The Girl with a Pony is a noirish little tale to baffle and beguile you, in Up the Staircase.

'Her face is partly in shadow, and she looks directly at the camera with the deadest eyes I have ever seen...'

First Love is a poem in Ink, Sweat & Tears.

Mary's Tale is now in Wigleaf. 'He told me not to be afraid, but I wasn't. I'd been expecting him for a long time...' 

What Shall Remain is a poem I 'found' for Verbatim Magazine.

Not All My Dreams Are Beautiful is in Danse Macabre.

'And the Angel said to me: ‘Drink!’. And I drank, and it was the chalice of patience.'

Eine Reise durch Europa is in Microw - follow me on a wild, romantic journey.

Gracewords is my new blog on tumblr - some pretty things!

12 Days of Christmas or twelve short meditations, in poetry and prose, inspired by the great event of the Incarnation.

Khayyam is my contribution to 'The Books They Gave Me' and there's a sting in the tail.

Breakfast at the Caserma is an award-winning photo for 2011.

Sad Lucretia , a harrowing little tale is, in Blue Lake Review.

In Darkness Let Me Dwell is in the delectable Danse Macabre.

'Round Midnight is a piece of micro-fiction in Durable Goods, Issue 50.

Four of my best poems are now in Italian.

LATEST VIDEOS

Fighting Words A love poem in 12 parts.

Tears  'God has given me, a sinful woman, this little son like a golden bird with his bright eyes, soft mouth, his laughter every morning. God has taken away...'

Almost Dead in Venice  Listen to me read this story that drips with melancholy... Is spaghetti the remedy for despair?

SPOKEN WORD

If you prefer just listening, help yourself to a soundfile.

NEW ON THIS SITE

Interview - Don't miss this fascinating conversation with my mysterious interlocutor 'V. Ulea'.

Deliverance (short story)

'He rattled his twelve wings and they were full of pitiless eyes, he held his drawn sword over my son and at its tip was a drop of gall.'

The Princess Trigona and Her Lover (short story)

'What is she looking for, naked before the mirror, her finger at the base of her throat, her other hand spread like the leaves of a clinging plant upon one egg-white breast?

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The God (short story)

'The Princess was in love, and that with no ordinary mortal but with one of the ice-graven gods in her father's garden.'

Don Juan of Seville (short story)

'No harem is complete without la Fornarina. I suppose it is the flour that keeps their skin so very white...'

Seeing Angels brings together my most recent poems.

'Bones spiral outward

drenched in gold

small and thin, chicken or child...'