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BTS Books offers writers resources to the literary community, and produces BTS Annual Magazine, where seasoned and emerging wirters and artists may have their work appear together. Between These Shores' BTS Books strives to support and promote the best works of new writers, while offering calls for submission & general information to the literary community. BTS is an exclusive independent publish

ing company, specializing but not limited to women's poetry, short story collections, anthologies, art, history and archaeology.

05/03/2025

Did you know that there is a library in Portugal where bats are used to protect the books? Bats eat insects that might damage old books. 📚🦇

At the heart of the University of Coimbra, one of the oldest educational institutions in Europe, is the Joanina Library, a veritable treasure trove of knowledge and baroque architecture. This unique library is not only an impressive place with its sumptuous design, but also with an unusual method of protecting the books: a colony of bats has been living inside the library for over two centuries!

At night, the bats emerge from the massive carved wooden shelves and begin to fly among the old books, feeding on insects that might damage the fragile pages of the historic volumes. These little book guardians play an essential role in preserving valuable collections by naturally eliminating pests without the use of chemicals that could harm sensitive materials.

To protect the library's wooden furniture and surfaces from bat droppings, staff cover the reading tables with special leather at the end of each day. In the morning, the library is carefully cleaned and life goes on in this sanctuary of learning.

The Joanina Library houses approximately 60,000 volumes, including rare manuscripts, books from the 17th-18th centuries and works of inestimable value. Thanks to bats, these literary treasures are preserved in excellent condition, and this unusual collaboration between man and nature continues to fascinate visitors from around the world.

So...if you ever get to Coimbra, don't miss the chance to see this unique library with your own eyes, where history, architecture and nature work together !

29/01/2025

"When You Are Old"

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

~W.B. Yeats

Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989) https://amzn.to/3PLUtMW [ad]

24/01/2025

In English, we say: “I miss you.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I trace the shape of your absence in the spaces where your laughter used to linger,
and let the echoes of you fill the hollow hours.”

In English, we say: “I don’t know how to let go.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I carry you in my chest like a stone—
heavy, unyielding, and carved with the sharp edges of what once was.”

In English, we say: “I feel lost.”
But in poetry, we say:
“The compass of my heart spins wildly now,
its needle drawn to places it can no longer call home.”

In English, we say: “I wish it were different.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I water the garden of could-have-beens with tears, waiting for flowers that refuse to bloom.”

In English, we say: “I hope you’re happy.”
But in poetry, we say:
“May the sun that warms your days
be as kind to you as the first kiss of dew on the dawning light upon the leaves of the laurel that we once made love under”

In English, we say: “You hurt me.”
But in poetry, we say:
“You planted thorns in my chest with hands I once trusted, and now every breath feels like an apology I shouldn’t owe.”

In English, we say: “I wanted to stay.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I lingered at the edge of your world,
a star burning quietly, unnoticed in your vast, indifferent sky.”

In English, we say: “I’m trying to move on.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I untangle your name from my veins each morning, only to find it woven into my dreams again at night.”

In English, we say: “I’ll be okay.”
But in poetry, we say:
“I gather the shattered pieces of myself like broken glass, knowing someday, even scars can catch the light.”

With poetry I write paths through gardens of grace with words in ways my body dare not go as a whole.

Written by : Larson Langston.

11/01/2025

The Poet Tree by Shel Silverstein

10/01/2025

Not exactly a Haunted Liverpool tale, but a very gothic person in the story by Tom passes through our maritime city in the story...

One blazing hot day in July 1815, a sailing ship named Lothair arrived at Liverpool Docks from North America. Among the gaggle of passengers who disembarked from the trans-Atlantic vessel were a rich Scottish merchant named John Allan, his wife Frances, her younger sister Nancy, and the couple's sickly-looking 6-year-old foster-son Edgar. At Liverpool, the Allans met Thomas MacKenzie - a cousin of William Mackenzie, the Scottish railway engineer forever associated with Rodney Street. Thomas MacKenzie found two trustworthy and hardworking Liverpool maidservants - Isabel Cook and Joan Slaidburn - to accompany the Allan family to Irvine in Scotland. Isabel's 7-year-old sister Mary went to Scotland as well, and became a playmate for little Edgar, the Allans adopted son.
Just a week before Christmas, little Mary decided she would go out in the nearby woods one snowy afternoon to collect holly and ivy to decorate the Allans' home. Young Edgar accompanied the Liverpool girl, and somehow managed to slip out of the cottage unnoticed. The two children collected holly, ivy and pinecones, and placed them in Mary's basket, but during their stroll in the Scottish countryside, a strange incident occurred. A trail of arrows was mysteriously drawn in the snow on the ground, before the children's astonished eyes. Mary and Edgar followed the etched arrows, and at one point, Mary wrote 'Who are you?' in the snow with the tip of her umbrella - and the invisible doodler crossed out the question with three lines.
The arrows continued to appear, one after the other, and so the children followed them out of curiosity - until Edgar realised he and Mary had been lured onto the thin ice of a frozen lake. As the ice creaked, ready to give way, Edgar seized Mary by the arm and dragged her to safety. The children then heard the voice of an old woman cursing them, but they could see no one, so they ran home and told the adults what had happened. When Mary's 17-year-old sister Isabel went to investigate the arrows, she saw that they really did exist, and when she tracked them to the lake, she recoiled in horror. Barely visible under the thin icy layer of the lake, was the face of a child, and the sight of it sent the servant running for help. Police later discovered that the unfortunate child under the ice was 6-year-old Carol McClean, a farmer's daughter who had gone missing days before. John Allan opined that the arrows had been drawn in the snow by the evil spirit of a witch known as Old Nelly, who had been drowned in the lake by the local villagers a hundred years ago. A total of nine children had drowned in the lake since, most probably lured to their deaths by Old Nelly's evil sorcery. Mary Cook and Edgar Allan were therefore warned to stay well away from that lake. Incidentally, Edgar Allan later grew up to become Edgar Allan Poe, the most famous horror-story writer of all time.

© Tom Slemen 2025

22/12/2024

There are times where we long for something ineffable to transport us out of ourselves.

On this quiet Sunday morning, morning, let’s consider this poem by Siegfried Sassoon (September 8, 1886 – September 1, 1967). Known primarily as an English war poet, writer, and soldier he was decorated for bravery on the Western Front and became one of the leading poets of the First World War.

Before Day

Come in this hour to set my spirit free
When earth is no more mine though night goes out,
And stretching forth these arms I cannot be
Lord of winged sunrise and dim Arcady:
When fieldward boys far off with clack and shout
From orchards scare the birds in sudden rout,
Come, ere my heart grows cold and full of doubt,
In the still summer dawns that waken me.

When the first lark goes up to look for day
And morning glimmers out of dreams, come then
Out of the songless valleys, over grey
Wide misty lands to bring me on my way:
For I am lone, a dweller among men
Hungered for what my heart shall never say
--Siegfried Sassoon

[from The Old Huntsman And Other Poems, E.P. Dutton & Company (1920)]
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‘Between These Shores' (BTS Books) strives to support and promote the best works of new writers, while offering calls for submission & general information to the literary community. BTS is an exclusive independent publishing company, specializing but not limited to women's poetry, short story collections, anthologies, art, history and archaeology. ‘Between These Shores Literary & Arts’ Annual’ accepts submissions from 1, February to 31, August from both established and emerging writers of poetry, short stories and creative non-fiction. We also accept art of all styles and media, photography and suggestions for reviews and feature articles. To Submit or to Contact us, write to [email protected] with BTSA ANNUAL in the subject bar. We look forward to hearing your ideas and to reading your work.