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Monday, May 23, 2011


My guest today is someone I met innocently enough on Face Book. I am Nigerian with a healthy respect for the internet because being elderly it is bewildering to me. I wanted to learn and stepped out into the world wide web and ‘met’ Nomar Knight. Poet, blogger, novelist and essayist.
Nomar Knigh

He likes poetry , fair enough I said, I love poetry not strictly the traditional format I had learned in my youth so many moons ago but the freedom to express my thoughts in the most succinct way or ramble and take flight if I felt like it. Nomar seemed therefore my cup of tea until I learned about Knight Chills and his penchant for horror, I was intrigued and wanted to know more. I learned that Nomar talked about the horror of the lives we lead, the horror of forbidden desires and loves, the horror of a gossamer- thin humanity. The horror of sliding into depravity and accepting shaky definitions in a world that was losing its voice and its innocence. Nomar is horrified trying to make sense of a world that could be horrifying. I finally understood and have admired his innate sensitivity, his silent longing that we may find Truth. Truth heals, but its severity can be horrifying for like the scalpel of the surgeon it must be sharp and incisive to reveal the new skin and remove the dead skin. Please enjoy a very interesting time with Nomar Knight on Center Stage.

1. Please tell us a bit about you and your genre of writing.
I was born and raised in New York City’s Lower East Side and a resident of the projects. I come from a humble background and was often surrounded by violence or death. Growing up in the mean streets of New York I developed a keen eye for observing and identifying bad guys. As a result, my favorite genres to write in are horror, and suspense thrillers, though I dabble in the supernatural fiction world as well. I write mostly short stories, novellas, and poetry and I’m currently working on a novel titled DARKNESS ROAMS. I currently reside in the beautiful island of Puerto Rico.

2. You have a blog that you call Knight Chills, seemingly dedicated to horror poems, why?
I’m a restless adult who enjoys thrillers of all kinds and I feel that poetry paints a lovely picture with words which elicit emotion. Real life horror events have impacted my life since I was six years old so I guess dark poetry or horror poems are a way for me to cope with unpleasant events. Or it could be that I’m drawn to the darker side of life. Although in fairness to my blog, Knight Chills, I’ve written about forbidden love, lost love, deep love, suicide, paranormal events, and a host of other topics including writing tips that may be applied to other genres.
3. What have been the major influences in your writing?
It started with my love for Edgar Allan Poe’s gifted prose and his morbid way of describing horrible events. Also, his poetic prowess dazzled me. Your command of poetry mesmerizes me as well. When I was a kid, I didn’t speak much with words. My fists did most of my talking. In 7th grade, Sister Brigid taught me how to control my anger… the inner turmoil that boiled inside me. Since then, just about every writer has impacted my writing in some way, in particular; the master himself, Dean Koontz.
4. Poets, authors, and artists disclose a bit of themselves in their writing, you strike me as someone warm and sensitive, so why did you choose horror?
I don’t believe I chose the genre. I think it chose me. One day I was reading the writing contests on a wonderful website called writing.com and I wanted to see if I had it in me to write horror. It was there another horror writer encouraged me to continue in the genre. As far as I can see, every day is history in the making for though one of my stories is included in an anthology, Masters of Horror: Damned If You Don’t, I’m not satisfied because I believe I’m just getting started.
5. It is said that our readers can be affected by what we write just as we are bound by what we write too, how do you feel about that and the possible effect of your writing on your readers?
I find that I’ve been writing poems with a political edge. Through poetry I sort of rant or gripe about what I feel is wrong in society. So in that regard, I hope my words can be one voice that stands out among many to inspire people to change things if they don’t like how they’re living or what they’re forced to deal with on a daily basis. On the flip side, when I write about horrible events, my intentions aren’t for anyone to seek vengeance or go on a killing spree, but instead to reflect on why things are bad and what they can do to change things. I hope the individual understands that in order to change the world, he must first start by changing himself and how he views the world.
6. Horror sometimes derives from ignorance and a lack of knowledge, breeding fear. Can you share any experience that has ever horrified you?
When I was six I witnessed a man get shot in cold blood. At first I was intrigued by the violence, and how the wounded man reached up toward me, for his eyes connected with mine. But then the horror of the moment sunk in when the man with the gun looked up at my window and spotted me. I ducked for cover, praying he wouldn’t shoot at me. He didn’t. Nevertheless, I saw the victim’s eyes lose their luster. I wrote about this scene in a story on writing.com called, EYES OF THE DEAD.
7. Let’s move into something a bit more spiritual, hell is assumed to be really horrific. As a poet, do you think there is really hell or heaven?
I know there is. I’ve had spiritual experiences in the past. I’ve spoken to dead people in dreams. They come to me if they feel I’m the one best suited to help them ease someone else’s suffering from their absence. On a few occasions, the dream world bridged with reality. For example, my grandmother, after she died, asked me in a dream to ease her daughter’s suffering, (my aunt), yet I told her to show her she was alright. That morning I woke to a phone call from my aunt, crying, saying she dreamt about her mother and that it was my idea to show her she was okay. Perhaps she was given a glimpse of heaven. Spooky stuff, I know.
8. Definitions are really relative, please give a definition in broad terms on what you see or feel as horror.
Horror is more than a genre. It is when the world of possibility overtakes the realm of probability, making the reader realize that what the author is proposing can indeed happen to either the reader or someone close to her. Terror knows no boundaries and therefore, what truly terrifies an individual serves to awaken a part of us we wish remained hidden. It is the author’s job to bring fear to the surface in the hope that the reader will enjoy the ride.

9. Your poem was part of an anthology, are you planning on publishing a collection soon?

Actually, it was one of my most terrifying short stories that made the anthology. The story titled, SINS OF THE FLESH, exposes several horrible addictions. It plays on my favorite type of horror—psychological horror. As far as publishing a collection of poems, I am slowly working on something called THE BOOK OF TORTURED SOULS. I’m afraid it’s something I haven’t focused on recently because I have an incredibly short attention span. Perhaps I’ll get it done in another year or two.

10. Prose authors today have a seeming edge over published poets, yet poetry is described as an expression of the soul in picture words, what do you think can be the reason for the decline in the popularity of poets?
Perhaps poets are still viewed as temperamental, creative dinosaurs. I believe that in the U.S. there is a movement to make poetry popular again, but it is difficult to get the younger generations to write poetry. If I’m lucky, I’ll make ten dollars for a poem while my favorite writer, Dean Koontz writes a novel and gets paid around 45 million dollars a book. Unless I use my poetic skills for song writing, I’ll never be able to earn a living as a poet, but do you know what? I don’t care! I love poetry and will always take time out and write. I guess I’m a purist.
11. Paint us a picture of your average day as a poet and blogger.
Sometimes I will come across a phrase that would make a splendid title for a poem. One most recent title was Sacred Simplicity. I heard that beautiful phrase in a song titled, Eric’s Song. Anyway, the song was about forbidden love, one of my favorite poetry topics. So when I sat to write, I thought it would be about love, but instead, politics took over and the poem turned into a rant. I posted it on Knight Chills. Any articles I write usually have something to do with whatever I’m researching or interested in at the time. I especially like to react to other writer’s quotes, songs or poems.
12. In earlier times poetry was part of a recommended text for secondary school. Would a modern poet make the recommended list?
I truly hope so. There are so many talented poets still living. It would be awfully closed minded not to explore the current talent pool from around the globe. I believe language teachers should introduce students to both the classics and modern poetry. I know in my classes, I always try to have my students read at least a few new poets. I consider it a crime not to share such great talent with the world, that’s why I enjoy featuring other poets on Knight Chills. It doesn’t matter to me if the poem is dark or not. It should be well written and invoke some sort of emotion in my readers.

13. Please give advice to anyone who wishes to be a poet and particularly a poet of the horror genre. Thank you for coming on Center Stage
My advice to all writers: WRITE WHAT’S INSIDE YOU. Don’t worry if what comes out is full of pain and misery. Don’t feel ashamed that your words bleed terror on the page. What’s important is that you share your work with the world. It amazes me when readers get something positive out of my work, or perhaps my words elicit emotions that may eventually lead to their healing of something they had kept locked inside them. Write poetry because it wants to come out. Don’t think about the financial aspects to writing. Just write and of course, read as many poets and books as possible. We learn from everything, our experiences, our choices, and those around us. Use life to express your thoughts through words and you’ll be amazed how a quiet personality may grow a voice that may be heard around the world.
Thank you so much Biola. It has been a pleasure being here on Center Stage. You are a most gracious host.
For anyone wishing to sample my work, either short stories or poetry, please visit my blog, at www.knightchills.blogspot.com
You can read my horror poetry at http://www.snmhorrormag.com/snmdarkpoetrysep.htm
You may purchase the Masters of Horror: Damned If You Don’t Anthology at

Friday, May 20, 2011


Ife was beginning to ask questions, and her mother was impatient wondering why all the sudden questions. Ife would sit for long moments staring at nothing. She became quite friendly with her maternal uncle Sasaenia. His name struck her at first for it was not a common name, it meant ‘a rare person’. Yeye Agba said they had to give him that name as the priests had warned that they should treat him special even while she was pregnant. His father had been a feared and powerful medicine man but Uncle Sasa had simply refused to learn to be a herbalist nor medicine man nor learn anything else. He would roam the farm alone and would come home with animals he had killed. He intrigued Ife, she would sit with him some nights, ask him why grandmother tended to treat him like he was still a young boy. He gave her a smile and said it was because he was so sickly and was always have fainting spells. Ife was surprised, “Really Uncle, honest fainting spells or you were faking it to get out of going to the farm?” That made him laugh saying he could not very well remember as that was about sixty years or more ago he defended himself. There was a twinkle in his eyes and Ife suspected he would have faked some of those fainting spells.

Uncle Sasa as everyone tended to call him was what you might call a medicine man. He had an easy going nature to him and was always getting caught by the village security. He never could tell that it was time to go home he would say. Most nights the hunters’ gong will catch him hurrying home to beat the deadline. Sometime he would be caught and forced to ‘hawk’ bean cake at night.

Those nights Yeye Agba would rail at him as everyone heard him moving from street to street hawking bean cakes at midnight. Of course no one dared come out and the younger children will simply giggle. Mama will sigh and toss but Ife would listen to know how many minutes it took Uncle Sasa to come into their street. The next morning he would be tired sleeping from the stress, but he would be caught again a day or two later.

One such morning she tip toed into his room and asked him why he would not simply join in the watch and be done with hawking. He had smiled and said he had other functions he did for the village. Ife was puzzled and he smiled that he made the medicine that ensured protection from the witches who would be about at the same time too. Ife stared at him, “You mean real witches flying about Uncle Sasa?”
“Well you wouldn’t really see them with your normal eyes you know but they are around and sometimes are mean” he said.
“Really. Cool Uncle Sasa, tell me how do you know a person is a witch?”
“Well they look like one you know?”
“How does a witch look?”
“Hmm.. you know I never really gave that some thought because ..come to think of it they look normal, I guess you just know, I mean I just know when a witch passes by.”
“Exactly, sometimes they have bad colours right?” Ife was excited that there was somebody who just knew things like her. She felt she was not strange after all. Of course it was a normal thing to see strange people and know immediately they were bad or good she told her uncle about the colours. He said he never saw any colour but listened in amazement as Ife explained about the Misty ones, what they looked like and how they were of different sizes and shapes.
“You know Uncle Sasa, they are always with us and then there is the same copy as you that outlines you sometimes up in your head, just a copy of you only it looks better sometimes than you on the ground”
“You mean my shadow? Everyone has a shadow Ife.”

“Yes I know of shadows that is the earth copy of you, Uncle, but I am talking about the one that is the real you up in white shadow just off your shoulder level, I call it misty because they look sometimes like the misty ones only misty ones are sometimes shot through with light” Ife was impatient. Her uncle shook his head and sighed saying maybe his sight was bad but he really could only identify the simple shadow. Ife sighed suddenly feeling alone again. For a few seconds she had felt relieved that she was not odd. She had learnt to keep her counsel. Her father had watched her keenly for a few weeks but nothing else had happened. Ife knew she was under watch too by her mother. She guessed her father had told her what happened in the city so she waited hoping her mother will talk to her but nothing had happened.

The prophet had been extra friendly asking her to come to church. Ife remembering what had happened the last time simply smiled and said she was busy with homework she had brought from school. He had laughed and said she was special and he would give her a special place in the church if she changed her mind.

Not frigging likely in your church, and be treated like some tourist attraction.

Ife had smiled and promised to come but managed to be too tired every Sunday morning. Her mother suspected she was avoiding coming to church and sighed. Ife knew she could make her mother happy if she attended church but she had the sneaking feeling that she was going to be used in a way that would make things look bad. She also didn’t feel she liked the idea of her mother’s church.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Lije of the Agons

The dust settled like a thick mantle over the cavalcade as it went
through the pass. Her cloak a shimmering green with flashes of gold billowed gently in the light breeze. Deep sea green eyes looked calmly at the horizon and hands lightly resting on the golden brown horse Princess Numen rode ahead of a long line of knights They were visiting a small tribal kingdom deep in the desert. She saw the first outlines in
the distance and turned to look at her vizier,”what is the name of this place?”
He gave her a bow and a smile and said in soft tones. “It is called, Agon your highness and the name of the leader is Lije.”
She stopped and looked round her surroundings. The settlement was lush
green and stark contrast to the surrounding. She was impressed. One of
the misty ones came over and smiled a greeting to her.
“Greetings Your highness”
“Love and peace to you”, she replied cheerfully.
The Vizier seeing her threads emanating around in gold strands knew
she was having a conversation so he moved a step behind, signalling
to the knights to move back a bit.
“So what is your own name?”
“I am Dawn Rose, I work with the dew Your Highness and we want to
escort you to Lije”
She smiled, “I see you like him, he is a good worker right”
“Yes Princess of the Rose Island , Lije is a good worker and he puts
his faith in the elements and gets their cooperation”.
Someone laughed and stepped out from the throng of the misty ones, his
wings were tipped blue green. His eyes were the exact shades of his
wings and they danced with mirth.
Princess saw this and saw his threads were really bright around him.
He exuded sheer merriment. Princess Numen recognized him
“Hmmm… I see you are here too Kajoe”
“Yes my Princess I am”
“Lije is lucky, hope he knows that”
Kajoe laughed, “he thinks I am the one who is lucky”
Princess laughed.
Her entourage moved protectively round her as they closed the short
entrance to the settlement and Princess sighed in pleasure as she saw
the streams, the flowers and the complete peace of the surrounding. It
made the journey worthwhile for her. A tall clear faced one came on a
brown gold horse and stopped inches from her face. He had clean
features, brown gold hair almost like his horse and very beautiful
hands. He sat effortlessly and gracefully on his horse. When the horse
stopped he swung long legs over and came down. He had confidence and
strength stamped all over him. Princess who had watched his entrance
was amused and kept quiet. She also pulled a veil over her
He stepped forward but did not bow. He just walked up.
“Welcome Princess, I am Lije”, he said and placed his hands on the mane of her
horse. His eyes laughed at his own impertinence just as Vizier rode up
and sharply rebuked him.
She got down, ignored him and her vizier and entered through the
entrance. The bells announcing the end of day started, in the distance she saw workers moving away from the fields and all moved towards the camp that seemed stretched out in long lines. She followed the direction of the women and entered the camp followed closely by her attendants.
A hive of activity seemed to be going on and Lije stepped forward, with a small
gleam of merriment dancing in his eyes asked if he could show her around . She smiled and he grinned then not waiting for her reply went ahead to open the door to his reception room. Princess was expecting to find lots of people but it was empty except for a young knight dressed in colours of purple and grey who stood stiffly at attention
by a throne. There were flowers in jade vases everywhere and a small jar of water was placed in the centre of the room. A young maid emerged silently from the inner room and went next to the throne where a small carafe stood placed on a low table made of cowries. The cowries gleamed brilliantly. It drew the attention of the princess for it
carried her insignia, six cowries in a semi circle with the seventh cowrie in the centre, and a waterfall over the cowries.

“Hmm.. nice welcome”, Princess commented. Everywhere was spruce and clean and that was no mean feat for people who lived out in the outer regions so she was impressed. Lije had managed to create a small canal of water that went round everywhere and had even rigged up connecting bridges using young samplings. Everybody she met simply bowed very low but were not effusive. Princess felt she was at home. She turned to Lije who had followed her round showing her things “Now tell me about how you managed to get water here in the desert and why you appealed for help. I can see that you are quite capable managing this oasis all on your own”.

Lije pointed to the young knight who had joined the entourage and his voice went serious as he supplicated that the Princess should permit the young knight to enter
her service. Princess considered the young one who stood stiffly at attention at the mention staring ahead. She saw his glowing threads and his misty friends as
well and she saw him through the journeys and sent up a silent prayer for guidance. Colours suddenly suffused her face, in bands of pink, blue and lilac. The young one suddenly trembled and princess gently touched his arm. She spoke softly to him asking him why he wanted to incarnate again on earth.
“You suffered the last time you were there and I see that you want to visit a race that still has a lot to learn about people like us Ndana”
He looked at her and she saw his heart, his longing to serve and joyous songs left her heart in response to him. She was pleased that he could touch her thoughts so quickly so she gave him permission. She was humble and bowed her head simply in acceptance. She looked deep into his eyes and smiled.

“Ndana, we all jointly serve Him and learn from his creation all that we can
for we would have to weave cleaner threads to ensure our ascent, I am
a simple priestess of the Rose and one day if I am favoured, may learn enough and serve through permission to walk the lowest regions of the islands of the Rose again”

She gave Lije a smile and turned towards the tents and the wide paths of flowers that had been tended, she inclined her head gracefully “Lije of the Agon, let me meet your people and see in what way we may serve them”

The walk round the settlement was interesting in many respects.
Princess was amused to learn that Lije kept himself amused with the habit of wandering off into the dunes and sit under the stars. He explained that he wanted to see if there was a particular star he could identify and make his own. Then there were his women. A
veritable harem Princess thought. She noticed one particular slim beautiful one who wore anger in bright red cloaks around her. Princess Numen was startled at that odd colour for it tainted the soft hues of pink that surrounded her like an under garment. She was puzzled by that colour because she remembered seeing it when she went to the lower regions. She had asked the woman her name and got a very terse
reply; “Jasmine”.

That was when I smiled, Jasmine, fragrant, exotic with the scent of long summer passions left to ferment in careless rejection. Jasmine and nodded to myself. I knew Lije had unfinished business with her, he also needed to learn some lessons too. I watched the twining threads and sent a prayer that I may sometime soon be permitted to help them.
When I returned to the palace it was to be informed that Her Highness the Queen was being expected. I had seen the bursts of light and the song of the waterfalls when we moved near. I had also seen the look on the face of vizier as he spoke to his horse that we needed to get home quickly. So I replied the songs that I will be home presently as my heart lifted in songs too. Happiness rode along too her golden bright hair flowing in the wind just like her mantle too. The Misty ones too seemed intent on a race all their own. As we neared home we saw the golden cloud of light over the palace. Queen was already in residence so I quickly moved to the back entrance. I walked quickly along the halls, each entrance was guarded by two guards with swords across the entrance but since we knew each other they moved away slightly lowering their swords in silent acknowledgement of permission to move along these hall as I made a quick way to the highest room in the palace. MayRose was already waiting and she gave me a smile nodding quietly in the direction of the lights. We sat peacefully waiting for her presence. In that quiet solitude I looked out the window and saw some humans arriving. They were mostly children. I saw some of the baby guardians walking up to meet each arriving child, wrapping them gently in loving arms and taking them to the nursery where they will need to sleep to heal from the trauma of their journey. I also remembered my own return from some really interesting trips as well.