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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

Search for Gothic poems, articles about Gothic poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Gothic poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...


New Gothic Poems

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

Dark Gothic Heart by Vitale, Mario
Gothic Demonic Illusion by Vitale, Mario
Radiant Gothic Forest by Vitale, Mario
Gothic Illumination by Vitale, Mario
Gothic Nights by O'Leary, Terry
A Gothic Revival Quest by Vitale, Mario
Goth nature flower gothic by Polk, Tameka
Gothic Blackness Once Again by Ainsley, Michael
Gothic Girls Don't Roller Skate by Wings, Broken
This Gothic Girl by Wings, Broken

View all new Gothic Poems

The Best Gothic Poems

 
Details | Gothic Poem | Create an image from this 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

Details | Gothic Poem | Create an image from this 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 | Create an image from this poem.

The Prophet

The Prophet


I read the words of a poet
From the days of tomorrow
His verse flowed backwards in time
And rhyme 
I, a fair maiden, doomed to a fate
Of obligations unseen
If only the book on my lap
Was not ahead of my youthful station on this earth

Verses seeping with promise
I long for the voice of this master of the pen
I day dream, and lose my place in this world of pain
To hear his softness in the blowing wind
Alas it must be the times he lives

No man can carry such passion
Inside a book within a book of dreams
Yet, here I am, to ponder
The romance of a tomorrow I shall never see

I am doomed to village laws and customs
A stoning that is so unjust
For I unveiled my eyes to the world before me
Staring into the depths of mans possessive hatred
I ran in fear, I ran towards the forest of hope

As they drag me by my feet
The book clutched close to my breast
Bloodied and in the moonlight, I open it
To find out, even in the future of majestic noble poets
There lies evil still
Stealing the breath of innocents and infants

I hope one day
I shall meet the author of these words
I may slap him across face for my silly fantasies
So long I dreamed the world would change as does the seasons
For better days filled with peace and kindness

I hope one day
I shall meet the author of these words
I may plant a sweet kiss upon his soft lips
Singing of songs he has long forgotten
I slowly wrap the rope around my neck

They will not stone me
They shall not claim any victory over me
The poets words, hidden deep between my legs
Shall melt within my soul
For better days filled with love and kindness
I shall kiss him sweetly in my death


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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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 | Create an image from this poem.

Gods at the Comedy Club

The house was full
Of Gods and deities
The curtain call was soon
The water vasos were poured
And became the finest of wines
The bread multiplied
The baker you see
Was a part time magician
The fishermen all relaxed
As I saw fish fall from the skies

Ra was there
Oh my the tan on him, poor harif
Huitzilopochtli glared at his competition
Toth and Horus with godly grins
God himself was there
The door man didn’t check id's though
A few came with the same name
If they paid their gold coins at the doors
Of Godly entertainment
In they came

Thor arrived like a bolt of lightening
The Greek gods exposed as fakes
Trumpets of false prophecies
Sessions and courts left to fate
For dereference we let them in for a beer, ok two!
The other Gods chuckled as they sneered
Even Batman showed up!!!
He wasn’t a god, but he had good connections
Allah was there, 4 cows, Shiva and Ganesha
Rama and Agni were even holding hands
The house was full of Gods
Jesus Christ showed up late
Hippies do that you know
Funniest of all was the Holy Ghost
He tried to sneak in with Casper
Hashem and Galmi came, they got discounts on the tickets
You all get the point
Bacchus charming the ladies with his wine
As Thalia ecaaped the wrath of Pan
She smiled for she new Galileo a charming man
The house was full of Gods!



The Norse gods resilient in beauty
Freya as captivating as ever
She had an eye on me
As I, on her
In charge of the curtains indeed a blessing
When a Goddess requests a stage hand like moi
Drapes of passion conceal the lust of biblical ways

The curtains rose as the headliner appeared
The Gods all rose and clapped
As Galileo the Great comedian walked in
He shouts out! "Did you hear the sun that travels around the earth?"
Well the sun got tired, so last week the earth decided to spin around the sun!
The crowd roared, I mean that was so ridiculous as to be funny.
The he goes, 2 dummies and the pope walk in to a bar......
Well the gods may have loved him........

The Pope did not take kindly to be called a dummy
He was Urban and mundane but held to his heart his earthly disdain
For the comedian called Galileo
Banishment, the paradise of many a great
Intellectuals
Arrested for using their intellectual credentials

The masses of the unread
Followers of the ones shouting hate at the mountain head
Rush , rush rush we must condemn
This comedian from earth’s very very dark end

The Comedy do you all see?
I am God
You are all the holy sea
From Galileo all the way to Galilee


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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How Do I See You

How Do I See You

People often wonder
How they are perceived
Some think they're kind and nice
When really they are filled with greed

Some are selfish and self-righteous fools
A few think their beauty is mascara in blue
Some feel that de meaning others makes them upright
They usually run, when challenged to the fight

So now the question comes down to this
How do I see you Sir or do you wish to stay in bliss
You are not normal, that’s for sure
You may suffer from emotions’ scares

Your pain may be physical and intense as a hot star
So no you’re not normal, you can’t fly away
Too many look up to you
For your noble and kind ways

You give comfort and solace to those in need
Your kindness exceeds even a Rich kings largest decree
You are an engineer and builder of dreams
Reaching out to people with compassion, sometimes unseen

You belong in the kingdom of heaven
I do believe they have an all Irish bar section!
Its there we can share a brew or maybe a few
Laughing at those who live downstairs in hotter pews


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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Deceptions Epiphany

A lie, wrapped in deception, in the cloak of silent nights
Deception, soothing as black ink, until dried
The wetness caresses the illusion of pretenses white
When it dries, one is exposed to the evil dark fright

A lie inside a lie inside a lie, inside the Pandora’s box
Unwrap it all you will witness the sly red fox
Run from the forest that consumes the noble heart
Lay your eyes on the Gothic inspired cathedral ceilings

From there, is but heavens start
As the symphony plays the rhapsody of life
Remember always the deceiver for his bringing strife
Raise your hands like a conductor of brave hearts

Speak up and speak out, when you see the silent
Darkness bring you illusions in the night
Beware of the dark lamb, and hold up the noble light
With ethereal dreams, one day you know what is right


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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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

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Moonlight Shadow

Moonlight Shadow


Broken dreams
On purple flamed wings

Celtic rumors
Burning bright

Crosses and crescents
Knights and swords

In the mist of a weary mystical night
I saw her lying there, chest broken and bare
Picking her up, horse galloping away
We escaped the arrows and swords
She my sworn enemy lay half dead and splayed
My duty for not to tribes, but only to save
Slaved to the sword, this moment I escaped
Both bloodshed and grief
Freedom at last

In a hut in the forest
I dressed her wounds
I caressed her heart
Our eyes met over the firelight
I emptied myself into her
She, with lips so sweet
Drained the flood of tears and hate
From my very being
Shocked that love should strike me as an arrow
I held her, my first and only love
For three days and three nights
We whispered to each other foreign words
I touched her face and as she touched mine
In my arms she died
Softly and loved


I buried her
I buried my hate
I buried my sword
I buried my history

Celtic rumors
Burning bright

I, at peace
For the final flight

I held love within my arms
For that celestial moment in time

Now the final embrace
Wrinkled and old
I kiss deaths door
Knowing within
She is there to greet me


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Repose

Alone
Under stone
The road ends here
Grave of bones

I reached out to caress
The past, and her sweet heart so blessed
Tears water down flowers, that one day shall wilt
For even they, gave up on loves bloom

I have been devoid of heart long ago
Dead to the living
Living for the dead
Love does that, so do not dread

She, who stole the essence of me,
Where ever she shall be buried
My bones may lie over yonder
My heart lies heavy, with the phantom of she

The past burying all, to the one and last
Says I
Alone under grey washed gravestone
At long last

Père Lachaise


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

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The WITCH- collaboration with Liam Mc Daid

                                                    The WITCH 
A
furore 
in the town,
draped in black gown,
a WITCH is brewing a storm.
Bringing nightfall to the dainty
spiked with malevolence and vanity
spitting a curse from her wicked tongue
       Silently scoffing the blood of old and young 
          eyes of medusa , cursed to the bottom of the sea
      she is the descendent of a dark world of fantasy.
The magic emanates from her ravenous eyes, 
rendering the stories of deceit and lies,  
grimaced into the gloominess,
of shallows and emptiness,
she is brewing a storm
draped in a black
Gown .


© By rEdfiery and Liam Mc Daid 2016 


Copyright © Red Fiery | Year Posted 2016

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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 | Create an image from this poem.

Mary and Frank

Mary Godwin -- soon to be Shelley --
Writing with Percy, Byron and Polidori
To create the scariest horror story,
Gave life to a monster of immortal glory.


Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016

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Edgar

  Edgar, you must have had, all at once, in your head,
  poems of ravens and maidens,
  Creeping shadows, cemeteries in October's cold and misty shrouds of gray,
  Short stories never ending,
  Macabre thoughts churning,
  Sitting in all black,
  in the darkness that defined you,
  comforting, yet chilling,
  your dreams fragmented by horror,
  Alcohol dampening your soul,
  as you lost so much in life,
  In Death's cruel beauty laid your young wife.

  My agape love for you eclipses time,
  Melancholy, with the gift of ponderous genius,
  I read your six stanza poem, "To Helen",
  and in a rush such as the wind,
  I breathed in your rapturous written art,
  I, never graced by prettiness, wondering if you would of
  had, with your debilitated, sad eyes, moments of mirth with me.

  Is it wrong to so cherish, one you've never met ?
  His poet's heart released a beauteous string of words,
  and his words live on, echoing from long ago,
  as the thousand bats piercing into the autumn twilight,
  hunting for their sustenance, as the gold harvest moon rises,
  Their webbed wings musically charm my misery,
  as I turn my thoughts to my morose prince, who untimely died.


Copyright © Regina Elliott | Year Posted 2017

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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

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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

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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

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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

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Lady in Red

Lady in red

I toss and turn
In my hostile bed
I have visions of me lady in red
She has invaded my insane outspoken head


I was sure she was dead
For the blood flowed like rivers rouge
My knife for sure cut deep, no more need be said
Into 1000 pieces she was carved, no refuge

Yet here she is staring me down
Why this sudden fear, why do I shake and frown?
She is dressed like a queen of long ago
She walks the forests, of this I am sure

She is the lady in red
She is the lady that is very very dead
Her ghost chases me through the woods
I run and tumble, escape I know I should

She stares a blank stare
There is death in the air
Her love will devour me one more time
The red crimson blood flows, not hers, but mine


She held my heart so close
She drank my love
Until I existed more


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Darkest of Confessions

Darkest of Confessions


Voices in my head
Dancing abreast with the abstract
Shattered glasses and shattered dreams
History repeats many a lovers’ defeat

I demand a duel
With my heart
I welcome the sword that shall draw first blood
Ending the torment of duel nationalities

Kissing lovers and slaying love
The ménage a trois of all duels
The sword, the heart, the opera of nothings
Graveyards hold the court, from dusk to dark

Lovers return
Some are loved
Some are slayed
Regrets in my diary of misery

Hold me true
I shall sing of you
In my darkest confessions
As my sword pieces your heart

You can bleed in tranquility
With your last breath
It’s I Mademoiselle de Maupin
That laid you to eternal rest



Julie d'Aubigny 1670Aprox–1707, better known as Mademoiselle Maupin or La Maupin, was a 17th-century swordswoman and opera singer. Her tumultuous career and flamboyant life were the subject of gossip and colourful stories in her own time, and inspired numerous portrayals afterwards






Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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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

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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

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The Neck is Broken

The Doll Collection



The necklace scattered: all into little pieces
Another quiet doll for my collection
I twisted her throat until her eyes shown dead
Into the night they stare so very red

I stand her up, on a small doll chair
Crafted with loving hands that freed her from breathing air
They are all in a row, so pretty they are, staring at my wife
She is paralyzed you see, her neck would not even tear for me

I collect dolls, for my loves doll collection
She doesn’t move, only stares in murky recollections
Small pieces of deep anguish leak from her eyes
She recoils at the new dolls I give her as a surprise

They sit in chairs; the doll house is so pretty
With amber and gold, I wrap a necklace around each
Such pretty dolls, that me and my love keep
Each doll face is my path towards guilty redemption

No one knows the secrets we have hidden so deep
No one knows the dolls that we collect and keep
No one knows I have saved them all, they shall never weep
No one knows my wife, paralyzed; so shall never speak

That fateful night she refused to die
Her necklace so beautiful wrapped in blood so dry
In our doll house, my shrine devoted to her
Her tears rain down her face mercilessly clear




Notes: I had just purchased a book called “The Doll Collection” a compilation of short stories edited by Ellen Datlow. For one purpose, I was sure it would inspire me some poetry, of course on the dark side. Then I read a poem by Andrea Dietrich called “The Necklace Broke” From that I had my idea and off I went. I borrowed a few words from Andrea with her permission, and did so on purpose to pay tribute to another great poet here on Soup! Even a poem is so completely different, I think its wonderful that reading other poets provides such great inspiration. I would also ask that people read her poem, and here I provide the link!

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/the_necklace_broke_831425


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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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

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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