Release – Evanescence is out! Release 1 C1 The Crypt


Evanescence my Gothic Horror / historical Mystery.

” For only in the Dark, can you truly see the Light.”

Through a window darkly.

Things that aren’t quite what they seem to be.

Something primordial 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’ll be releasing a full copy soon. A small number of advance copies are available, in return for an honest review! If interested, please contact me on the form below.

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A Stitch in Time

Time folded, ridged and pleated,

Horizons rose and fell,

Subsumed, collided,

No canvas, sheet, edge defined,

On which these dreamers dreamed,

Sleep’s montage etched,

Yet colours line and image flowed

Vision heated and ran like wax.

In shadows, sat a figure,

Dark enfolded,

Wrapped in cold and ice,

Framed on skin wrapped bone,

One hand, gaunt fingers closed

About a shaft, silver topped

And bound in hair and skin,

The other, warp and weft,

Spindle clasped,

Watched and waited.

A tweak or twinge

All motion ceased,

Across the multiversèd web.

Shuttle tugged,

And woke a dreamer

Sheathed in sweat

And wound in dream.

On desk the pages portent stirred,

By a breeze’s chill caress,

A window just ajar,

Still framed by shadow.

In nearby barn

Dream disturbance

Stirred the wheat and corn,

And hued of Earth

Bedecked with ears of

Wheat and corn

Another shadow gazed across

The yard as darkness

Vied with light

At windows rim,

And fired by morning

Warm suns rays

Ran like gold on

Dew touched Valley floor.

The poet inside rose

To break his fast

Then scribe the words

Mayhap still wrapped in dream

On to a waiting page.

Secure and rooted

Deep in earth and stone,

Defined by here and now,

The barn shadow wished

The brittle cold begone.

And far, far, away,

The spinner paused

Thread now knotted

Shuttle trapped

Across a myriad tangled threads.

© Greg Richards

HUNTER P II (Extract from “Hunter” P II a Poem from my Upcoming Chapbook “Rhymer”)


Cold light of day, leaden motes,
Blinded eye, fractal sheen that
Sheathed his sight, and drew a blind
Across dreams sinking, scuttled,
Leaden weighted by the day.

© Greg Richards
Full PII now available on Patreon, Parts III, IV coming soon.


HUNTER PI (Extract from “Hunter”, a Poem from my Upcoming Chapbook “Rhymer”)


He slept, adrift, temporal dream dissonance,
His dream: a woman sheathed within her magic,
Dreams that formed and folded, crested, crashed and broke
Within the swell that sought safe harbour,
Trees rooted in the swell, summer gripped by winter sea,
Sun warm upon his face, hoar frost rimed within his beard,
He shivered in his bed, linen drenched by sweat,
As body, shuddered, confused, accommodation sought with
Dream infused, chaos wrought vision of his dream.
Dark wings beating, ancient augur echoed,
Shapes shadow scribed upon the walls,
Mingled with shadow etchings cast
By dwindling candle and dying embers of the fire.
© Greg Richards