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Best Gothic Poems

Below are the all-time best Gothic poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of gothic poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Gothic Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Gothic poems are below this new poems list.

This Gothic Girl by Wings, Broken
A gothic blunder by Costales, Josefina
Being Gothic by Trent, Leigh
Gothic Art by Born, Michelle
Being Gothic by Born, Michelle
Gothic Trilogy Roses are Red by vaso, arthur
Gothic Trilogy The Red Rose of the Cross by vaso, arthur
Gothic Trilogy Enticing Secrets by vaso, arthur
Gothic Love Grind by Bordner, Justin
GOTHIC STORM by jimmy boom semtex, nick armbrister

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The Best Gothic Poems

Details | Gothic Poem | |

Gothic Love Grind

I find you alone
in your favorite room of sorrow and suspense,
the woman I cherish more than victory or divine sense,
long untouched, you stare into a sonnet of romantic sadness,
supple shadows dress you in stubborn, gothic passion, a quiet finesse,
they know that I am the speed of your tears and the lover in your trance,
as I see what your heart has wept for, tender acceptance
I understand why my soul seeks your emotional opulence, 
with my powerful hands I hug those lonely, sexy shoulders of tired independence, 
knowing by the ease of your neck's pining tilt, by the searching gap of your starving lips
no longer are you startled by our love, no more will you deny the lust righteous,
gliding the backs of my fingers up under your smooth chin skin, beauty so generous,
I find you passion thrown,

I undo your bodice and your soft feminine flesh opens onto me
radiating craving that glorifies yearning,
I entreat you to grab my hard affection, to feel the firm rush replete
to place the head of my love within you like a heavy heartbeat,
you obey with unquestioning need, eyes alight, thighs wide
I lunge in deeply, completely, pushing through you a pleasure tide
as you breathe in the handsome shock of your fulfillment
I kiss the soft space inbetween your sumptuous breasts and taste wild wonderment -

J.A.B.

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015

More great poems below...


Details | Gothic Poem | |

THE HOUSE OF SPIRITS

It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents,
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.
Witchery or voodoo’s domain, it is a place of salvation for
Spiritual challenged, listen to the beautiful music they make,
Singing within this their walled cage of brick and mortar, these
Ethereal victims lost.
Here in peace they wait for the light to find them, a waiting chamber,
Of the lords misstep souls, those whom walked off the righteous path,
Yet are not without redemptions wanton of need.
Wanders of limbo’s astral plain, seekers whom roam blindly until 
Finding a doorway threshold, then crossing over, into this the house
Of spirits.
A corridors slender passageway, a way stations layover for those tired
And weary travelers to rest until their final journey’s end comes for them,
Sanctuaries power house of the supernatural.
Behind these red doors dare not the mortal flesh clasp the gilded knockers,
For within are things of the unspoken variety, creature protectors waiting at
Bay for the stray intruder to wander forth upon this sacred ground.
Angels kindred brethren whom seek out evil, destroyers patrolling the
Darker shadows for night stalkers whom wish to feast upon the forsaken.
But light’s white power is a mightier force to be reckoned with, and vanquished
Will the devils spawn into the depths from which they came, into the bowels
Of hell shall these demons be thrown into the blackened pit from which they came?
In the twilight’s ethereal hour, a mid-ways breaking point between light and dark,
A shimmering glow strikes this standing watch tower of abandonment’s forgotten,
And heaven’s flood gates are opened unto them, calling these the lost upwards
Towards nirvana and at last know true peace.
It looks like a simple brownstone building,
Not much different then any other but it’s residents.
Are of the haunted kind, not made of flesh and bone.
In every window a wind chime stirs, gently caressed by
A chilling winds icy finger tips, after all this is known as
The house of spirits.

BY; CHERYL ANNA DUNN

 

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014


Details | Gothic Poem | |

THE VAMPIRE

For I am death, the personification of pure evil,
The grand godfather, of legions of unnumbered generations.
Behold thy disciples, baptized beneath my crimson waters,
Of blood.
Then reanimated as the living undead, in mine own image,
These are my forsaken children of the Night.
Kissed by the angel of death, I'm resurrections insurrection,
Spawned in hell a creature devoid of heart or soul, yet do I
Exist, biting at the exposed throat of humanity, leaving it
Drained completely dry.
Does not the white lily turn ember red, within this the
Valley of damnation.
My throne is a black coffin gilded in golden refinement,
Residing beneath the wooden lid, the beast sleeps,
Waiting to be embraced by the darkness of night.
Slowly, emerging from mine cryptic mausoleum,
I'm famished for the taste of the living essence
Of mankind.
A gentlemen reaper of the fallen, deeply do these
Fangs penetrate into the soft flesh of humanity,
Tis a dark blessing's supernatural gift, have I been 
So given, to take life then to restore it.
Raw beasts of instinct, clinging to the ethereal
Moon, that hangs above illuminating this,
Our unholy abyss.
Welcome to a shadow nation of the unseen,
Whose roots extend backwards, to an older country’s
Unconsecrated soil, called Transylvania. 
On mine legacies crest, a red dragon with talons
Extended reaches out, grappling for powers control.
For I am Dracula, born of royal blood in life,
But in death I am a king, let these castle walls
Bleed on forever, and the hounds of hell,
Sing outside my rod iron gates.
But beware mortal flesh if you so enter,
For I will enjoy every trespasser,
Whom dares to venture within my
Sacred territory, with a fiendish smile
Upon my hungering face.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Beautiful Disaster

Beautiful Disaster

There she is
Silhouette in the night
Lights glimmer, as fame simmers
She is all of my desires
She is all of my fires

Here I am wet
Flooded with pain
There she is dry
As a desert rain
Her beauty rouge bleeding into my soul

I wash my hands
I wash my meaningless life
Of sins and woes
Alcohol in the sails
As I fade to seas far away

She at my feet
Singing her lovers lullaby
Me in the wind
Of sadness’s despair
The air soon to confess a sin

All my life, no lover in the morning bed
No future for a chance to wed
There she is now so devoted
Yet here we both are so bloated
Throats cut and floating

On a rivers dream

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


Details | Gothic Poem | |

The Flame of Our Name

Do come, my love, for I insist!
Within the darkest crevices of time, we fight, we cry, I die
As vision gives us knowledge, we descend farther into the grime
Curiouser and curiouser, we fall in dark crevices of time

Molded by imagination’s ink, the tentacles stretch outward
Singed from top to bottom, see the glorious coals sparkle
Yes, even before their completion into diamonds never comparable,
It is the very time in between the transformation that enchants the very soul

For in this time, I see the very worst of you,
How it shines without shame, aching to be tempered,
Crushing to prevail over its creators,
The tentacles squirming in hollow defense,
Ink spreading in the dark blue waters of deepest sorrow and agony

How your beak ever pecks upon its prey, 
Dashingly exquisite, its sharpness—petulant in its purpose 
And I say to you, as you destroy—come, for I shall not back away
When the weapons you hold fall upon my budding flesh
Growing despite the damages you have made
Come, my love, come!
See how my wounds have me, exalt me, trust me…
Into a reality I deeply fall, forcing you upon your knees
For how I know, through your destructing ways,  
That together I will always make us be

Come, my love, for I die,
Heavy in the ecstasy of grief,
See how the fairy trees dance upon woes and lift hearts like plucked flowers
How demons with tempting eyes move as squealing moths crawl toward our fires
Wishing the burn of the coals, yet never touching such change
How the light floods through and through, to every dark corner and fissure
Licking the bonding surfaces with perfumed oils crackling 
The black tentacles scatter outwards, forming a wall around the growing blaze
My eyes close—from those very eyes you came
Descending to ascend, my love you crave
Trusting the time I have tamed in last feat,
You rise into the everlasting restoration of our name

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Faithful Shadow

I saw a death shadow in the eyes of my infancy
a soft mercy with calm blue fancy,
in childhood, when free will asserted it's wild supremacy
we sang of star charriots and laughter loyal to hyperactivity,
I see a death shadow in the prime of my ascendancy
outlining my temple of truth, whistling thy words of wizardry, 

I hear It like the madness of morning's ending,
I taste It as if from the burning breast milk of a Dragoness,
I see It in the bleeding smile of my heart's kindness,
I speak to It when love's luster unlocks the lunacy of loneliness,
I feel the humble shade of It's jade justice in a world hot and hustling,

My death shadow has a surface sweet with patient purpose,
It is not rough with forboding frost that frights the fight of flesh,
rattling the scythe of doom and cackling for cataleptic crisis it does not,
It is not a grim God or a greedy Goddess, no taxing terror trumpeted,
It has never been an angel of escape or a demon of dour delirium, 
when suffering becomes a seduction of brute beauty I share in it's wise joy,
my death shadow follows the desperate yet disciplined form of my body battle
through life's plethora of coy poisons and possessive passions,
marching along side me with martial grace, sculpting my face with lion spirit -

J.A.B.

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Duel at Dusk

The sun was setting, as it usually does
The town a ghost town, the main street all but silenced
The wind blowing leaves and dreams to and fro
The tension in the air was palpable

The few souls about all peering out shuttered windows
When in from the west, came a storm
Her name was Serena Storm, 
They shivered in her wake, the poetess of dead lovers

Then over to the east side, riding in slow and steady
The grim reaper or so it seemed, hollowed eyes
Dead soul and dark mind, his side arm at the ready
The greatest duel in history, right here

In the town of Nowhere

The setting sun reflected of her dark long coat
The last tear drop, falling to its death in the dust
She stared ahead, face blank
Daring, with a glare, shoot me, shoot me, try

He dismounted his horse, called Heartless Soul
His eyes slits, staring down the curvaceous storm pacing untoward
His hand inside his coat, slowly pulling out a mickey
He belted down a shot or three, 

In the town of nowhere

They both paced, hands at their side
Closer and closer, the saloon keeper
Not quite sure his bottle would be paid in full
Then as quickly at the sun set……

Vaso drew first. 
The finest long black quill one ever saw
His other hand dropped his bottle
Magically a writing pad appeared

Serena drew second, pen at her side
The color of blood, and for good reason
She too tablet in hand, putting ink to paper
As they both furiously wrote

In the town of Nowhere

Hearts were murdered
The meaning of life was hanged not long after
Love was beheaded
The main street a river of blood

A storm of tears washing away crimson desires
An empty vassal, Vaso’s insides already dead
Dropping his pen, he pulled out his sword of mourning
The duel to end, as he lopped off his own head

She dropped paper and pen to the ground
She faced down the grim reaper, and it’s he who is dead
The only one to know, his name was Arthur
King of the dark, ruler of lost dreams

In the town of Nowhere

The poetic duel of the century
Both won and lost
Long ago

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Another One

Waking
Slumber
Another day
One more to sway

My eyes are red
My hopes are dead
I live in dread
In bed

Another day
Another one
Another breath of putrid air
Why

Interludes
Softly mocking me
Musicale morticians
Playing with my mind

Oneness
Nothingness
Meaningless
Vodkaness

Swimming in tears
Arms flaying in past races
Symphonies sounding grandiose themes
I am one with death and her piano keys

I sit as the keys fall to the floor
Sadness absorbed by the empty walls
I am one
With no one

No tunes
No cartoons
Rain and depression strangle my heart
Nothing left at all to give

Wrinkled
Withered
Despair in the king’s castle
Counting gold

One
Bloated and floated
Black liver dancing in the sea
Shouting his oneness

Return
Come back
Touch ne
Humanity

Oneness

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Destiny's Clutch

The dawn spoke her name like a silken secret
carried carefree by the tradewinds of lust and larceny
imported from the traderoutes of paradise and pandemonium, 
sequined with violet venom she venerates the virtue of volition
her love is unlawful, unequalled in unrest, righteous in conquest,
tender in temptation, torrid your surrender, her beauty a will bender,

Queen of Empire Passion, warrior unknown to submission
her kingdom was not inherited, glory and throne ungifted,
the treasures, stables and territories, battles and crown all won,
rich in intellect, endowed with rare resources, affluent in original passion
bejeweled in natural beauty, she bewitches beasts and men alike,
Poets pen her preciously as Woman Total, Priests implore her pardon,
male servants pander to her anger and ardor, satisfaction she commands,
Sisterhood the symbol and soul of her mission,

I was just a man, a wanderer wading through her reign,
from the unsubdued North I came, a curious traveler with ancient name,
my tribe unfamiliar, underestimated, a Chieftain of steady pulse,
tresspassing towards her roots my aim was direct knowledge of her
woman of renown cunning and learning, woman of exotic ability,
seeking teaching and romance, though I would not be her Subject or victim,
this she knew, this she abhorred, a challenge to her dominance,

I agreed to meet her alone in the open morning of war,
in an abeyounce of gliding fire she comes riding out of the sun
regalia of black roses against red tears flying above her shoulder,
our horses begin a battle tromp, breaths heavy with moist mania
she has leopards in her eyes
poinsettias and death's palms painted on thighs,
scalps of exlovers and enemies slung on sadle
we acknowledge one another with ritual yell
I exclaim, Warrior Poetess, she screams Poet Warrior!
dismounting with mutual vigor our combat erupts
cutting my cheek with her blade's lip
kicking me in the ribs
I clinch her collared throat
and heel trip us to the ground
she snarls, I growl,
a glimpse of rescue in eachother's eyes -

J.A.B.

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2014


Details | Gothic Poem | |

THE VAMPERIC PRAYER-DRACULA'S OATH

In the name of blood, for it is the source of life itself,
Plasma's crimson essence of liquid infusion, to the undead's
Pulsating heart.
Intravenously feeding cravings passion, through the carotid
Artery at the throat of humanity, thou'st not love, suffer
The pleasure indulge the pain, the out come shall be the same,
To be embraced by the black ebony arch angel of death,
Release thy darker side, let the instinctual behavior of the beast,
Know freedoms unshackling at last.
Become one of his sacred disciples, a creature of his dark dimension,
A kindred being, unto the legion of the night.
In the moon's elliptical light, shadows thus move from 
Left to right, shifting as transparent figures, phantoms of
Illusions, taking winged flight, soaring on the currents
Of air mingling with their ancestral brethren, the vampire bat.
Run does not the lone wolf, along the side path next to man,
As we do so walk amongst them, yet never attempting to belong.
Oh are we not the a shunned, the accursed, by a God known
For his forgiveness, to love all living things under
Heaven, but for us this mightiest of lords, turns
His gaze away, not acknowledging our existence.
Our we not his lost sheep, missing from his flock, why
Does not this Sheppard seek this black lamb’s wool,
Is it too coarse for weaving's wheel, as it spins thus
And is it not said that he created all life within his image.
Nay I pray this vamperic prayer, why has he abandon
Us, the darker of his creations.
Behold the unascended, begging to enter beyond the gates
Of light, children of the lost are we, seeking a father blind
To his responsibility.
Harvesting, by the basic instincts given unto us,
Taking only what we need to survive, for this he has turned
Against us, and thus taking the light of day with him.
So my father of damnation's hell, has offered salvation's
Darker domain as a sheltering harbor of comfort, I will not
Abstain his patronage.
For I am the ashunned, living by the moonlight's haunting glow,
Yet yearning to see one last horizons sunset, but the Holy Father,
Hears not my humble vamperic prayer.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2014


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Darkness Of Night

Darkness of night,
introduce me to what lurks
underneath your enchanting moonbeams.
I know that I should stay away,
yet, I am drawn to these silent things
that could easily end me.
I am not afraid of the supernatural.
I am spellbound, enraptured, mystified
by these psychotic creature's requiem dance,
that captures my soul
as it's own possession.

Darkness of night,
take me into your underworld,
where the arms of roaming specters
can totally envelope me,
like a densely tangled spider-web,
with no intention to ever let go.
Allow them to take me away,
to a deep place where, peacefully,
my dying soul can finally rest.

Darkness of night,
tell the devil only this....
he can have all of me,
to punish in any befitting manner.
I have already been through torture,
known pain, lived with loneliness,
and seen hell on earth.
The devil may care to try,
but he cannot hurt me any more.

Darkness of night,
say goodbye for me.
Shout high up to the heavens
and tell the sun it needs to shine
no longer on me.






Dark Poetry Contest


Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Before The Fire

I remember when our love was simple
a preamble to the heart tremble and the gods' gamble
when we didn't owe each other anything and our artistry meant everything, 
we were free of hope and suffering, living on the feeling of belonging to love rising,

We made a lexicon of lightening and splendor of thunder
rendezvoued in the sharp rain of rage and grew gold roses in rebel's plunder,
taught truth not to bet on beauty but to bite into the meat of rugged reality, to taste our mettle, 
you became the priestess of my noetic eyes, and I, the priest of your poetic pain, we were miracle -

J.A.B.

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Jealous Gratitude

I am jealous
of everything that has ever touched you,
the breaths of hot sunshine that have soothed your cheeks with hope,
the moonlight that has painted your lips with lilly silver,
the darkness that has calmed you into soft slumber,
the rain that has pelted your flesh with sky splash,
the breeze that has lifted your hair with seductive intent,

Jealous of every temptation that has made your soul sweat,
every secret that has sworn obedience to your obsessions,
every kiss that has taken a taste of your sweet heat
every man that has collapsed into your romance,
every mouth that has spoken your name with awe
every second that has circled your psyche,
every particle that has pranced through your bloodstream, 
every emotion that enlivens your ego,
every knot of knowledge that supports your smarts,
every star that has caught your girlish wishes,
every tear that slides faithfully from the pink rims of your eyelids,
every cut that has silenced your pride,

Jealous of every thing
that has left you, fed you, led you, entered you,
yet, I am grateful for all these odd and splendid things
that have known your beauty and pain,
for they have made my need for you real
and your love for me possible,
this jealousy is my love hypocrisy -

J.A.B.

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Fate On The Feathers

When I met you in the language of lonely war
three feathers fastened to your breast breathing sore
many graves of gentlemen knew your score and the devil deigned for more,
tears you had for all times rhymes and ribs broke from crimes making aching lore,
ink of fire you did pour, scold and scorch on skin red soft, truly poetry the maze and metaphor,

A feather you gave with each kiss and wound to savor
their texture smooth as silken vapor, tips cut cruel by sibyl's saber,
quills and spells I made of them, heaven and venom in every lash and letter
when love was innocent, revolutionary, rampant with rogue fight, rapid on soul river
with hawk's edge I wrote with might and flight, dominant on the flesh of firmament's blue leather,

Where the owl's point pierced the vellum of victory's scripture
antebellum affections covered our eyes with wings of damp wisdom and cool color,
together we took the touch of roses and razors, feeling the sting and arousal of friendly danger
as the nights knew more than days, secrets grew sweeter, dreams bolder, howls heavy and louder,
our zenith reached the zone quiet calm black, a raven's stem sealed the song of sleeping stranger -

J.A.B.

Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Haunted

A hole in the head shooting pain trembles
nightshades coldly down the spine
a soul lost in the land of the living
carried away in darkness
flying inside dark clouds holding just a dream

Distant thunder roars lightening splitting cracks
sure as the crow flies crawling opens hells gates
dark jewels of the night
charred remains churning in a cauldron
boiling goodness tears of thoughts

Piercing screams spawning nightmares
holding a promise once made
walking in a valley amongst the dead
shadows now smile hearing animals scream
as the moon plays silver dancing light

Dreams snatched away from reality
the crow calls echoes in silence
victims of this world howling over and back
tragedy cries in their pain and suffering
eyes seeking light
whispers through the branches
a heather bleat creature of the night calls

Haunted by humans chained to the earth
awaiting shadows and sunsets 
a cursed banshee wails supernatural screams 
from everywhere and nowhere

Mind numbing winds passing through
a white silhouette shredded shroud
around a heart entombed
in agonies' twilight shades clouds darken
storms brewed stirring specters chase the wind

Cold rains become lost tears
the willow weeps in eternal sorrows
a lament for the dead
as the silver crescent moon smiles goodbye

Blends in clear as day after sunrise
forgotten in a valley of unrest
death bell's toll out from the past
onyx feathered crows call painful cries

Forever seeking heaven's gate now sealed
that promised choice was lost ages ago
only burning hellfires
or cold earthworms await




Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler



Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

PASSIONS WARRIOR

Slain lies the heart of innocence, a vanquished warrior
Of passions flame, melted is his shield of honor, this
Gladiator whom sacrifices all for pleasures desire.
Cutting deeply, do the knives of betrayal, leaving raw
Wounds exposed to the chilling air, of sorrows fallen
Hero, whom elups forth crimson tears of emotional
Regrets, in this arana of the broken hearted lovers.
Steels weapon of faith, melts in the weakened
Hand, as strenetith medusa turns upon him, shifting
Him unto the stone heart of loves lost soul, leaving
Behind a monument of gray.
The concurred romantic ceases, the last true bard
Writes no more, this lytrical man journies through
The valley’s of the shadowed heart, clinging upon
The light of hope, yet unarmoured this soldier
Battles blindly in the dark.
Maidens fall before him, kneeling, yielding,
Their inner being unto him, but the reddest
Rose petals possed before him turn blackish,
Unto his memory of faded elegance.
The wind still whispers her name in the
Darkness, the stilled frangrace lingers upon
The breeze, the softness of her fleshes coreses
Lies beyond his warmth finger tips.
But one another worthy shield maiden will
Revive this fallen foe, and no force in heaven
Or in hell shall separate these beating souls.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Count Dracula's Spell


A walk upon dark, icy ground
sends shivers down to bony spine;
spared from the choke of death thus bound,
breath comes whence love and hate entwine.

The count, their lord, doth rise at dusk
to terrorize blanched countryside 
His steely eyes slice trembling husk 
for drop of life, his brides abide.

The stench of corpse wafts from dead night
like sweet perfume on lover’s nape.
Enchanted by his starless flight,
he beckons with dark-wings of cape.

Then, like the moth to burning flame,
her fervor climbs for fangs drawn near. 
a scarlet kiss to seize with shame,
Greed’s appetite expels stored fear. 

In harsh rays of the waking dawn,
She curses beast, her longing’s doom.   
With conscience breaking charm and brawn,
She lifts wood stake above his tomb.   
  

By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, 1/12/15
for Giorgio's Sketch a Fictitious Character II Contest 
*iambic tetrameter

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

A Country Song Gone all Wrong

I want so bad in Casarah’s pants
She said I had to offer up some romance
Off we went to a local dance
I bought her a flower, a beer, and a Big Mac too
She said not quite enough but it will have to do

So in my truck that has no doors
I apologized and said no seat, its on the floor
She smiled and sat, I gathered in anticipation
Of having me in her bedroom a waiting
Little did I realize I'd wish to be vacating

We arrived at her home, at half past twelve
She said grab a beer, cause my hubby is here
I said what the hell, your hubby you say?
She said, why yes where else would he stay?
So I grabbed a beer thinking ok this is a wee bit queer

I was confused, I will tell you that
Her hubby smiled at me like a dirty rat
He had some rope and a little duct tape
This sure wasn’t what I figured on this ol date
From bad to worse, I resigned myself to fate

She calmly said, what could you have possibly thought?
I brought you here, for our pleasures of naught
We will tie you up and start the game
We are the masters, and you have no claim
Now what’s a little pain? so please, don’t try to abstain

Tied and bound what could I do?
They had their pleasures without further adieu
I did the dishes, the vacuuming and the laundry too
Not an easy task tied in ropes by those two
Broken and tormented and tired as heck

I soon plotted my escape up north to Quebec
This Gothic nightmare must come to and end
Else these two satins will drive me round the bend
So I unbound the ropes holding me so tight
Managed to escape into the dark frigid night

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Lucy Westenra's Diary

The virgin page is spread before me,
pristine as this prissy white township,
and my own tameness is tedious
and guts me, like the port-slaughtered fish.

I need to puncture the pallor
with black words, tough and dark
as the jet that veins these cliffs.
What dribbles through my veins

is insipid, light-drained.
Speared by these ink-dark thoughts,
what blackens my nights
like mourning jet?

Last night I dreamt
a whirlwind of wings:
amber-eyed gales of gulls,
ebon storm clouds of bats.

I feel the snare
of my engagement ring
tightening its finger-trap.
I shrink like a nightshade

from the sun's gold goad.
And I have learnt
that what is tombstone-cold
can be cremation-hot:

sultry breaths upon my breasts,
and a sharpness like a needle
piercing the lily of my throat.
By day I am porcelain-pale

with the primness of afternoon teas,
pleasant walks under parasols,
genteel small talk.
By night I am moon-white,

beckoning blackness in -
a harbour light penetrating dark,
luring a ship towards land
to snag in sand arms of the strand.

And a prow stakes moon-bleached beach.
Night lopes through streets.
Moon-howls loop, shadows leap,
wings at windows beat,

and a dusk-light lust grazes my throat.
Enter by moonlight or invite,
impale the pale;
I'm blood-wet with desires,

have needs to feed;
sinking and drinking in sunset red
that has bled and spread
like a staining of ink.




a slightly different take, for 'Be Bram Stoker For A Day' contest

Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2014


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Devil Damsel

Singing in soundproof water…
I am an eel starving from the aftermath deception of home 
Living there for so long, I finally notice the danger-
The peril of staying in a dwelling full of jagged teeth chomping…

To a forest of underwater vines,
I flee and take the slippery reigns
I crave for the Land of Tipping Time to sip marriage on this drafty midnight;
Though all I see is…
A ceiling of water craving the stars’ gentle gleam…

Night is exploding gently…

A pair of demon eyes are flowing through a black trench in short spurts of motion
The very trench I have escaped from
I know…I know…it’s waiting for me to retreat…
Schools of glistening silver fish zoom by, 
Never giving time to lose light
I would ride on their unified backs if I could ascend the depths of pain...
Take hold of the slippery reigns…
Before those eyes fade away….
When they do, you shall know the Devil is no longer on fire
Long put out, long put off,
Sinking into the screaming
Trailing off into the wayside chomp of defeat

The wailing whales echo their whistles below
Calling out to the mute thrashing and screaming 
There is no reply, but a sinking feeling
And the sudden brush of…
The tip of a colossal mouth ascending from the deep
Reaching heights only to devour and bring you down
To the skeletons of too many waterdwellers…
That couldn’t find a way onto the silvery backs of their guardians 

Do not tell me that is where I am heading…
I am just an eager eel looking for a new home…
You there...yes, you...
Make up my mind…

For night is exploding gently…

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Breaking Free

Chained down to the ground, Unable to move or make a sound. Tattered rags worn over old scabs. Water drips from the ceiling just a distance from reach. The Thirst is unbrearible like the dying screams of a loved one. Moldey hard bread is tossed at my feet. There is no end to the immense heat. Viciously i gorged on the morsel of food that lay before me. With the new found strength i lept on the guard that was foolish enough to enter my cell. Now my power grew the fangs slipped out and i ripped into the neck of one of my captors .Lemon dots what sour spots grow melon pops out of my shower top. Finding the keys to the chain in his  pocket i am so near to freedom. Racing down the dungeon i am tripped up by the leg of a fellow prisoner. "dont leave without me" he shouts. after unlocking all the cell doors freeing all the poor souls i began my accent with my army of undead warriors i find it most likely i will survive this day. With freedom in my sight i drive through the main door only to see a battalion of were wolves....

Copyright © Della Vossa | Year Posted 2014


Details | Gothic Poem | |

The Graveyard - Visual 3

Here forsaken souls are gathered; Gathered in night’s cold wrap of woe. Woe to those who now are treading; Treading the paths that lead them here. Written June 7, 2015 by Andrea Dietrich For the "Four Lines Only" Poetry Contest of nette onclaud Based on visual number 3

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Forbidden Castle

Crows gather around the mysterious, abandoned castle, 
Its bastions and towers drowning within a mournful silence. 
Ghostly shadows loom within the dungeons and the murder holes, 
Screams of perished souls are locked within the castle walls. 

Long it has stood there upon a mountain of tempestuous winds, 
Withholding a secret from haunting years passed. 
Stones big, dark and looming, an ancient evil lurks inside, 
Creeping through each room, an eeriness unexplained.

Each corridor discloses a tale of bloodshed on that dreaded night, 
when the devil sent his descendants to run havoc amongst the mortals. 
The bitter queen who summoned them did not live to confess the tragedy, 
She took her life, witnessing all before her slaughtered including the adulterous king.

As a child, I had heard countless legends of the forbidden castle, 
Of the torture chambers and the merciless beheading of the accused innocent. 
Many have warned, “Beware…stay away…” and now I stand before the entrance,
The devilish crows watching knowingly, as if they foresee my fate.

“Beware the snares in the dark, for Death grins, awaiting your coming…”

A special collaberation with The Silent One
Thanks for the opportunity! :)

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

In Desolation She Stands

In Desolation She Stands

She stands in her desolation
her wicked life a vile desecration 
dying victims stink of her perfume
sacrifice and pain fill up her room.

Hate and sin her sole wish
madness sits in her left hand
blackened blood covers each breast
she tortures , her victims never rest.

Scars lace around her eyes
dark hair flows with contempt
pain invades with her loud cry
she laughs as innocent children die.

Eyes have seen such misery
ripping living bodies apart
her lusting flesh the fatal lure
in her web, death is the only cure.

Courageous victims fight back
with fury at being so deceived
she guts them with renewed delight
as evil eyes watch the scene at night.

She stand desolate
awaiting her nightly feast
smell of rotten flesh in her teeth
her foot-claws anchored in hell beneath.

She stands defiant
lusting for putrid blood
screams exciting her rancid ardor
as she slashes deeper and harder.

Valiant heroes are her prey
she that shuns light of bright day
greater their fame more she glows
bloody ripping apart sells her shows.

None stopped her blood lust
every night-feast a new victim dies
even courage lacks the deep power
to defeat, to end forever her darkest hour.

She desires ever bigger feasts
as she increases her lusting traps
putrid blood and rotten flesh stain
her songs of misery, torture and pain.

Engulfed in vile darkness eating 
only honor stands a chance of beating
This desolation monster at its wicked game
By refusing to ever again utter its vile name.

1/30/2015




Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2015


Details | Gothic Poem | |

Bring It On

Eckhart Tolle says, "Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness."

...

To this, I say, bring it on
Throw everything at me, the night of your own right,
And as sure as there is light,
I will live, push, cry, and fight
If the words roll away into the winds of woe
When your eyes no longer burn in my vicious glow,
I will pull through without, within
Taking all the impact in

Lost will be my promised purpose,
In the deepest prisons cold,
Jeers of delinquent devils shout,
"Out with mercy! 
Out with fight! 
Out with all the hope of light!
Into the fray, vicious and gay,
Stab their souls in false array,
Cut their tongues of honeyed hope,
Crack their joyous jaws and mope,
Beat their battled courage raw,
Reduce them to tears-commit them to flaw!"

To this, I say, bring it on
Drag me to the prisons that quiver,
Into the hell that encompasses the strongest of mind
If treasures are fables, then grime I shall find
And I shall mold the muck into wings of luck
Descending the cliffs of the damned 
I will light the wick in my world 
With the flame of all determination unfurled!

In the cries of goodbyes I will lift mine eyes,
Across the seas of delusion,
Sing-song, supple voices cry,
"Welcome to dream, 
Welcome to relief,
Welcome to mastered misery supreme!
Syrupy promises, in smiles we roam,
And make sugared falsehood our hanus home!
Take their wearied souls and breathe,
In the softest fumes of darkest retreat,
Drain their sorrows in the booze of blood,
Take their children and drown them in mud!"

To this, I say, bring it on!
Lure me into your seas of wrath,
Poisoned with liars promising heaven
If misery be my friend, let her lend a hand,
And lift those hopeless children from the sand
Riding the waves that were once dreams-now life,
I will let myself drown at the expense of their ascension! 
You will not take our next generation!

I rise in the gorgeous eyes of your frenzied surprise,
I make love to the promise that even the weak survive
As certain as there is love,
I will always battle with the tiger eye and the charm of a dove
And the souls will remember the days of suffering,
Giving into drifting doubt:
"Remember our slaving curse tonight,
Our God brings death as sure as night,
Weakly we beg you to surrender, right or wrong...
We cannot sing along if we don't belong..."

Moan and groan, my flock, till the break of dawn
Still to this day, and always,
I will pray, bleeding, heaving and graized... 
Bring it on...

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015