About Me
Guy Brooke grew up fascinated with the lyrical words of songs. How could he, too, manipulate
such emotions? After years of writing close to one hundred songs, producing two self-published music albums, crafting and directing three original musical plays and conducting five guitar concerts through San Juan College (an institute Guy was teaching guitar for in Farmington, New Mexico), it proved easy for him to cross over into colorful rhyming stories for children and full blown fantasy novels for the young adults.
Guy loves life, loves the young and loves to write. Residing in the Pacific Northwest with his wife Barbara, Guy wishes to continue manipulating words until carpal tunnel takes its toll : )
Guy loves life, loves the young and loves to write. Residing in the Pacific Northwest with his wife Barbara, Guy wishes to continue manipulating words until carpal tunnel takes its toll : )
- The poem that started it all -
When I was eighteen I walked along this Colorado mountain lake at night. The air was warm, the moon was full, its light shimmered across the still waters. Images flooded my mind as words tried to express the cavalcade of emotions. A story emerged and I have been haunted by its ode ever since. Keeping close to its original draft, it is my sentiment to galvanize this poem in honor of its inspiration. On the other side of the ode you’re about to enter Mystical Mountain Magic's two part novel, crafted for young adult readers in search of exploring a new world of fantasy, allegorical creatures and the ever elusive fountain of youth. So come on in and meet the family—warts and all—there's lots of room!
Way up on Misty Mountain, where moose migrate to mate
Mists of vapor moisture gather, at its misty mountain lake
And through these mists, on Misty Mountain
a great white eagle soars
As the twinkle of moonlight magic, shimmers lightly by her shore
Now legends mention the moods of this mountain
and where this great white eagle came
And how she may cause her mountain to moan or play music
for Mariah is her name
Mariah, once a young and beautiful maiden, was also very shy
She was loved by all, but only love she could give
was to that misty mountain sky
She had longed dreamed of being Queen
and to rule her secret throne
To either be a part of this mountain or die
for she was to seek its secrets alone
As the next morning was whispering its song
Mariah climbed this mountain, with a feeling that something was wrong
She climbed past its high valley, in search of an answer
then mists stormed in from nowhere, and the mountain began to stir
Up from its marrow the mountain's voice cried,
in hot molten tears that have long since dried
Mariah laughed with magic as she sang with the mountain
then she became this white mighty eagle
as she was bathed in this marrow’s fountain
Still today few men will say, that in the distance at the edge of night
Mists will ever guard this mountain, and Mariah's magic coat of white
Mists of vapor moisture gather, at its misty mountain lake
And through these mists, on Misty Mountain
a great white eagle soars
As the twinkle of moonlight magic, shimmers lightly by her shore
Now legends mention the moods of this mountain
and where this great white eagle came
And how she may cause her mountain to moan or play music
for Mariah is her name
Mariah, once a young and beautiful maiden, was also very shy
She was loved by all, but only love she could give
was to that misty mountain sky
She had longed dreamed of being Queen
and to rule her secret throne
To either be a part of this mountain or die
for she was to seek its secrets alone
As the next morning was whispering its song
Mariah climbed this mountain, with a feeling that something was wrong
She climbed past its high valley, in search of an answer
then mists stormed in from nowhere, and the mountain began to stir
Up from its marrow the mountain's voice cried,
in hot molten tears that have long since dried
Mariah laughed with magic as she sang with the mountain
then she became this white mighty eagle
as she was bathed in this marrow’s fountain
Still today few men will say, that in the distance at the edge of night
Mists will ever guard this mountain, and Mariah's magic coat of white