Friday, 28 November 2014



Walking home from Cheerleading practice Stephanie never could have known what was coming next. Abducted and tortured at the hands of a sadistic man wanting revenge for the hazing of his only daughter, Stephanie fights to survive, hoping to make it out alive and in time for Prom, her heart being her only key to survival. Can she force herself to love someone so dark and twisted or will she become his prey?

New Release: Aphrodite's Fire by S.J Warner

New Release: Aphrodite's Fire
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.

"SONG OF THE THIRD WORLD BIRDS" by Lawrence Ferlinghetti


A cock cried out in my sleep
         somewhere in Middle America
                      to awake the Middle Mind
                                                          of America
And the cock cried out
               to awake me to see
                              a sea of birds
                                       flying over me
                                                   across America

And there were birds of every color
                 black birds & brown birds 
                      & yellow birds & red birds
                              from the lands of every
                                      liberation movement         

And all these birds circled the earth
        and flew over every great nation
                     and over fortress America
                                     with its great eagle
                                         and its thunderbolts

And all the birds cried out with one voice
      the voice of those who have no voice
      the voice of the invisibles of the world
  the voice of the dispossessed of the world
             the fellaheen peoples of earth
And which side are you on
                                                sang the birds
       Oh which side are you on
                         in the Third World War
                 the war against the Third World?

by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Dawn…In the Palace of Mirrors by James WF Roberts

Dawn…In the Palace of Mirrors 

(c) circa 2009-2011

James WF Roberts 

Drops of blood
On a China doll
Feel the beginning ebb—tide
Of a flood

Drops of salt on burnt
Scarred onion skin
In soft quiet platitudes
Dark, safe, quiet
All around circles squares
And diamonds;
Rolling in—out—in—out

Bright hot sun
Engulfs my mind, soul
Losing all self-control
Finding myself all alone
In a darkened wood,

I wandered along an uncertain path
Shadows whispering thru the
Falling autumn leaves

A hundred red pin pricks in the darkness
Following as I meander up that steep incline
A snarling, scornful cry came from behind…
It was getting closer, as I lead it thru the woods

Too busy, too busy looking behind
I fell thru the curtain of rushing, gushing
Waters; that colour and texture of aqua-milk

Landing miles from the top of the mountain
In the bottom of the sea, the pulse of a heartbeat
I was swimming on the top of waters deep…

Then like waking up bright from a rich deep sleep
I found my way to a wooden boat, on both ends
Serpent heads each holding a bright gleaming jewel
Within their blade like teeth; one jade, one ruby…

Fitting like a glove;
A castrated priest
Victim of his own sin
Monster to the innocents
The father, the ghost
And the tortured son
Tree of knowledge sacred spring
Fertile seed flung into the deepest
Depths of the mighty—mighty see

The foam—oh the foam
The froth of a latte
The head of a beer
Screaming at the lightning
Running from the rain

Repent! Repent!
The awakening is nigh—
So doth proclaimth
The seer;
Spread-eagled as she
Rose from upon that bed of nails
Full-figured and beholdn’t of all new life
From the sweet and tender cockle shell

Toasting us all now to the Dawn…

I sat on a soft silk cushion as
Dolphins pulled the boat
Like horses pulling a racing
Chariot; we shed thru water
Like a hot knife cutting deeply thru soft butter;

Every metre of our Journey we were
Followed by an ancient Owl
And three white and pure doves;
That never made a sound,

On a arriving on the shore,
I was welcomed by a Turtle
That was as big as any man’s land,
And allowed me to rest on its shell, for a time

Then I came upon such a splendour,
A castle, a palace of glittering, shining mirrors;
That sparkled like a diamond in the sun
For so soon Night was approaching;

I was soon clamouring down the smooth
And pale cave of Discovery;
Like the walls of a cave moving,
The Palace doors soon opened for me

Greeted, was I there, by Seven girls, dancing
Singing, playing harps, and flutes
Singing, playing harps, and flutes
And other wind and stringed instruments

They lead me to the feasting hall
Adorned with plants and birds, and butterflies
Fluttering now all around…

The Queen of the Castle,
Sat within a half-circled table
Above us all was the Sky Dome
Showing every facet of the heavens;
Underfoot was the Earth dome showing
Everyone—everything; who has,
Who is and who will ever live

The Queen of Dreams sat drinking
Her magic brew from a cup of gold;
She clicked her fingers and then came
Up the maidens; holding vessels
Of Bronze, Silver and Gold;

They took bites from the grapes
And the Peaches than they were past
To me and the Queen; the nectar
Of the Ancients was too much for me
To bear; so I quickly sank into a deep
Quiet, undisturbed sleep…

And in my dreams the Maidens
Sang, and in my head they danced away
The Horrors of the waking world;
Floating now upon a thick and milky cloud

Singing songs to soothe
The Darkness within all Men
Riding thru the Volcano of Awake
Intoxicated on the Vessel which holds all
Earthy, Sacred and Creative Desires;
Lying in the shroud of Earth and Soil and Plant

I slowly open my eyes; across my body
The only thing
I could feel was the fluttering wings
Of butterflies;
As I awoke the dome above of Fire, Orange and Red!
And she told the young flamed hair man;
The poet and the soon to be whatever becomes;

Repent! Repent!
The awakening is nigh—
So doth proclaimth

The seer;
Spread-eagled as she
Rose from upon that bed of nails
Full-figured and beholdn’t of all new life
From the sweet and tender cockle shell
Bring forth the moment,
Watch the unfolding man…

Skies loss too much
Now in the moonlight moon
The soft and shallow Earthen bed—

Dormant temper fertile mound
Forests indebted to the water and the nutrients
So tough, so sweet, so soft, so succulent

Twice the distance around the sky
Down right now to the kernel in its shell

Desire lust and passion—
Games we must all lose and play
Forever—losing to the moment;

With that mark of accountability;
We’re all hiding from today…

Darkness and love
All are gauged within her heart
Without her aspect
And all now must rejoice for desire
All reigns within her loins

The fire deep

Within the crusty shell
Of molten rock and Earth

Bubbling rising slowly

Boiling slowly
Now rising again and again!

Dreamscapes patterns;
Fluttering on Butterfly wings

Who’s there now?
Dream within a dream
Losing sight of what’s not quite right…

And now its gaining speed
Force and momentum
The creaking Earth splitting
Whilst the petulant child

The hot blooded fertile
Almost fully grown girl—
Blood’s risen up

And hotter, hotter the tempestuous torture
That we all now feel
Feel the pain, the passion, the shame…

Born from heaven
Yet her occupation
Nowadays thought to bring about hell
And so she rose each and every step
She took the barren sand

Became lush, and green and living—
Trees swelled up as her
 Sweat touched the soil
And on her breath the
Birds and the beasts and insects bore

The first of a many, many lineage
And the she turned and saw behind
In front, above and below…

And closed her eyes
And dreamed a dream of perfect creation
Of her and in her—all the poisonous creatures
Whom would doom this land…

But mother’s being mother’s decided
The human race should live anyway…

Singing songs to soothe
The Darkness within all Men
Riding thru the Volcanic awareness of first born shame
Intoxicated on the Vessel which holds all

Earthy, Sacred and Creative Desires;
Lying in the shroud of Earth and Soil and Plant

I slowly open my eyes; across my body
The only thing
I could feel was the fluttering wings
Of butterflies;

As I awoke the dome above of
Fire, Orange and Red!
And all desire was lost in me;

All hope was gone from the Queen of Sleep
Justice—the Demon with a spark of pain;

Her champions soon lost all in vain…

Wednesday, 19 November 2014

Random Encounters part 1 James WF Roberts

True erotic short story that occurred last Monday night.
Random Encounters part 1
James WF Roberts

Another lonely night and my thoughts are only of you, of her.  What do I call you now?
The tidal wave that had swallowed me up and left of me on the siren’s shore—that had thrown me to the all the devils and angels of life—what happens when the tidal wave recedes?  Met her at a bar. She kissed me shad pills on her tongue. I went wild.

Two MDMA pills, fucken awesome. She pulls out my dick in a dark area of the bar and then goes down on me. MDMA makes you very aggressive and very horny. She blew me and was playing with my balls and kissing them and running her tongue all of my shaft and my bag. In the dark I thought it was you again. No-one could see us in the darkness of the bar. I was on a high sold a few books did a good set on stage. Random strangers approached me and were fascinated by my words. My new words. Word they had never heard before. This was the first time in such a long time I was at this gig, this bar of poets and wanna-be stand up comedians, drag queens, male burlesque wrestlers, wanna-be poetry slammers and white boy-middle aged-wanna-be rappers.  But, was so lonely and miserable still thinking of her, not her anymore. It is just you.  So I let it happen. I noticed she had a wedding ring on—that made it all the more fantastic. I blew and she swallowed me. She drank of all of my cum down.

Still not so used to that sensation of being milked by a tongue and a jaw.   She kissed my ear and blew upon my lips like she used to do—and told me let’s get out of here my place aint’ too far. Apparently she has a thing for white orange men like me. We got in the cab and fooled around in the backseat, haven’t do ne for a while. Cab driver was an Indian woman. It was only a few blocks away. But the driver kept on driving around and around in circles. I noticed in between this girl straddling me and shoving her nipples in my mouth, that the driver had turned the meter off.  I didn’t think anything of it at the time.

 Fuck what was her name the girl taking me back to her place. Had we even spoken a word or two before she devoured my tongue?  The cab pulls up finally into the empty car park of the apartment building. We haven’t stopped fucking around. The girl is sitting on top of me her skirt is hiked up over hips. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.  The heat and moisture from her cunt was moving through my thigh and up to my groin. It didn’t take long for me to be inside her. We didn’t care we were in a cab all that mattered was the here and now. She wanted me to take her anally. I hadn’t down anal in  a car in a very, very long time, since a random married guy used to pick me up sometimes at the middle of the night and we would go to cemeteries, cross-roads, truck stops, building sites etc. and fuck each other raw. 

We would cum all over each other’s face and over our cocks positioning ourselves like one of has had cunt. Heady days back then. She had changed position. She was doing reverse cowgirl and I was in her arse.  Holding tight. Squeezing tight onto her tits as she bounced up and down. Her eyes were closed and all I could see was the back of her long flowing dark hair moving from side to side. All of a sudden she stiffened and squealed and I looked over her shoulder and there was the Indian female cab driver with two fingers inside the woman on top of me.  fuck I wish I knew their names. ‘ I don’t like girls. I just like cock”.  

The Driver didn’t care. “this is my cab. My rules. You wanna fuck. I join in or I call the cops”.  I had already tuned out of the conversation. I was about to blow again. I was about to spray all of myself inside her arse.  And watching the Indian woman’s head moving up and down from behind, looking at her reflection in the rear view mirror, then watching her tongue licking the Chinese woman’s thighs, and slowly biting her skin every inch or so, then finally impaling her tongue into the Chinese woman’s cunt fuck it was bliss. I was about to blow….I couldn’t hold it anymore. I told them I was about to cum and the Indian woman took charge. She order the Chinese woman off my cock and told her to keep milking me as she took of her blue trousers, she already  I had them half undone, and I guess she was rubbing herself while driving and watching us through the mirror I told the girls to both suck and nibble on my ear.

 The gateway to my brain. I was facing the Indian woman and she would switch off between my ear and my neck and then my mouth. Her glorious breasts were before my face now, her shirt open her bra around her midriff. And without word of order or command the Chinese woman started sucking and licking on the Indian woman’s’ tits. It was getting so close before I blew my load.  I couldn’t stop it and I told them I was about to blow  and the Indian woman slowly got off me and then they both kneeled before me in benediction and worship of my cock and were sucking and licking my cock and my balls alternatively.  I couldn’t resist any more they kept on saying cum on us cum on us cum on us cum on us and I did came over their faces and their tits and they licked it off each other.  It was just fucking. It was fucking awesome. But nothing compares to you in bed.  They take me to their home. Wow! What a fool I was. Some elaborate thrill seeking ride. Can’t remember what time it all was. We keep drinking at their house. And fuck and fool around some more.  I have to buy pills off them though. “pussy’s for free. Pills pay the rent’ how did I get into this situation. You always protected me from things like this. I watch the Chinese girl shoot up. She is puzzled how the ritual doesn't bother me or shock me. I am still masturbating her roommate and drinking a really cheap vodka at the same time.  Most drug dens never look like drug dens. And you were always right the women dealers can always keep under the radar. Especially the pretty ones. 

Or the Asian ones. Or the pretty Asian ones.  I light a cigarette. I buy some pills and swallow them. They don’t make me feel up anymore.  They make me feel so low. My phone battery’s almost dead. I take the Indian woman from behind while she dines out on her naked housemate. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Condition. Then dry.  It’s been hours now together—I don’t ask their names. They don’t ask mine. First time in a month been able to talk to women without your name coming up. Ce’st le vie. I guess. Ce’st le vie.  They told me of their scam. How they liked playing roles. How they liked trapping white men. I guess psychological bondage and forced sexuality on a male by two women is almost the same as a gang/pack rape physically of a woman. Where does one draw the line?  They don’t want my name. I really don’t want theirs. I can barely remember the address, all I know it’s in South Yarra. Funny how a suburb you go through, or have to been, only on their high street or main entertainment strips, seem so foreign, so indecipherable in their laneways and design when you’re trying to work out your escape at about four in the morning.

  Lunch only a few hours ago, random encounter with a man I barely know. Blow job and circle jerk in the men’s room of the Young and Jackson pub opposite Flinder’s Street, do you remember when you devoured my tongue in the lush leather seats. But fuck that seems like a lifetime ago—when we became one, though we are not the same.  I light a cigarette and watch these two girls, these two women playing on the bed. Why do I find this so fucking boring?  Maybe because I am high and this novelty barely registers on my list of accomplishments anymore. I know what they want out of me. I know they want a customer or a courier. They fall asleep and I walk out the door. They won’t miss me. Back in the city. It’s Monday night,  Tuesday morning and I can’t seem to find solace anywhere.  Laptop in its bag across my back, I am top heavy as I stand on Queen’s bridge…no-one knows I am hear….maybe I should just jump.  But who would miss me in the end. Is life just a series of random encounters? Why doesn’t anyone, why does nothing compare to you? What made me so depressed at the end of this glorious, glorious night. Oh yes…I heard the Chinese girl’s name, it is your name. Every fucking woman I meet, I have met for the last two months has your name. God hates me, I know it now. But, why don’t I jump? 

Thursday, 13 November 2014

The Preludes 1-20 on Phoenix Fm

James WF Roberts reads from his new collection, the Preludes, he reads Preludes 1-20

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

Requiem for a dream James wf roberts

Published on Nov 6, 2014
Australian poetry. Requiem for a Dream. James WF Roberts. Drug. Addiction. Sexual Obsession. Many Truths of an Absurd Nature. Live on air on

From Du Profundis. James WF Roberts

......The problem with all philosophies, is that though they all expand your mind, elevate your soul and help you see the world in ways most people could ever understand; they offer very little in the problems, the complexities of day to day living; especially with loving, caring and understanding the people who are closet to you. Without philosophy becoming dogma, or used as instrument of the party politic, of organised religion and cultish, sadistic extremists, one is pretty much left to live a horrid life if you are both a philosopher and a poet, or philosopher/artist etc. You are destined to create your own Sisyphean tragedy, with an extremely minute cast who keep coming back into your life no matter how much you love each other, or care are care about one another, the die is cast and the stakes are never in your favour. From the final Epistle, Du Profundis. James WF Roberts

Letter from your Hummingbird Gene Barry

Letter from your Hummingbird

My darling,
for now
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
and graduations.

After all, it’s only a long wait.

©Gene Barry

A Different Heroin Gene Barry

A Different Heroin

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.

©Gene Barry

Gobsmacked by Gene Barry


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,
Arriving gobsmacked
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 was,
She held us all.

©Gene Barry

No Family Tree’ (2008).

To Laura: On our First Night By Nicholas Foreman

To Laura: On our First Night

By Nicholas Foreman

On our first night
There’s no air between us
When your naked skin is so close
To mine

Your breast, my palm
My lips behind your ear
Our legs tangled like the roots of
Spring trees

I feel so small
Your touch could devour me
So I’d crawl inside the cracks in
Your lips

Lying content
Silk sheets entwine your form
Like a tissue wrapped around a
Red rose

In the ink night
Your cold skin warms my soul
I want to know all about you

Your hands,
They tell stories
The nightmares of your past.
Holding mine, I put your worst fears
To bed

And bone weary            
But how can I sleep now?
When the one girl I dream about
Is you.

I ask
What’s in between
You and me; particles
Language doesn’t know it but we,
We do.

These words
Could not have lived
If it weren’t for this night
Your exposed body, my canvas
My muse

Our love
On our first night
Will be our last because;
We can never have another
Like this

Sunday, 2 November 2014

part 38 Du Profundis (c) James WF Roberts

part 38 Du Profundis (c) James WF Roberts 


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.

De Profundis: Part 1: An epistle James WF Roberts

This is the beginning to  a book length poem I have been working on since October last year. I have written this  poem in a blank/free verse main style that changes and moves with different voices throughout the length of the work. I guess this is my attempt at a Don Juan, or I guess De Profundis, which in the 19th century was a very common style of poem, Oscar Wilde’s being probably the most well known, the most important, the most  profound. De Profundis, translated means ‘from the depths’. I have begun this book with a mantra style piece that is obviously Buddhist and Eastern influenced. Very much looking forward to people’s critiques and ideas, analysis of this first section. The rest of the work is in varied lengths, styles, and motifs. The shortest piece in this collection is two lines and the longest is roughly two hundred lines.  Please enjoy and please be honest. De Profundis is going to be my think piece. My only true intellectual and philosophical work. So please read and tell me what you think. Oscar Wilde wrote his tragic work as a long, one page letter exploring the themes of isolation, desperation, infatuation..etc...being arrested for homosexuality, and in gaol for love and political reasons, etc...enjoy.

De Profundis:  An epistle
James WF Roberts

For Her and Oscar Wilde

Part 1:

With our thoughts we create the world,
 with our desires we create the vices,
that clamp hard down upon our souls.
With our thoughts we create the world.
I am the Buddha. You are the Buddha.
I am the darkness.
You are the dawn.
We are death.
Now we are reborn.
We are the universe.
We are all the Gods.

We are so much,
much more than all things we think we are…
All of us ebb and flow and change and dance and sing… Like the seasons we all are,
not bound to the dawn,
to the light, to the spring
or the night. The journey to the front garden,
to check the mail, to shoo away the neighbours fat and ugly cat,
to perv on the hot blonde, whose just moved next door, those half dozen little steps. 
the journey to the front step,
That is the journey of life. And, with our thoughts we create not just this world,
but all worlds; spinning and rotating, all the insects and the birds;
the great beasts that roam and the ones that had.

Life is nothing more than an ever changing tide. I am the Buddha—you are the Buddha; our lives nothing more than illusions. Seeing from our senses. our lives nothing more than flickering images, at the picture  show.
How do we know what we are,
when we all wear masks in the mirror?

I am the Buddha—you are the Buddha; no-one ever knows—even who they truly are. All those cracking, creaking, fading masks we wear. All those many names we have our selves, all those dozens of realities, those fragments of self—not selfies—that are hurtling around minds, constantly.
 Yet, we are lost.
Lost, deaf, dumb and blind, to the effect we have on others.
Because the world taunts us to dream,
because the world does not want us to dream.
Because we have based our lives on dreams,
on lust and pleasures of all kinds.
Because the world is forceful.
I am the Buddha—you are the Buddha
I am the Buddha—you are the Buddha;

Because the world has made us drift apart,
even before we truly had a start, to really bloom
upon this path. Silent words, frozen thoughts,
hidden desires. That’s all we are now. That’s all we can be.
What dream was I living in?

When I regarded you?
And, you told me that you loved me.
What a fool I was. But, that doesn’t matter…
Street sweepers, sucking up the waste, the rejects
of the city—and here we are now, being sucked up,
crushed and recycled.

I am the Buddha—you are the Buddha
I am the Buddha—you are the Buddha;

So, is all the rest. Lion-tamer poet, the ring master of all,
receding into the shadows. Cross-dressing security guards,
Adult-women stuck in wanna-be teenager, wanna-be Goth,
long to feel, but afraid of the touch…content to let perverted
Blue Beards control their destiny…the could’ve-beens, the has-beens,
the never-weres.

I am the Buddha—you are the Buddha I am the Buddha—you are the Buddha;  I am the night. You are the day. Even monsters fall in love, madmen have seconds of clarity that can last a lifetime.

Home Sweet Home (this is an excerpt only from my soon to be completed Erotic Horror Poery Collection, City Noir). James WF Roberts

Home Sweet Home (this is an excerpt only from my soon to be completed Erotic Horror Poery Collection, City Noir).

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 

Home sweet Home!

hours minutes
seconds days
in China town, now
nearly home..

Typed the code
the door opens
the emptiness of my apartment mocks me
as it always does
when I get home
from a night out
or a night on the job.
hours minutes
seconds days

No sound.
Drab mid afternoon light
smudged by thick curtains
made the lounge room
and the kitchenette
like some tomb hidden from the world
dishes still in the sink
I hadn’t clean the ashtray
or opened a window in days

couldn’t remember the
last time I was here
still so groggy from the hospital
all those stupid, inane questions
from the Coppers, from the press…
how long had I been walking those
streets for a night?
A day?
Half an hour?

fall over the couch
open the half empty
bottle of Johnnie Walker
i’m at home now.

Kick off my shows
open throw off my coat
open my shirt
and drink as much
as I can swallow

drift off to an aimless
dreamless sleep

* * *
don’t know when I woke up
but something must have startled me
a noise, a click, a banging door

the windows were open so were the blinds
I could see the millions of burning eyes
pin pricks in the night from the city.

Who the fuck is in my house?

Languidly I get up from the couch,
stumbling in the dark
my hands have gripped a long
thin shaft
a candelabra

Cops tailing me?
the killer out for another shot?

Movement from the bathroom,
lights flicker on and off, on
then stay off

heart’s pounding,
still felt so whoosy
I’m in the bedroom
candlestick raised high

whisper in my ear
“Candlestick in your hand,
or you’re just excited to see me?”

I feel those hands running down my chest
I shiver. Hands inside my shirt,
sliding down to the wasitband,
soft, lips on my neck
in seconds i’m naked,
falling onto the bed

hands rolling around
eachother’s backs,
breast upon breast,
tongues interlocking
Hard abs, muscled arms above my head,
pinning me into the dark silk sheets
of my bed, a chilling wind swept in from a window
nipples as hard as pebbles.
That deep, dark scent
of sweat, and gym,
expensive cosmetics
strong hands massaging
my scalp, running through my hair
squeezing and almost ripping clumps out
stradling my chest, strong thighs either side

strong tone whispered in my ear
“Where you been? You didn’t call?”
I ignored the question for now. Too many questions
on my mind, too many answers I didn’t wanna give
to the Cops.
With my teeth I pulled down his boxers
he moved us as one,
I licked his feet, he licked mine,
I almost laughed,
as I moved like a frightened a child in the night
kissed my way north,
Lips walking, tongue sliding up
strong hairless legs.
We had ceased being different
entities long ago.
Hard rod brushed my face
we had found eachother’s mouths again
he kissed down my body
as I held the back of his strong head,
his sweet smelling hair
felt like rose petals
his mouth around my cock

in the darkness I could imagine
his imploring dark eyes
the uplift of my blade measured
his tantalizing tongue
luring me into the garden
of Unearthly delights
Volcanic heat rising
together as one
engorged and alive

he retreated softly
we’re now face to face
guiding his tongue
back into my mouth
his body my salvation
his scent my promise
of a new beginning
head spinning again
swords interlocking
as he was on top
grinding, meat against meat

my legs raised by his hand
glorious penetrating thrust
pierced my vulnerable heart
losing all thoughts of misery
of death
of this shitty day
his footballer strength
held me in place,
his young lithe body
my tonic for all the evils of
of my world…

my only desire
was his pleasure
I whispered, almost semi-consciously,
like the benedict in prayer
“Lead me, use me, breed me, fuck me,
destroy me…save me”.

He was about to take me
properly, deeply
passionately when our world
was came tumbling down…

the intercom, burst our bubble
his manager, and his wife—again
at my door,
demanding to see their meal ticket.

Sometimes felt guilty
that neither me nor he
ever faced the realities
of what we were doing
he was worth a fortune
famous, young, handsome
All Australian Champion
married, to a harpy (ex-model)
with dollar sign eyes
meal ticket designs
she hated me long before she knew
i was fucking her husband
ruined her career
leaked the pictures of the porn
she was doing…ah that was a fun day
a hundred thousand good reasons
to be alive that day
all that money
drunk, snorted, injected
pissed up against the wall
long ago

I tuned out
they argued in the hallway
where I live
everyone mind’s their own business
they all knew what I was, who I used to be

domesticity wasn’t my life
nor did I ever want it
#@&%$ had beautiful
intelligent kids
he loved them
more than he loved the harpy
more than he loved me…

that was fine
that was his job
to love his kids
to loathe his wife
and to use me anyway he wanted
we both equally used each other
for each other’s bodies
for each other’s company…
amazing how much solace
one can find in a willing,
young, agile body…

Muffled arguments,
all the usual threats,
bores the fuck out of me.
I put my mouth around the
eletronic vaporiser
sucked up the weed
I got from a Cop at the local lock up.
“Keep this bullshit charade up,
we’ll go to the papers”

“You can’t take my kids off me…
gay sports star versus an ex-porn star…
who do ya think the court would grant custody”

“You wouldn’t dare?..come home at once”.

“Make me”
he walks in guilt stained all over his face
I know what his gonna say…
I tell him just to leave tonight
we’ll speak later…

My Fate (Soliloquatic Sestina) © James WF Roberts

My Fate (Soliloquatic Sestina)
© James WF Roberts

I drink my fill, from the cup of Fate
thrown down the dice of pitch and toss, win and loss
my skeletal reflection remains in the sunlight of dawn
what to do you see of my remains? Wasted life? Burnt out body?
My heart still beats, I shall nay retreat, our passion, a trusted serenade
time remains upon my shoulder, the shadow whispers, its purpose I reject…

I, who once denied the blood, the soul that burns inside, I am not just body.
Can’t you feel it now?  Pen across the paper, rage like fever, am I the dawn?
I reject the premise that I shall be forgotten.  Lying naked in the arms of Fate.
Shadow—you are not needed now…you’re there to soothe melancholy  bitter sweet serenade.
Look at me now? what part of me did you love? What part of me did you reject?
What purpose shall I serve? What master? Hand of God? Or whims of the mob, what loss?

For so long I had been wandering, through the storm clouds, hidden by dusk, afraid of the dawn.
But, what now—what beautiful addictions take their pleasure from me now? is this my Fate?
To love and live a thousand times, in a thousand lies, my passion, your pleasure, my soul, your body?
Don’t come around here. Don’t enter my life if there’s one thing on the menu you reject.
Don’t sing my praises with words, or verse, or intellect, mediocre songs, scare off a serenade.
I ain’t here to please if you refuse to be pleased. I am not here for insurance after a loss.

Don’t love me at all. Don’t come here at twilight, if you escape at dawn.
These words, right here, right now, are more truthful, than the longing in your eyes, sealed our Fate.
Don’t read these words. When they are spoken don’t listen, bed’s made now, your loss.
I can feel something stirring. I can feel excitement growing. But, is it just a Siren’s serenade?
Passions fade, like the sands of time, falling away. Tell me do you feel more inside, or is it just body?
I can’t look at you anymore. I can’t bear that, same air we breathe. Who’s next to make me a reject?

I know what I am now. I can see the road ahead.  So what happens when I conquer the next dawn?
Will you grovel at my feet? Ever? Once you see what you missed out on. Baby it’s your loss.
You fell for at me at the beginning, I only fell for you at the end, whatta son-of-a-bitch, is Fate?
So when my name’s up in lights? Where will you be? In the shadows, begging me your body?
What sort of muse are you anyway? Leanan Sidhe? Not even a Ban Sidhe? Where’s your serenade?
Isn’t this what you wanted…me to be so incredibly low? Or did you want me to forget we met reject?
So, what is all this bullshit about love and art and inspiration, give me another body,
this latest one is turning blue, too quickly, throw it on the heap, this jellyfish reject.
I am not the same man I once was, nor could I ever be, but I see your face upon the dawn
You sweet tender voice, your heartbeat, our memories, a tonic, the sweetest serenade.
Do we measure out our gains in serene mists upon the coffee spoons, our fails, our loss?
pitch and toss. Just mindless, childish games, forever leading us to this Fate?

I will not succumb to the melancholy you whispered upon my soul, to this I reject!
to succumb to the meanderings, the ramblings, the myopathy of life, this is not my Fate…

can’t you see it coming? Can’t you see it now…my future upon the coming dawn?

Kill me with your mouth © James WF Roberts

Kill me with your mouth
© James WF Roberts
14th September 2013

Kill my with your mouth
burn me with your eyes,
kill me with your mouth;
praise me with your body.
But, oh please kill me with your mouth.

Speak no lies to me.
Devious heart and deceitful tongues,
will always freeze the beckoning flames.
But, I beg of you, kill me with your mouth,
the shudder of my breath—the electricity
of your touch, the shyness of the embrace,
the power of our restraining lust—just kill me.

Please—just kill me with your mouth
soft meadows of that dream realm,
are calling to you over and over again,
the line of friend and confidante,
blurs with confessor and co-conspirator.

Blushing moon speaks no lies;
bruised and black soul,
wandering—so lost. So wanting…

Just kill me with your mouth.
Never kill me with that blank stare,
body twisted, crooked yet standing tall,
floating between consciousness and the
Emerald Bar.
Don’t talk of the days of past,
or the dreams of tomorrow,
close the door, bolt the lock,
on all those memories of the deepest.
Deepest sorrows.

Don’t think of the winter,
just dream of the spring.
Wide eyed fears forgotten,
just listen to my voice,
feel my touch—

and just kill me with your mouth.

Submission ~ Elaine Wood

Submission~ Elaine Wood

My eyes fly open and I’m face to face with a fully ready-for-business Quan. “Close your eyes!” He whispers his command and I immediately comply. My senses are now reeling. Is this real or is this still part of an incredible dream? I’m not sure and, does it really matter? The feelings I’m experiencing are unthinkable! I am flipped over on my belly and still my eyes are closed. I listen intently and my other senses are on alert. I can smell his male scent; a mix of his natural scent and his cologne. 

His hands are kneading my muscles and caressing my skin, eliciting the most exquisite responses and my moans grow in intensity. 

Sensing my growing need, he whispers close to my ear, “Shhhhhh, slow it down just a little, we have all night.” I breathe deeply and roll my head from side to side to loosen the muscles in my neck while he showers my spine with the softest kisses; barely perceptible. 

I just notice that my hands are still overhead but unrestricted. I turn over and sit up, wrapping my arms around his neck all while keeping my eyes shut. This sensation of not being able to see is creating a heightened sense of anticipation in me. He sits back on his heels and pulls me into his lap. My legs wrap around his waist. It seems like I have the upper hand for the moment; something I’m not afraid of at all.

I hear his breath draw inward as my thighs make contact with his skin. I let my lips and tongue do their own exploring; they find a sensitive spot. His nipples immediately respond to my touch and receive a thorough tongue bath. I pull my legs behind me and gently push him to a reclining position so I may be the hunter.

“Are your eyes closed?” I ask him huskily between kisses in the darkened room.
“They are now,” he answers. He lowers his head in search of a nipple to satisfy his sucking impulse. His exploration is rewarded with the prize he seeks and the nipple grows in response to his expert ministrations. I am determined to not let him turn the tables back on me; I want to maintain control for a little longer. 

Taking both hands I find my own prize between his legs and proceed to gently power stroke his manhood. He releases his suction-grip with his lips and lets out a low groan. This is all the encouragement I need to slide down his thighs and replace my hands with my mouth and am rewarded with an immediate hiss escaping his lips. I feel his entire body immediately tense up followed by a complete relaxation of all his muscles. This is my cue to “latch on” as they say and enjoy the ride. I power grip his steel pole and flip around so I’m facing his feet and my honey pot is poised for his sweet kiss. 

He doesn’t disappoint at all. His expert tongue darts out and greets his waiting conquest. One taste is all it takes. One taste and the chemical reaction unleashes that which he struggles to keep under control. The demon within is loosed and enticed beyond reasoning. There can be only one outcome; complete and total submission. “Take me monster! I've been waiting for you. Aaaahhhhh!”

Elaine Wood is married with three children. She and her family live in Jacksonville, FL where she is a full time teacher, full time mother, and in her spare time she writes. Elaine was born in Jamaica, New York but moved suburban Long Island at the age of five. A transplant from Long Island, New York to Florida at the age of 27, Elaine homeschooled her three daughters and was very involved in Girl Scouts for 17 years. After her volunteer work ended Lainey found she had plenty of time on her hands. That's when the writing bug struck. She began writing poetry and short stories but soon found she needed more of a challenge, Tatiana's Chance is Elaine Wood's debut novel and the first book of the Tatiana series. She is currently working on the second book in the Tatiana series, which will be released at the end of 2014. Check out more of Lainey's work on her author page at and her blog at