Goths Poems

The Discharge

He’s together now, they say,
turned out, free to walk the street;
adult child turned out to play
amid grey walls of concrete
streets strewn with disposed joys,
the stench of human fluids.

Bozos wave their lethal toys;
aging goths, pseudo druids,
faces lit by flashing screens.
promenading, zombie-dead
watch desperate dancing teens,
nature’s lemmings, AI lead.

He’s together now, He’s told,
so discharged, they need the bunk;
adult child thrown in the cold
amid barely walking drunk
searching, seeking that which numbs
the pain, soul-crushing shame.

Left to beg for others’ crumbs
he just has himself to blame
they say, go scare up some work.
he does, then try as he might
he’ll catcall some guy a jerk,
end up in another fight.

Zodiac Goth

All
True
Goths
Covet
Lace
Vampires
Lightning
Spiders
Coffins
And
Poetry



*I wrote this poem on January 8, 2024, as part of a ’30 days of poetry’ January challenge. This was day 8 and the prompt was:Write a mnemonic poem to remember the zodiac signs.

Camelot

Some claimed that Camelot was noble,
a place built upon the stony ground
of good-intentions,
it was new and fangled,
it was progressive
in a time of little progress.

I have seen it, I was there,
always there was the choking fog
of intrigue,
even the unintrigued grabbed their throats
least subversive thoughts escaped them.

Old King Arthur was deliriously inane,
the people pitied him and did not love him,
some said he was an alien lizard being,
some claimed that he was soulless,
or so it seemed,
and yet he was forever babbling
about restoring the soul of the Kingdom.
Corruption grew like a malignant Ivy.

The women of Camelot were constantly angry,
their anger made them fat with a wishful bile.
Many females wanted to be men,
yet strangely enough they hated the menfolk.
The men were fragile and sensitive,
Merlin had cursed them
with the fey magic of 'Low T'.

Trust me, it was a great day
when the kingdom fell
to the massed hordes of disaffected
and disgruntled Goths.
Fresh blood was drunk from royal goblets,
children with wooden swords
chased the pork out of feral gangs
of squealing hogs
until they were as nakedly pink
as plucked chickens.

Central Face

I answer to the norm
the strangest decorum
in the Northern Hemisphere
I have a longing to be free

Burning seeds
their husks weep
In valleys of sleep  
Two tulips niggardly cling
to the hereafter

Vultures visceral and cruel
Trolls the words of Kings
Jabberwocky on surfeit fleets
Mirrored in the midnight Sun

Teeth chattering
shadows in the midday furnace
interlaced with solemnity
Primal flights of fear
sanguine coloured dreams


Deep brown rocks
we found shelter
The Moon appeared
The Goths in Penguin suits
jaded past the point of no return

Being German

Descendent we are
forefather’d as we are
(not all obviously),
from the Germanic tribes.

Around the year zero
we emerged out of those dark primordial
winter forests,
fully formed and tribal.
Not to get too historical, however.

The fun part is
we get to choose which one of these
we want to be,
choose imaginary friends and foes
so let’s see -

Saxons
Angles
Jutes
Friesians
Franks
Hermione’s
Churusi
Suebi
Marcomanni
Alemanni
Lombards
Goths
Vandals
Burgundians
Herull
Finns
and Skandza.

Trouble is, all too often
it Just sucks to be German.

The Last Lover of Heroes

Squalid were those days of thuggish delight
When the fat land's spirit the small Goths stole.
Joy was a thirst slaked, forever a night,
In that corpulent desert of mean soul.
 
But pastel virtue slowly starves a man
To walking death lest spurred by hunger's throes.
Standing apart I shunned the dead hearts' Pan
And found you, the last lover of heroes.
 
Of fleshy spirit living colors bold
You nourished me on the ripe joys to come
When truth and beauty are wrenched from lust's scold
And repatriated to love's kingdom.
 
Now together gray at time's ragged edge
With your love to the morrow I still pledge.

Land of Non Sense

When the doodle
of the people opine
and the piss spore
squeeze,
there will be fields and tundras
in the deep hollow of
moonlight winery ...

Scope of voids
the crazy ones will say;
Reproaches from satires,
will say the maindenhair ...
But from the bottom of the galleys
veracity will arise
of the few
and the amplitude like microbes
will be reborn ...
Then it will be a new drought,
will govern the atypical;
with the goths, the dievas
without the Gentiles.
No one else will live
this pantomime, everyone
will see solicitude
express in life
on edges ...

Somnambulism

I'll look for you
in the deep, cobalt blue
of a mountain lake,
or the startled crake 
of a moorhen,
flushed from its nest,
or the idle word, said in jest
over a steaming mug,
as we huddled and shrugged
off the cold and damp
round the guttering lamp
that attracted the moths
and the tales of weird Goths
that inhabited the wood
in which we stood,
as we pondered the stars
and named them as ours
in the time before now,
as my furrowed brow,
struggles to forget 
that we ever met
and did all that
and, here we sat,
planning our tomorrow
with no hint of the sorrow
that I was to face,
without you, in this place,
here, where earth meets the sky
and we questioned why 
it had to end, asked why lovers
can't be friends and, in the end
we instinctively knew,
we two, me and you, 
that paradise had been lost,
that was the cost, of our liaison,
our raison d'être, 
held hostage to fate,
and now, too late,
I cogitate on what might have been
and wonder why I only dream
in black and white?

Goth Fly

There's a fly in the house of goth. On the wall listening in. What's being said? The fly is keeping quiet. If you wanna know, go there yourself. The house of goth is a dark old place. Full of people like me. Are you one of them? Or an outcast? Not even suitable for the house of goth. For we are the goths. Even flies are welcome in the house of goth.





Being Normal Is Boring - Broken Aeroplanes, Screwed People, Alternative Writing,:)

Jimmy Boom Semtex

67 Anno Domini

Written on papyrus in the presence of different entities,
Thousands words written in Egyptian on a stone slab laid cryptic piece,
Dreaming realm of hallow wrath plague ridden disease,
Helms, spears, and tyrannical vengeance no apostle increase,
If the missions complete and the village is piled with burning deceased,
Then dear Nero let us move out and head on east,
For Gaul is in line, Germania is stuck with a barbarian decrease,
Mongolians are circling the river as the Goths retreat, 
Growling lions, eagle insignia, war drum my heart beat, 
Never falter, never fail, we die before we face defeat,
Bleeding feet on the pinnacle of this mountain surrounded with only sick to treat,
Macedonians upon ruination  looking to Jerusalem to find the weak, 
Holding back while we are cut off without a bite to eat,
A two prong pincer maneuver cutting off supplies while we sleep, 
It will always be blood upon blood ravage savage feast, For when we die is the only time we will truly know peace.

(2017)

Queen of Goths

Queen of Goths

She will be sitting in a graveyard, 
Waiting for her love.
She will be the Queen of Hearts;
She will be the Queen of Goths.


The Queen of the tormented being,
Will come to me like a darkened dream
And show me everything she can see,
In our future under the moonlit scene.


The Queen of despair,
The Queen of tomorrow;
The Queen of forever,
My Queen of Goths...
I am in love with your sorrow.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

The Color Black

To some it represents the darkness,
for in it color is absent.
So forbidding...
It can be frightening

For many it represents evil,
it symbolizes death, the monsters and the devil.
Yet it was made by God for good.
It is a creation, like air and wood.

Black can me more pure than white.
It brings in and unites;
Matches with all, including itself.
Rarely it should be left of the shelf.

The goths love the black.
It's the makeup on my skin, and the clothes on my back.
Against the pale white, it represents my soul.
Their is beauty in the dark, the night, and being alone.

Where ohhhh judging ones is your song?
How is wearing all black my wrong?
What more criticism do you wish to bring?
I no longer feel your sting.

For me, black is peaceful because it does not easily stain.
It leaves room for sadness and pain.
No need to pretend everything is full of goodness.
More honesty and reality in the black roses.

Villanelle: French Gourmand Once Sailed To the Isle of Ewe

Villanelle: French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
  
     Dedicated to the great French actor, Off Course!

French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
Must you invite high breeds to the Hebrides
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!

Starved Loch Ness Monster kept well out of view
For this Gourmet eats even monster breeds
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe

Medieval monarchs gulped innerns – rest threw
To the serfs lords ladies dogs and hybrids
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!

French Gourmand let Scots talk their tartans through
Venison loins he carved out for his needs
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe

Goths Visigoths Vikings Normans or Dieu*
Falstaff nose and paunch hide much actor’s deeds
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!

Eiffel Tower Louvre Versailles nothing new
Mountain Man kept apart Scylla Charibdis
French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe
To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you!

•	Dieu: God, but French pronunciation, please!
He might take exception.

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2015

Dust Upon the Stair

DUST UPON THE STAIR
My life careers on so fast, the years and people fly by to who knows where,
times I had have been the best so I'll remember them but forget the bad.
Isn’t that the way we live our lives? Always wanting to remember the good but not the bad.

My music still sounds the same, bringing haunting memories back that I thought had been lost forever. I think of them with a chill down my spine.
They’re like dust upon the stair, undisturbed except by a solitary footprint. 

Whose is it? It isn’t mine, only the ghosts know, they glide through my mind in long forgotten memories taking me to a reverie almost undreamed of in my normal state of mind.


from my new book:

"Dark Delectable Delicious Destructive - Poems for Goths, Gangsters and Other Mysterious Souls": "20 Years of Nick Armbrister's Dark Poems"



http://www.lulu.com/shop/nick-armbrister/dark-delectable-delicious-destructive-poems-for-goths-gangsters-and-other-mysterious-souls-20-years-of-nick-armbristers-dark-poems/ebook/product-22220819.html

Up and Down

UP AND DOWN
So here I am at a crossroads in my life, 
not knowing where to go or what to do.
I don’t know where my love life lies, 
who will I meet and settle down with?
I ask questions and I can’t get answers 
which is ever so sad. I am going to college, 
will I like it, but how will I get money? 
It is a hard life and it will soon get better 
but when is soon? I take the ups and downs 
but now I’m pretty low now in my life, 
I take it day by day, the speed of life 
hoping for a break soon.

from my new book Dark Delectable Delicious Destructive -
Poems For Goths, Gangsters and Other Mysterious Souls
20 Years of Nick Armbrister's Dark Poems

by Nick Armbrister

• Short Goths Poems
• Famous Goths Poems
• Best Goths Poems
• Read Goths Poems
• Long Goths Poems
• Goths Quotes