I am a writer! Click the posts to find out about my writing and to read some of my stories and poems.
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Spit Or Swallow?
Either way I’m in your mouth and it’s digestion or spitting out…
Ouroboros – Poem
It’s a different view from the moon, distant, lonely, as out I zoom, but I needed the perspective to see the truth…
Hello, Snake – Poem
Hello, snake, it’s um, nice to…well is it?
The Closet Education – Poem
You tried the cane and naughty step, the corner and the shame, but tough my constitution, so came the closet education…
Shoulders – Poem
Your shoulders must be sore, all that weight. Your shoulders must be raw, all that weight…
The Cluedo Club Killings – Play
Student-sleuth, Esther Jones, is at it again. This time she’s moved to London and, oh, she’s queer.
The Ascent – Poem
He is walking through the depths of a crimson cave, he is taking all the steps, each one with pain is made…
The Descent – Poem
Come with me into the cave and we’ll descend into the depths.
The Castle – A Story
This is your castle. Layers and layers of stone slabs hewn from bleeding mountainsides and cut to fit the grooves. Oak trees, felled and chopped, keep up the rooftops on which the towers stand, staring at the sun. Inside, monarchy reigns. Queen Esmerelda, and your wife, Queen Titania. Fierce, warriors, plutocrats and politicians, what awesome…
Grieving For Queertopia – Poem
Have you been, I wonder if you have, it’s like no place I’ve ever seen. There, the mimosas are bottomless, the faces are many, the shamed, defamed, lily-livered and craven, the fags, the queers, we’re all here and the table is just laden with every fruit you could indulge on as you divulge on only…
Stone By Stone – Short Story
War was hard won. Years of sword, cudgel, adze, tar and flame had etched themselves without remorse onto our lives and deaths. Yet we were always many and they were less and without us who would grow the wheat, who would tend the livestock, who would build the realm? At that final battle we amassed….
The Old Men And The Sea – Short Story
He stood there on the marram grass, a rough carpet at his feet, and held the sword aloft. He was a proud man, our hero, for he was strong and he had vanquished the tyrant. The blood still marred his blade but it was evidence of his triumph. A clouded grey sky tried to part…
