Biography of Robert McCallum
Robert Liam McCallum is a poet and Gothic fiction writer who currently lives in Western Montana where he says that the mountains and open expanses are more conducive to inspiration.
Raised in Wheatridge, Colorado, Robert attended the University of Colorado and has since lived and travelled in the UK. He has been writing and stockpiling for many years, but has just recently decided to publish.
Robert writes poetry, novels, novellas, novelettes and short stories that are set in various times and places in history. His most successful work is Hawthorne Cottage, a Victorian ghost story / murder mystery set in England in 1849.
Robert McCallum's Works:
Hawthorne Cottage / Horror / Ghost Story
The Black Bird / Horror / Ghost Story
The Stir of a Thousand Voices / Horror / Ghost Story
The Continuous Turn / Horror Anthology
From Ashes to Ashes / Horror / Ghost Story
Reunion Day / Horror
Amarantha / Horror / Ghost Story
Trudging / Poetry
A Mirage of Many Things / Poetry
Always Dreaming / Poetry
Robert McCallum Poems
The most abominable aspect of war is its necessity. To where are you marching, soldier,
The White Cliffs
He stood high upon the white cliffs Gazing out to sea, And as he watched its ebb and flow There upon he wished to be;
I’ve heard the music of the piper From where the faeries roam, For it carries thro’ the woodlands That stand behind my home.
Vaporous forms adrift through cold dark rooms Are remnants of passing that in this life looms, And I’ve felt the touch that this dread embraces While wandering about in haunted places.
Toward The Imaginary
Nary dare I tend to touch upon The tangible ordinary, For I prefer the delightful pull Toward the imaginary.
The Black Bird
O’ the black bird this final twilight brings, He comes this night upon stealthy wings And thus to this I am fraught with dread, For darkness knells; O’ whither shall I tread?
I’ve heard the music of the piper
From where the faeries roam,
For it carries thro’ the woodlands
That stand behind my home.
So when the moon alights my casement,
After all the corn is sheaved,
Then adrift at night he takes me
To where mystical dreams are weaved.