Eric Coker is a screenwriter and showrunner creating bold, emotionally layered series that confront race, masculinity, silence, and survival.
Eric Coker writes from the wound, not the rumor. The work is bold, intimate, and engineered to haunt.
Unapologetically Black, relentlessly human—his scripts cut past respectability and go straight for the truth.
Prestige storytelling with a pastor’s ear and a fighter’s jaw. The pages don’t blink.
He tells the stories churches whisper about and families deny—without flinching, without apology.
A failure-to-launch son—drifts in and out of jail, hustles, and cheap highs. Caught between mental illness and drugs, he cons others, gaslights himself, and lets paranoia and hallucinations turn every room into a trap, every memory into a lie, until the only story he can’t control is the one he’s living.
Two straight Black men get so close they’d be fucking if they weren’t straight. In a house full of secrets, control shatters, walls fall, and silence finally gets loud.
In a city where silence is currency, Dr. Ursula MacLain Banks—a respected therapist married to a rising Black councilman—quietly supports the boy her husband refuses to claim. When a bathroom incident detonates across class and racial lines, every adult scrambles to protect themselves. No one talks to the boy. The curse lives on.
When an ambitious young sports agent’s calculated life collides with a volatile cop’s spiraling world, the woman caught between them becomes the fuse to a slow-burning detonation. Desire blurs into possession, loyalty curdles into leverage, and survival means deciding who you’re willing to destroy.
At just 28, Kaleb Ransom—Black, gay, and unapologetically bold—launches an illegal campaign for President of the United States. Armed with a defiant voice, a trail of trauma, and two kids he still calls every night, he becomes the most dangerous thing in politics: an honest man.
Eight new stories. Eight different wounds. Eight ways of asking whether faith, family, and intimacy can survive when silence itself is more dangerous than sin. Good Poison cuts through the polite surfaces of Black life to expose what festers underneath—betrayal, addiction, sexuality, and the desperate hunger to be seen.
Coker writes like he’s cracking a safe—quiet, precise, then suddenly everything opens.L. McRae — TV Critic
Good Poison moves like prestige drama and hits like a confession.A. Mensah — Showrunner
He understands the psychology of silence; every pause is a reveal.D. Chen — Script Analyst
Characters so specific they feel lived-in, not written.P. Alvarez — Casting Director
He makes Black masculinity complex, tender, and dangerous at once.S. Okafor — Cultural Commentator
White Noise plays with reality in a way that stays under your skin.R. Patel — Film Professor
Dialogue that leaves teeth marks.J. Rivera — Actor
He doesn’t chase twists; he earns them.K. Li — Development Exec
Tainted is a pressure cooker with a poet’s ear.M. Bryant — TV Critic
A Clear Conscience is empathy weaponized.T. Williams — Educator
His pages feel like scenes you’ve already lived.C. Dubois — Director
He turns trauma into architecture—every beat load-bearing.N. Smith — Dramaturg
Black Face is political without preaching; intimate without shrinking.Y. Adebayo — Journalist
Disquiet Yard finds the holy in the mundane and the danger in the quiet.H. Gordon — Festival Programmer
He writes intimacy with the tension of a thriller.E. Romero — Showrunner
Monologues you want to rewind and live inside.B. Kline — Podcaster
Villains with souls; heroes with blind spots.G. Mensah — Story Editor
He builds ensembles that breathe like family—messy, loyal, unforgettable.R. Park — Casting Associate
Scenes land like piano keys in a dark room—clean, resonant, inevitable.L. Ortiz — Composer
GoodPoison.TV proves indie scale can carry premium weight.F. Coleman — Streaming Curator
