Curiosity didn’t kill this cat,
It was the ignorance that plagued him so,
Virus vector, bigotry bait,
The cat that walked alone, and didn’t toe the line,
No place for individuality.
He left, to be someone different, and vanished
Into the peaceful tumult of the concrete jungle,
His solo voice amongst a thousand others,
In the choir of dissent.
© Greg Richards

Evanescence – 4 Chapters for Free!

Ruined Abbey 10 20-down-into-the-crypts-concept-art.jpg

Through a window Darkly, the Dark in the Light …

Things that aren’t quite what they seem to be. Something ancient restrained deep in the bowels of an ancient Abbey. In 1746, Don Augustine Calmet, a respected erudite and renowned Benedictine Monk, learned in, and a prolific publisher of works on Philosophy and Theology, visited by the Enlightenment Philosopher Voltaire, published a Tome on Demons, Spirits and Revenants or Vampires in Hungary, which was expanded and reprinted in 1751.

How did this stalwart figure of the Church and prolific Theological writer develop an interest in Eastern European Folklore and Tales of Vampires and the macabre?

Thus beings the Tale.

I’ve posted 4 full Chapters of “Evanescence” my Gothic / Horror Novella onto Wattpad – views, votes and feedback would be welcome if you have the time!

Your support and interest as always are appreciated!


Evanescence #wattpad>


Context wrenched, canker growths,
Independent, virulent, gut-wrenched,
Dissonant weave, pattern punched, bond breaking,
These words will not enfold and bind,
I dream instead of her lips soft-spoken story.
© Greg Richards

Coming Soon: a Contemporary Folktale in Verse


Now also working on a contemporary folktale in Verse, exploring modern themes of Alienation, Loss, Love and Hope.  It won’t be Beowulf, but I’m keen to explore an ancient storytelling medium in  a contemporary setting.

Stay tuned for Updates.

The Sea


The Sea, a Song I long to hear,
Thundering crescendo crash of waves,
Siren seagull cries that call me thither,
Grey sky shroud, enfolding, smothers dark grey moods,
The water leaves me parched, mood drained,
Emotions dry sifting sands sent back
To the rasping deserts roiling turmoil,
And I rise, on the crest of a wave,
Afloat again, endless horizons in sight.

© Greg Richards



The mornings soft filtered amber light,
Floated in, like falling silk,
To brush, soft caress, on shoulder cheek and lips,
Where they lay upon the pillow.
And lips upturned, warm promise,
A smile projected from her dream,
Perhaps of me, who lay beside her.
© Greg Richards