Florida, looking for warmer climes and less zombies...

How did you get started as a writer?  

I was always a reader, and always loved horror... I wrote horrible horror stories that made no sense as a kid, but I kept at it... by high school I was dabbling but afraid to send it out and get rejected... in my mid-twenties I had a couple of short story sales, but didn't keep up the momentum... in my mid-thirties I dabbled again but got more into the publishing end of it... finally, about four years ago I got serious and started 'honing my craft' with tons of stories (most of them crap) until I hit a groove recently, and about 60% of my stories are seeing the light of day...

In your story, Obsessed with a Song, in the Masters of Horror: Damned If You Don’t anthology, you did a brilliant job giving readers a taste of psychological horror.  Do you prefer writing psychological horror over gore?

 I prefer horror, I guess... I think there are so many interesting ways to tell the same story... I tend to shun away from tons of sex and gore in my stories of horror, but in my zombie writing it's extremely sexual and bloody... no idea why... that story immediately came to me when I read the prompt for the anthology, it was one of those 'easy' stories that just flows.

What’s a typical day like for you?

 I'd love to say 'write all day' but I have a job (store manager for Dollar General) and I have kids and a fiancĂ© and bills to pay... but I usually find at least an hour a day to write, and some days it's just enough time to get a good chunk of story done... I tend to write two or three stories at the same time (it's how I read books as well) without mixing them up.

What do you like most about reading and writing?

The escape they both offer... when I'm inside a great book or writing a new story a bomb could go off in the living room and I won't hear it... it gets my fiancé mad at times because she'll ask me questions and I'll ignore her.

Which author influenced you the most?

Dean Koontz and Robert E. Howard were the two that I read constantly... they were the two authors that got me into writing and wanting to write... later, authors like Brian Keene, Scott Nicholson, John Everson, Gord Rollo... writers like that showed me that you could have your own unique voice...

Tell us 3 interesting things about you.

Hmm... I'm from New Jersey but I'm a diehard Red Sox fan, stuck in the 80's with Heavy Metal music, afraid of dogs, and even though I look like a biker I can barely ride a bicycle...

Would you say you write specifically for the horror genre and if not, what’s your favorite genre to write?

I definitely write horror, even when I don't want to, haha... my work tends to be dark and people tend to die... I am dabbling in some erotic horror/paranormal right now, but the horror writing is my comfort zone.

Best and worst part of being a writer?

Best part is all of the friends you meet, and the big authors that you can meet at a convention and grab a beer with... and selling books and have people commenting on your work is great as well... the bad part is the solitary existence you spend when you're writing and how difficult it is for me sometimes to manage my time when I'm 'in the zone' and don't want to eat, sleep or deal with my family because I need to kill someone or a zombie horde is attacking, haha...

Advice to writers?

Write, write, write... don't ever stop... finish that book and then start the next one, and then the next... and get yourself out there, meet new people, be strong about bad reviews and not too excited over good ones, and then sit down and write some more...

Interesting story about writing.

About five years ago I was asked to do a book signing in Tampa with some other authors, so I did... it turned out that Jeff Strand was there, right across from me, but I was too awestruck to talk to him... later, at someone's house, we all met and chatted and I finally got to talk to him... he was hysterical and so was his wife...

To purchase his books feel free to visit Rymfireebooks here 

Thanks Armand for visiting Knight Chills. We look forward to reading your books. 

© Copyright Armand Rosamilia 2011. All rights reserved. 
Armand Rosamilia has granted Knight Chills non-exclusive rights to display this work.
© Copyright Nomar Knight 2011. All rights reserved. 
A Knight Chills author interview.