Friday, 28 November 2014
by S.J Warner
Forced to flee from her past Serena finds herself struggling to survive in the seedy world of strippers, never imagining she could be found. After changing her identity to hide from those who had massacred her family, her life is far from easy. Just as she begins to feel safe her past catches up with her, a past that remembers her all to well. One fateful night she finds herself rescued and befriended by Luca, an elegant man that she doesn't recognise as the threat he could be. Over the years Luca's adoration of her memory had kept him sustained as he sought to find the young girl he had fallen in love with. Upon finding her, he finds himself determined to protect her from the dark forces that seek her demise. What Serena is yet to learn as she finds herself falling in love with Luca is he is in the employ of the very man who needs her silenced. With warped and twisted enforcers actively hunting them Luca tries to sideline those that hunt her with false information not realising just how close the danger really is. The two lovers soon find they are snared at every turn. Can they move beyond their pained pasts and the danger of the present to buy themselves a future or will the sadistic enemy they face rip their lives apart?
S.J Warner is a poet and author currently residing in the glorious UK with her husband, three children and a houseful of pets that keep her busy when she’s not writing. Encouraged by others, S.J began her journey into the world of literature with a short story and has since continued onto self-publication via Amazon. After the difficult decision to close down her original blog, Warner took a short break from writing as part of a cleansing relaxation period. But it wasn’t too long until she returned to bestow her work upon the world once more. As of 2014, S.J Warner is the author of two poetry/prose anthologies; Poetica and From the Heart. Poetica is an anthology of twenty-eight of Warner’s possibly most sinfully erotic poems she has ever penned. Explore this sinfully, delicious collection of passionate prose and poems that will stir your appetite for the sensual and awaken a taste for the erotic and exotic. As one reader said, “Let S.J’s words transport you to a world of erotic sensuality so enthralling you will be unwilling to leave”. This collection contains adult themes throughout and therefore is NOT intended for minors. From the Heart is a collection of various pieces from Warner, exploring love, life and heartbreak with a hint of the mystical. In this collection of poetry and prose S.J takes a step away from the erotic and explores all different aspects of love, life and heartbreak as well as taking a trip into the mystical. Let her lead you through life and emotion with poetry that comes straight from her heart. While regular instalments of poetry, short stories and poetry challenges consume her blog, S.J is currently planning her next novel.
Dawn…In the Palace of Mirrors
(c) circa 2009-2011
James WF Roberts
Too busy, too busy looking behind
I fell thru the curtain of rushing, gushing
Almost fully grown girl—
Wednesday, 19 November 2014
True erotic short story that occurred last Monday night.
Random Encounters part 1
James WF Roberts
Thursday, 13 November 2014
These fifty short poetic preludes, sketches, form the beginning of a larger opus I have spent a very long time perfecting, called the Du Profundis, (from the depths). These preludes are introductions, the breath, the idea before the words, of this larger work. They encapsulate my current philosophical, artistic, spiritual and intellectual ideals. They began simply as ten preludes, ten short sketches to a very dear friend of mine recovering from surgery after a near fatal car accident, and they have developed into their own living breathing major work. There are two more parts to this creation, Many Truths to an Absurd Nature is the immediate follow up to this collection, with an entirely different tone and style. These fifty pieces also represent my work at its most accessible, memorable and picturesque.
Thursday, 6 November 2014
I will downstroke,
retire migrations as
my figure eights are no more;
gone south you could say.
Here there are no continents,
seasons have melted into one
and I have new beds to make Paula,
futures to construct,
childhoods to sow.
I’ve build this house for you,
attrition filters installed,
only white cars in the drive and
a room where ceremonies
dance all nights and days,
teaching sorrow the steps of laughter,
pain the rhythm of closure.
Healing is readily on tap,
bereavement fills every grate,
and safety, safety
blankets every bed
and ambush has run into retirement.
Love is hungry Kieran, not trodden
and on this farm you and I
will reap our past,
chew the cud
of missed opportunities,
swing and slide into
resurrected childhood parties
After all, it’s only a long wait.
One morning she saw no roads.
she stepped off the tram
on Nieuwe Binnenweg,
a yellow cirrhosis painted canvas
at last giving that notice
she had always craved.
There was a gnawing
at the heels of her trodden wish list,
that same torment from her
equally tortured childhood.
So she stroked
the undergrowth of her ego
and stepped through
I.V. lines, blow jobs,
fibrillation and innocence
that had been climbing for
14 tormenting years
and whispered to herself;
bury me up to my conscience
in a wood with no name,
leave the headstone unetched.
I gawked at the multitude of wrinkles
Ploughed into her face,
Aghast at each furrow’s contents,
Its depth and appropriateness;
Numbed by my ignorance
Of how and when they arrived,
I searched for the unwrinkled
Version of her, unsuccessfully,
So with Olympian courage
I dived into them,
On seeing them bottomless and full.
I swam with ease mid stream,
Introducing myself repeatedly
Through crescendos of laughter
To toothless babies and
Through pools of sadness
To grieving pities.
Woman, mother, lover, friend.
The largest room in our house
She held us all.
No Family Tree’ (2008).
On our first night
There’s no air between us
When your naked skin is so close
Your breast, my palm
My lips behind your ear
Our legs tangled like the roots of
I feel so small
Your touch could devour me
So I’d crawl inside the cracks in
Silk sheets entwine your form
Like a tissue wrapped around a
In the ink night
Your cold skin warms my soul
I want to know all about you
They tell stories
The nightmares of your past.
Holding mine, I put your worst fears
And bone weary
But how can I sleep now?
When the one girl I dream about
What’s in between
You and me; particles
Language doesn’t know it but we,
Could not have lived
If it weren’t for this night
Your exposed body, my canvas
On our first night
Will be our last because;
We can never have another
Sunday, 2 November 2014
Sturm und Drang
Storm and Stress
Storm and Urge
Storm and Drive… On this bended knee I pray to G-d.
On this bended knee I wonder how I have survived.
I pray to the Heavens that you will be okay.
I stare at my reflection
and I think I know why you went away.
In the shadow of the reflection,
I see an almost stranger’s face
looking right back at me. Hamlet’s father
rattling chains. The ivory keys, the ebony incidentals.
Perfect unison of man and machine. The music of the spheres,
tightened, stretched, plucked and struck by hammers. Repeatedly.
All of the sounds of nature, controlled by man.
Do I now draw fish and birds,
beasts and people in the sand, on the shore.
If I clap my hands will they all breathe like you and me.
Too many only feel the love of a man, from the touch
of his fist. Hands around the neck.
Too many children witness the true horrors of life.
Are silent victims.
To unspeakable crimes.
Sturm und Drang Sturm und Drang
Storm and Stress
Storm and Urge
Storm and Drive…
trading poems for sex.
and sex for salvation.
Death’s standing on the corner,
rolling a joint. Wearing clothes,
twenty years outta style.
Sitting at the bar, I see her walk in.
Kissing me half on the cheek,
half on the lips. Her breasts rub into me
chest. Fire burns within me.
I saw a woman clothed in the Sun,
a wise man’s head on a plate,
held in offertory for us all.
Knowledge and fear
rolling through the cosmos.
Osmosis takes hold once more.
Floating upon the vistas of space and time,
reality leaves me and sanity, so far behind.
Lost in the diamonds of your eyes,
that ancient poets once called the sky.
Finding truth in the touch of flesh
against flesh. Burning…burning..
Keeping time. Tortured memories
burning through me.
Your photographs condemn me
whispers of guilt, sorrow, regret,
loss and love and sex.
Living in someone else’s house,
sharing another man’s bed,
that I am not entitled to.
Showing a world that I can never have.
Salvation in your arms,
and revelation entwining us
together til the dawning light.
She told me of her dreams,
together, High Tea and cocktails,
in the Hotel Labyrinth.
Lost in the corridors of sorrow.
Minotaur lays down the gauntlet
drugs, sex and suicide. All my emotions on display.
This is how I feel—so this is my art…don’t like it,
coz you don’t understand it.
The ego and the Id,
little more than the simplification
of Maenads and Faeries,
dancing around the aether of existence.
Whispering little curses into our dreams.
Home Sweet Home (this is an excerpt only from my soon to be completed Erotic Horror Poery Collection, City Noir). James WF Roberts
A bisexual male ex cop turned gumshoe is on the hunt for a missing teenage girl. Drugs, bisexuality, vampirism, graphic sexuality and violence in a book all in poetics. Our Hero returns home from hospital and his first day on the job, after his first accidental encounter with a vampiric serial killer.
James WF Roberts
Submission~ Elaine Wood