Books by Iona Costello

My search for my lover lead me on a roam. The eyes meet, the match met, the ignite kept. A tiny flame of 'why,' all the same. The aim, the goal kept us on a roll until we were working at a lob. Íth became a job searching for his claim to fame. I was the same. In essence Íth was Job, passing the ethics game, becoming a metal worker, working with a burning forge, bellows fanning the flames, a silver smithy all his own.

Vocare is to invoke and to beckon. I am beckoning here: I write for my life, finding words have been taken to strife, when the real root was a butter knife to wipe fresh clotted cream upon a bun from the bakery down the lane when the dairymaid came to stay. The story here is of a man who I found on a desert sand along a cove, looking tan. He had come to man, looking all grand and he did land..... ....somewhere else in a far off cove. He missed the X spot I had drawn in the sand as an S.O.S plan. Oops.... I traveled across his hand, a mountain terrain band of crevices and ravines, caves and pits it seems to find out why..... .....he missed the spot. Was a word taken wrong? I travelled with a dog, a cat, two parakeets and a cantankerous daughter keeping me on land.

Here are the tweets and some meats. The tweets took me to a fleet and a new program. It is short and sweet; to the point for the end of a joint. It is my counterpoint, my notes on how and why I row. It is really for the slow realization that I have been screwed most of my life and I am done. Being blonde, being a frond, sitting in someone's palm. I've taken the reins. A horse can take the bit in its mouth between his teeth. It's called, "grabbing the bit." He has control and can take his rider anywhere he wills it, perhaps for a lesson or two in reality.

Iocare came with a stare. "Are you my fair?" Once I stated I couldn't go back. I tend to lack, reverse. Am I cursed or just perverse? For a verse I was asked by George to get to "C," and this is Key. This is what he would do to me, then he'd asked me to get to D and E: Our relentless Nordic curse, to gather the diverse and to traverse the adverse. How I did that was up to me. He had a mind, you see, that would surprise me. Now, there is a whole alphabet on this sleigh. It is for the Hay and all the sun-drenched spray. The Ocean is crashing all around me as I walk down this cat walk of a dock. A very narrow line straddling the Rhine and the beech grass so fine for a bloodline.