Greg Jones

Born in 1970, I grew up,  in my opinion, in the pinnacle of all things. The best films, music, comic books and those fantastic 80’s horror novels. No matter where my mind wandered it eventually found it’s way back to something with a monster in it. I spent my adolescence hunched over a drawing table, occasionally writing and living my life in pursuit of personal creative goals. In my current role at the local library I am surrounded by books all day and inspired daily to keep creating my horror inspired poetry.

“Meet Me in the Flames” is my first published work and I am diligently scribbling away on a new poetry collection as well as a series of short stories.

When not reading, writing or working on some kind of art you can find me listening to old country records, watching anything remotely creepy or traveling the globe in search of the perfect mountain sunset.

I live in Wisconsin with my loving wife of 30 years and my three amazing daughters all of whom contribute to my writing with editing skills and strong stomachs.

Meet Me in the Flames

“MEET ME IN THE FLAMES is a dark, disturbing, and delicious collection of horror poetry. Greg Jones conjures magic with his poems. Highly recommended.”
-Jonathan Maberry, Five-time Bram Stoker Award Winner, NY Times bestselling author of NecroTek, and editor of Shadows & Verse

“All is dark in cold arms lie
Gaze to you an empty eye
Fingers laced for our descending
Beckon you come share my ending
No, the heat comes not from shame
You must, my love, take faith in flames”

Meet Me in the Flames is a collection of dark and horrific poems inspired by the gothic traditions of Poe, Lovecraft’s inhuman dreads as well as contemporaries, such as Clive Barker.

The graveyard awaits in rising mists while swirling leaves whisper secrets to the dark. Eyes, unblinking, gaze out from under coffin lids, black tongues roving over rotted lips. Something lurks in dusty corners gently rocking and chanting your name, hungrily.

Light a candle, clutch your crucifix, and come inside.

Through dreadful prose explore fear in its most fluid form.

As you stumble from the frosted wood, that familiar taste coating your tongue, moon fall reveals the blood drying on your hands, and you can do no more than await the reunion of your fractured mind and offer your Apologies To The Morning.

In his follow-up to Meet Me In The Flames, Greg Jones takes his new horror poetry collection across bleaker, blacker realms as he compels you to taste the richer meats, drink deep the bitter broth of the grave, and join him in damning the sun’s inevitable rising.

Horrors run deepest in the dying hour of the night.

You’ll find no warmth here.