Ravens and Poets

Guidelines:
1. Two maximum submissions per poet. Collaborations accepted.
2. Poem(s) must include Gothic elements.
3. Poem(s) can be any length.
4. One month! Good luck!

Herein I've attached a Gothic poem I've submitted:


The Raven's Shrill, The poet's Echo

“In the company of imageries within my castle,
I voice for everyone my next poetic verse.
All the empty halls listen and echo my passion,
And in darkly rich verse I immerse.”

Through the courtyard, pulls up a hearse,
Beneath the arms of stone archways and hideous gargoyles –
All the ravens disperse.
The blood veining through these stone figureheads’ boils.

The coffin-conveyance disordered the black-wolfs of the court;
Heavenly light shot into their black eyes
And deep, rasping calls followed in retort.
They soon returned with their harsh, grating reprise.

Trespassers! The black flock surmised.
Their shrill shadowed the echo through these hollow halls,
The dark-suited burial conveyance led amiss of a poet’s demise.
Still, the poet’s verse calls.

Paths such as these treaded the dead poet’s caretakers,
Like old footpaths in the snow.
They foresaw a ghastly corpse, still, as soundless as open acres.
Little did they know…

The sullen ravens protested the bearer’s presence.
The pain in their knocking hearts,
As the blizzardy gusts of winter’s menace,
The black flock hovered the hearse in trepidation, till it departs.  

A melancholic tune radiated throughout the halls of the castle,
Thought the ravens it was time for their poet to depart
And behind him, they would follow his trail of light.
Lo! Then in place of squinted, teary eyes, they widely part!

Little did they know…

Very soothing read AEMelia! Bravo!
-Daniel

The Lace


They tore the veil from off her face,
and pick’d her eyes, behind the lace,
those raving, rabid, black-winged crows—
their motives, only they did know.

For when she set upon the ground
her footsteps, nary made a sound
‘cept for the crisping of the leaves
‘tween tooth-like graves, amid the breeze.

She came upon a certain stone
which beckoned her to kneel, alone
and place her palms upon the soil—
no time, there was, to then recoil

and make her haste back to the gate
which when she entered, sealed her fate.
“My God, my life!” in wails, she did
when pulled down in, to where they hid,

those black-winged crows, a-rave in wait
‘neath sodden earth, within the grave.
Ah, the blood, and ah, the lust
to pick and pick, they surely must

leave no flesh, no trail, no trace
of how they work within that place,
and when the banquet is all done,
she and they, become as one.

Alas! And lo, and rue the day—
she, now winged, shall fly away
and leave her lace upon the ground,
a testament to what she found.

Madame I must say you are an extraordinary poetess! The piece was darkly rich and velvety in its flow. Beautiful write!
-Daniel  

gothicsurrealism said:Madame I must say you are an extraordinary poetess! The piece was darkly rich and velvety in its flow. Beautiful write!
-Daniel  

Thanks so much, and great competition idea!