“Some people believe that Illustrated stories are ONLY for children…”

This is DEFINITELY not the case…


In 2014 David was the mastermind behind a Kickstarter project called ‘The Ravings of Love and Death’, an artbook illustrating some of the best loved works by the Master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe…
IMG_0183… And David really brought the stories to Life… and Death!

David G. Forés and Play Attitude are also the masterminds behind the massively successful mobile apps iPoe Vol 1 and iPoe Vol 2 (both available at an App Store near you) and the eagerly anticipated, by me at least, iPoe Vol 3, which is to be released in April 2015.

But I digress… Forgotten Colors is the latest project by the hugely talented David Garcia Forés and Desiree Arancibia

It is a Limited Edition artbook containing fifteen stories illustrated by these two outstanding artists with a musical soundtrack by maestro Teo Grimalt and promises to be an amazing addition to any real Bibliophile’s library! You can visit their Kickstarter page here http://kck.st/1LyKyQc and see the pledging levels and the rewards you can get, but BE QUICK! Pledging for the project closes on March 31, 2015 at 22.00 GMT. As I write there are 524 backers, so this is a VERY Limited Edition book, and from my experience with The Ravings of Love and Death, and the pride of place it holds in my small Library, the new book will be a thing of beauty and of extremely high quality.

So much do I believe in David and Desiree’s work, and that of the whole Play Attitude team that I have backed them and only wish I could have pledged more than I have.

The clock is ticking… If You value books and fancy supporting a small, independent publishing house, I urge You to, at least, visit their page…


You know You want to…


Sonnet for Lolita

Lolita is a 20-foot-long (6 m), 7,000 pounds (3,200 kg) Orca who has lived at the Miami Seaquarium since her capture in 1970.
In the wild she could swim 100 miles each and every day, but since she was captured the furthest she could swim is this ….


… A tank 60-by-80-foot (18 by 24 m) by 20 feet (6 m) deep.

Please look her up on Google and, if You find her situation as abhorrent as any right-minded person must, make your feelings known. Thank You ..

Sonnet for Lolita

As you scream and jeer at my confinement,
A wall and the sky are all I can see,
I am enslaved for your entertainment,
Forever denied my right to be free.
I feel like I am the last of my kind,
I’ve been alone for the thirty five years,
Since Hugo used the wall to smash his mind,
And put an end to all his unshed tears,
I jump through hoops, dance to your heartless tune,
As you gorge yourselves on hotdogs and coke
Then You leave me to my barren lagoon,
A lonely tragedy, that you think a joke,
Is there no-one who’ll listen to my song?
Forty five years a slave… and that’s just wrong.


Sonnet © 2015 Martin Graham King
Image sourced on Google Images (all rights remain with the creator)


each day each night


Each day, I live by thy presence,
Each night, I die by thy absence,
Such sweet torture is thy silence
Each day. I live by thy presence,
I dwell in thy heart’s circumf’rence,
I grow strong in thy radiance,
Each day, I live by thy presence,
Each night, I die by thy absence.


Triolet © 2015 Martin Graham King
Image sourced on Google Images (all rights remain with the creator)

February 4, 2015


February 4, 2015

As she opened the door the first thing I saw was her smile.
Her lips told me one story, but her eyes told me a different tale.
She was holding back tears with a strength I marvelled at,
yet I wished she would share her pain with me.

Even now
Her happiness is my happiness,
Her pain is my pain.
Even when she thinks she has it locked away
I can feel it in her.

My heart has been keyed to hers from the moment we first met,
but something always stops her from unlocking the cage and letting me in.
Fear, so I suppose, of being hurt again,
but I could no more hurt her than chew off my own ear.


Prose Poem © 2015 Martin Graham King
Image sourced on Google Images (all rights remain with the creator)

Fibonacci 2


Not lonely,
I enjoy my own company,
But many is the time I wish You were with me,
One, two, three or more times a day I so miss doing the things with You that Lovers do.


Fibonacci Poem 2 © 2015 Martin Graham King
Image sourced on Pinterest (all rights remain with the creator)

January 21, 2015


January 21, 2015

I, The Patchwork Man,
A knotted skein of flaws
and scar tissue and
Love, but my beauty is in
My flaws, my strength in my scars.


© 2015 Martin Graham King
Image sourced on Google Images (all rights remain with the creator)



I concur with Hunter that sex without love (or at the very least some kind of emotional bond) is hollow and ridiculous and mere bio-mechanics. I would also agree Love could survive, and I guess thrive, platonically, depending on the two individuals concerned.

The definition of ‘sex’ also has a bearing on this discussion…

What is ‘sex’?

I’m guessing Hunter is referring to the penetrative act alone, as this can, so I understand, be performed without any emotional attachment.

However, if you broaden the definition of ‘sex’ to include any physical intimacy from which physical pleasure (with or without orgasm) is derived then Love without Sex is an impossibility and devolves into Friendship (though Friendship of a very close kind).

Personally, I dislike the terms ‘sex’ and ‘foreplay’.

To me, as a very tactile individual, physical touching, physical intimacy, from kissing all the way to the penetrative act is all part of ‘Making Love’, and it goes beyond even that!

‘Making Love’ is not merely physical or emotional, but mental too.

When I am In Love with someone, I don’t merely fall In Love with my penis, or my Heart or my Mind…

I fall In Love with every cell of my being.

For me, being In Love is an immersive experience.

When I am In Love I am Making Love constantly. Glances, hand-holding, conversation and the sharing of thoughts, shared deeds (even as mundane as cooking together or playing board games), kissing, hugging, caressing, massage, and, for want of a better word, sex are all Making Love, refreshing and strengthening the mutual emotional, physical and mental bond between my partner and I.


© 2015 Martin Graham King

Tommaso & Balestruccio ..


The curtain rises.

Two friends are seen in a tavern, each nursing a tankard of ale.

To our left sits Tommaso Dubbioso, an ostler and to our right, somewhat in his cups, sits Balestruccio il Sovrano, a troubadour.

“You’re wrong Tommaso, thee knowest her not as I do…”

“Balestruccio, these words I speak are not the dribblings and mewlings of a madman.
I doubt thee not that The Lady be the paragon thee claim her to be,
but if, as thee hast intoned time and time and time again,
her heart is free and unencumbered by the shackles of matrimony,
then why is thy arm free of hers?
Why are her hips not clasped by thy hands?
Why dost thy lips not carry the warmth of hers
or remember their sweetness?”

Balestruccio bangs his tankard down upon the table and in an impassioned voice…

“Tommaso, thou truly hast spent too long in the company of the horse,

For these lips have tasted hers and on them lingers still
the sweetness of kisses stolen under moonlit skies,
These hands have gently held a form that Venus herself
would look upon with envious tears welling in her eyes,
These eyes have gazed upon Her face, which art beautiful
whether She smiles or laughs or even cries,
These ears have heard the voice of this carnelian songbird
and revelled in the music of Her laughs and of Her sighs,
This heart, oh this heart of mine has felt so deep the beat of The One
that burns brighter than the eternal Sun’s celestial fires.

So yes Tommaso, this woman above all women,
this Goddess whose name I am not worthy to utter,
yet have immortalised in verse,
This Lady for whom I would lay down my life,
IS a paragon of femininity, a warrior of Her kind
who has fought battles both bloody and fierce
and stridden triumphant from the fray.

And there, dear friend, stand the ramparts of the castle
whose walls I must scale to win the treasure
that lies within its keep, the reason why her soft hand
is not in mine, why her long fingers are unentwined with mine,
why, indeed, it is thee I quaff ale with and not Her.

Know this though Tommaso,
My colours are planted firmly at Her gates
and Hers alone and n’er shall they fade
or be uprooted by the vicissitudes of life,
for Her greatest triumph
was the winning of my Love.”

Balestruccio raises his tankard, urging Tommaso to do the same.

“A toast my friend…


Her uncaged heart


Hers is a heart that cannot,
and should not,
be caged or controlled,
for it burns at it’s brightest
when it is free,
when She has the space
to be herself
in all Her glorious wildness,
And when She burns at Her brightest
I can only hope to be close enough
to feel Her heat,
and maybe,
have an ember or two fall into my waiting hands.


Martin G. King © 2014
Image sourced on Google Images (all rights remain with the creator)