Memoirs of the Human Wraiths (Book Trailer)

Hi everyone,

I am really happy to present to you my brand new book trailer for the rerelease of my trio of ghost stories, Memoirs of the Human Wraiths, on June 15th, 2018.

These three ghostly tales center on three different gay couples struggling against the forces of evil.

The Haunting of Timber Manor
Objects in the Rearview Mirror
Still Waters

I hope you enjoy them!!!

Follow the link to watch the trailer,  here

You can order the books here 

Also, don’t forget to sign up for my Patreon account and help me make great LGBT content!

See ya there!

Til the end of my days (National Poetry Month)


unsplash-logoJames Bold


IT was more than just where I lay
staring up at the ceiling of stars above my head
In your love, I had found a rose garden
white blooms as far as I could see
and there I thought I had come to the river
to drink and dance and sing

but the more I loved you
the less steady I was on my feet
until the citrus scent threw me over
and I fell backward into the briars of emersion

In exquisite pain, I lay here
my clothes were torn and my hands wounded
tangled in a miserable mess
as the vines wrapped right around me

It was then I realized the danger I was in
and it was then I realized water didn’t feed them
and to my horror, I didn’t care
as I watch a crimson drop of my own blood
fall to the ground and disappear

It was then I realized how much Pain I was in
and it was then I realized how little I cared
for I would lay here dying til the end of my days
in your garden under the stars above

Til the end of my days

Because I fell in love with you again (National Poetry Month)




unsplash-logoLubov’ Birina


Because you came to me
in the night
knocking on my door
gentle raps, barely taps
but enough to send me to the door,
wrapping myself in a robe as I went

There you stood
windswept hair, leather jacket, and doe eyes
smelling of Burberry cologne and nervousness
while the thunder rolled in the pitch dark
and lightning flashed
because the mother nature was conspiring

I’d missed you for weeks, it seemed
Maybe it was a lifetime or two
the warmth of your voice
the way my name tumbled from your lips

I thought you’d never come back
and because of the wind I shivered
and retreated back through my doorway
before you stepped inside

before I could speak
you wrapped your arms around me
I wanted to cry, I wanted to laugh
because I missed you – I wanted to freeze time

My hands reached up the million miles
to your sweet face and held it
and felt you tremble under my touch
because of your bashfulness I kissed your temples

I could smell the sweetness of your sweat
the hunger in your touch
and when our mouths collided for the first time
I tasted the whisky you’d drank embolden you

It was two a.m but I didn’t care
I took you by the hand and led you upstairs
our hearts pounding away with each step
because of anticipation, I shivered again

But this time you covered me
somewhere in the middle of the night
you made me call out your name
and I did so, willingly
because somewhere in the middle of the night
I fell in love with you, again

Industry panic (Poem)




Since when did it become fashionable to impede on someone’s hustle?
What’s up with this?
Can’t you do do that thing on your own?
Can’t you go out and make that green on your own?
You’re like amber bottles lined up with skulls and crossbones

you look good but that shit is superficial – you know what they say…
you’re poison, ally my ass – Et tu Brute?
Ya’ll gotta stop this, it’s toxic
it’s narrow minded, quixotic,
if someone’s got their game on deck
why come along and knock it?
If someone’s got something to say
let them do that thing, why stop it? Myopic

you scared?
You worried someone might tell you
you don’t belong here?
That your words may be gay but ain’t none of it’s queer
And are you worried someone wants to know how you got here?
And are you worried that someone’s gonna wanna know
how y’all managed to get this industry on lock?
so now you gotta knock down someone you’re stressin’ some new cock on the block
worried that someone might come teach you a lesson
on talent -so frantic, you’re actions got you confessin’
who you been all along?
can’t take no heat when someone up and tells you that you might be wrong?

is your goals so lofty, so costly, the money you make – did you come by fraudulently – are you concerned you’re a fake?
Panicked new names are creepin’ in too fast
so now you make a mistake by kissing some ass
Didn’t you get the memo
celebrity is obscurity just waiting to happen
you could be great, you should be great, but you forgot your passion
Did you lose your ability because you were too concerned with fashion?
or is the pool too shallow, here- popularity’s gotta be rationed?

the hustle should be about getting your words out there
the standard used to be publishing, now y’all running scared
with so much static running in through the door
between the critics, the cynics, and the Z list attention whores
who found their fame shit talkin’ those who do
But your losing popularity So now you do, too?

Man, what a cliché this whole thing has turned out to be
Got voodoo queens hexing the whole famn damily
it’s a tragedy, of no less than Shakespearian proportions
you’re standing at the top of the well – tellin’ us what to do with the lotion
you say, it puts it in the basket lest it get the hose again,
How are you pointing out people’s flaws when you ain’t right within?
Come again?


Halcyon Dreams


(Photo Alex Martinez)


In the secret space of knowing,
in that space where truth resides,
I found a sun lit portal,

not visible to mankind’s naked eye,

The key in my pocket was found to unlock it,

and as I twisted the copper colored solution, the tumbler resounded hard, and hollow,

and heavy,

The fog of Halcyon dreams o’re took me,

and rocked me gently upon the face of its deep waters.


A Jeff Key and F.E. One Time Poetic Exclusive  🙂

What Contentment tastes like (poem)





I can hear a dove sing
in the tree outside my window
with sore muscles and tired eyes
I listen to the sound of my husband
shuffling through books he’d brought from home
muttering to himself about the wisdom of they
who’d left part of themselves for the world
to learn from.
My belly is full of lunch that I made
with no thoughts other than to fill a hungry space
happy to listen to the world outside my window
Last night, a storm blew through our town
with thunder the sound of cannon fire
and flashes of white, dangerous, and angry lightning
that illuminated the shadows of the witching hour
The rain sloshed heavy against the windows
and I – knowing he loved it – woke him to listen
and listen he did; grabbing a pillow and a blanket
he turned from my bed and laid down on the couch before two living room windows with the blinds drawn back
and I on the floor beneath him
Happily- he watched until his breath slowed
warm and protected in the midst of the gale
I waited
until at last the reigns were pulled back and the tempest
eased and shifted – I returned to my bed
Now, today, the sun warm once again I sit in the quiet
with the leftover taste of coffee on my tongue
my husband thumbing through tomes muttering to himself
I smile, knowing this is what contentment tastes like.

Heaven underneath the sound (poem)



I am jagged fears
and raw emotion
nerve endings exposed to the chilly air
wanting to go back, wanting to go back
to a time when the pain wasn’t as painful

But was it better then?
or has time erased the worst of it?
Perception is never to be trusted
so much lust, turned to rust, the wine has all been poured

What I want?
Do you know? Can you fathom?
I want warmth and the smell of a fire burning
I want arms around me – but not a lover’s touch
that’s not what I’m hungry for at the moment
although I often hunger for that

I want comfort of a family, familiar
those I love surrounding me in gentle moments
where nothing has to be explained
where nothin’ has to be maintained
except only by showing up

With people who don’t see the words I write
with people who don’t see my back bent over as I work
Where I am not the writer, poet,
I’m just me. A little fucked up but worth loving anyway

Is this age that I’m feeling?
Is this the begging of what the aged and sick beg for
when to live is too much?
when they yearn for something higher?

I want your company and I don’t know
how to beg you for it
or make the distance close between us
or make time stop so when we are together we can stay
what do I want?

What do I want?
I think so. I think this is what this is.
I want heaven.
If just for a moment.
I can almost hear it underneath the sound of the world

I was healthy, the world was not (Poem) Possibly a rap song.


(Photo by Jeremy Bishop)


I always thought I was crazy
that there was something wrong with me
when people threw words in my direction
I ingested them like poisonous candy
With no walls put down around me
I was a house without a family
the bones were good but the content inside
was excrament from transients
who did nothing but critisize.

I believed I was A.D.H.D
that everything wrong – had to be because of me
and if you factored in my sexuality – for those who heard it
made me feel that when bad things happened
I was everything that made me deserve it

For a second, I was scared it was bi-polar
up and down and up and up again
but when I realized I was strapped to a rollercoaster
things began to make sense.
This feeling inside – this anxious mind
was re-acting to the world outside

Gas-lit like a motherfucker
90 to nothin’ like a run away trucker
clinging to the hope that in the next town things
would be better
feeling responsible for everything wrong in the world
including the weather
I was a hurricane raging up the interstate
wanting nothing more than abiding faith, to escape,
the shape and size of my heart – trying to outrun death
trying to outrun fate

I realized I was being chased, raced, and outpaced
by demons set loose upon the world by lips
that curled up in smiles, from those who paid their debt
to society’s desire for Dunbar’s guile
with eyes as cold as tombstones – I realized the only way off was to stop
drop, throw out the window other people’s luggage that I carried with me
and turn around right where I stood
and stare them down

and suddenly….

like smoke they were gone
like the remnants of a song that echoes in your ears
after the tune’s discharged and the last note played
like that lonely stretch of highway that remembers how in the day traffic roared over its pavement, not knowing where the cars went
similarly I not knowing which way my personal ghosts went
stood under the moon emptied out
for the first time in my life

It was then i realized I was healthy and that it was the world that was not.


(Watch out Eminem. Ol Freddie’s comin’ up. Imma call myself, “HimandHim”, ahhahahahahha)

My messiah (Poem)

(Photo: Simon Wijers)

There isn’t a place I’ve been that I’ve not run from

When midnight struck the clock on the wall

And late became the hour

And like the damned in fairy-tale legends

Morning set my feet to flee before the sun crest over the horizon upon the 

very next day

When ashes all settled from the bridges I’ve burnt

Whose broken bodies lay limp over yawning 

Deep canyons

With my fingers smelling once again of gasoline and tear drops

I bore the Weight of myriad transgressions on ever bent neck and sloping shoulders

My feet once tender had turned to stone 

My face once fat had become lean

Sweet smiles lines became deep set and turned to frown lines 

At the corners of my mouth

With ragged and raging and fearful soul

I turned my back on heaven and the son and my home

I was the prodigal son unwilling to beg forgiveness

For made up sins wrapped neatly in heavenly torment

I was Jonah who’d conquered that whale with simple reason

I was Paul and Silas bound beaten and bloody

Who instead of praying, fucked my way out of that jail

And like the damned and unrepentant third man on the cross

I thought forever my poor soul would roam

Burning bridges and abandoning beds before sun up

Unable to call any place, any house, my home

But twisted fate is always twisted and it twisted me once more 

As it Bound me over naked and afraid

Unrepentant vagabond born again hedonist 

Begging for an early grave

But then with tenderness you spoke in my ear

And upon your feet I spilled my hearts discontent

I let you know among which shadows I danced within

And repeated back to you all I learned about religion 

With Grace’s supernatural understanding

You took the can of gasoline from my left hand

The Zippo lighter right out of my left

You bathed the dust from off my feet with sweet oils

And for the first time, made love to me that night

You blue eyed angel with dark hair and tender faith

You’ve restored and take care of my soul

And when you love me you love all of me 

All of who and where and what I’ve been

And now that the clock is winding steadily to midnight

I lay my head upon your chest, little Messiah, and wonder at the mysteries of God.

I was all that was left (Poem)


(Photo by Xavier Sotomayor )

I was so superficial
I said things that I thought people wanted to hear
never understanding what the words that dripped out of my mouth meant
words like, loyalty, love, friendship

I was a walking caricature
militant and angry and mostly afraid
longing for something I couldn’t then comprehend
and when I held it in my hands
turned my head away because even then, I couldn’t look at it
he was too beautiful for me to hold onto

I was a pretty smile and a good time
quick with a joke or self-deprecation
but inside I was slowly dying
I was gay but prided myself on being a republican
begging to be fit in, to be accepted, to have someone breathe into me the breath of life and make me real

And then you showed up and saw right through the party I pretended to be.
To you, I wasn’t a roll in the sheets
a dishtowel to wipe the sweat away
there was something inside of this shell begging to be loved.

I battle hardened with storm like fury
used to the disappointments of life
and used to minimizing myself for the comfort of others
but you loved me past all that
when you were nice to me – my mask fell away

And I was all that was left and for you – that was good enough.