Poetry Competition Ends 28th June 2024 8:14pm
Of Ravens and Poets
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…
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…
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
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Behind Dark Doorways
standing in the darkest shadows
played on by the moonlit night
through the shadowed windows
I, a haunting presence stuck in time
darkness reigns and shivers
in emptiness of my haunting presence
and I stand still unseen, unknown, unheard
just energy where souls have flown
I whisper my story in the empty halls
where spirits linger as darkness falls
once I was whole a pretty lass
in love with him love of my life
I adored even his shadow
longed for his company
pined for his loving embrace
he was my all my only one
until one day I saw his truth
he loved no one except himself
he was with another woman
and then another and more
he cared for none
except his physical
gratification and smiles
on the morning after
I heard their moans
from their bedroom window
and I died inside
soon my knife ended them too
they hung me and ended my misery
soon the prison was demolished too
I stand here still stuck on haunted ground
reliving my crime again and again
I am just a ghost trapped in despair
I am just a shadow clear and bare
I have no warmth around me
just cold sadness smelling of the grave.
played on by the moonlit night
through the shadowed windows
I, a haunting presence stuck in time
darkness reigns and shivers
in emptiness of my haunting presence
and I stand still unseen, unknown, unheard
just energy where souls have flown
I whisper my story in the empty halls
where spirits linger as darkness falls
once I was whole a pretty lass
in love with him love of my life
I adored even his shadow
longed for his company
pined for his loving embrace
he was my all my only one
until one day I saw his truth
he loved no one except himself
he was with another woman
and then another and more
he cared for none
except his physical
gratification and smiles
on the morning after
I heard their moans
from their bedroom window
and I died inside
soon my knife ended them too
they hung me and ended my misery
soon the prison was demolished too
I stand here still stuck on haunted ground
reliving my crime again and again
I am just a ghost trapped in despair
I am just a shadow clear and bare
I have no warmth around me
just cold sadness smelling of the grave.
Written by Grace
(IDryad)
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Blue-The Blood of Papa (Cauldron Kill Series)
“Love for his unique race died long ago
But blood through pain and suffering is flavor for the flow,
“Every skull surgical implanted in Papa Blood skin is that of a smurf
Uniquely tortured to death, but not before he heard their song of hurt,
“Without the Smurfs knowledge he used evil magic for their protection
But with each use the evil was infecting his soul in nightmarish sections,
“Sinister visions and sick laughter became a cancer within his mind
Some episodes became so intense he would wake up shitty and crying,
“But the final trigger was the apocalyptic battle between Gargamel and Azrael
When Papa Smurf sacrificed the last of his goodness to the depths of hell,
“His body expanded as his veins painfully tunneled within his flesh like worms
As his blood transformed into living hate and begin to burn,
“Instantly on Azrael he executed a forbidden form of cannibalism
Then drugged a defeated Gargamel into the swamp to live the final days of scaphism,
“Now Papa Blood, he returned weeks later to perform the ultimate crime
Genocide through torture of his own blue kind,
“Through dead smurf bones he dripped hot blood into Brainy’s eyes
Keeping Brainy smurf fully awake while he was being lobotomized,
“Smurfette was introduced to the pear of Anguish in the most extreme
With an evil smile every morning Papa Blood wakes up to her screams,
“Clumsy smurf Papa Blood magically manipulated into an abused pet
Having Clumsy to commit suicide by hanging himself by the neck,
“Papa Blood showed Jokey smurf the ultimate killing joke
When he castrated Jokey and forced his dick down his throat,
“Handy smurf creation was magically warped that broke his smurfy heart
In front of Handy’s own eyes Clockwork smurf tore Grandpa and Baby smurf apart,
“With Grouchy smurf he amplified his black love for hate
Turning him into a mindless savage who murders smurfs followed by sick rape,
“Papa Blood’s torture tactics within evil circles have become renowned
Even Ungol the Leprechaun gives him sinister respect, but with a twisted frown,
“Those smurfs that ran Papa Blood can find them any place
Because embedded within their soul is Papa Bloods evil face”.
But blood through pain and suffering is flavor for the flow,
“Every skull surgical implanted in Papa Blood skin is that of a smurf
Uniquely tortured to death, but not before he heard their song of hurt,
“Without the Smurfs knowledge he used evil magic for their protection
But with each use the evil was infecting his soul in nightmarish sections,
“Sinister visions and sick laughter became a cancer within his mind
Some episodes became so intense he would wake up shitty and crying,
“But the final trigger was the apocalyptic battle between Gargamel and Azrael
When Papa Smurf sacrificed the last of his goodness to the depths of hell,
“His body expanded as his veins painfully tunneled within his flesh like worms
As his blood transformed into living hate and begin to burn,
“Instantly on Azrael he executed a forbidden form of cannibalism
Then drugged a defeated Gargamel into the swamp to live the final days of scaphism,
“Now Papa Blood, he returned weeks later to perform the ultimate crime
Genocide through torture of his own blue kind,
“Through dead smurf bones he dripped hot blood into Brainy’s eyes
Keeping Brainy smurf fully awake while he was being lobotomized,
“Smurfette was introduced to the pear of Anguish in the most extreme
With an evil smile every morning Papa Blood wakes up to her screams,
“Clumsy smurf Papa Blood magically manipulated into an abused pet
Having Clumsy to commit suicide by hanging himself by the neck,
“Papa Blood showed Jokey smurf the ultimate killing joke
When he castrated Jokey and forced his dick down his throat,
“Handy smurf creation was magically warped that broke his smurfy heart
In front of Handy’s own eyes Clockwork smurf tore Grandpa and Baby smurf apart,
“With Grouchy smurf he amplified his black love for hate
Turning him into a mindless savage who murders smurfs followed by sick rape,
“Papa Blood’s torture tactics within evil circles have become renowned
Even Ungol the Leprechaun gives him sinister respect, but with a twisted frown,
“Those smurfs that ran Papa Blood can find them any place
Because embedded within their soul is Papa Bloods evil face”.
Written by CasketSharpe
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Thoughts
Mostly, folk, I think suicide,
in an unhurried way opt out,
their life, perhaps, unrealised
an' reflective fags dispel all doubt,
and alcohol, I remember,
this dissipates away all might,
lighting up from a dying ember,
I raise a glass towards the night.
in an unhurried way opt out,
their life, perhaps, unrealised
an' reflective fags dispel all doubt,
and alcohol, I remember,
this dissipates away all might,
lighting up from a dying ember,
I raise a glass towards the night.
Written by Rew
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Interview with Deception
see me...
I lie in the fog,
calamitous breath
of maritime maidens
singing ships to their death.
My village looks out from the cliffs
where the sea
blots the light of the sun
with its grey canopy.
The lost souls of children
dismissed in despair
envelop my dwelling
as mist in the air.
My garden remembers
a kiss by the gate,
a handful of silver,
a fisherman's fate.
Ghosts amble through halls
bearing semblance to men
who gambled for garments,
interpreting sin.
My truth is a sentiment,
impenitent wail...
assembly of fury
enchanted by spell.
The mighty embrace me
as means to an end.
My daylight is darkness,
my reality, pretend.
Join me into passage
where the Jordon runs wide
to a place where collusion
and conscience confide.
Make right what you ponder
as evil ______ Instill
the power of perception
and guise of free will.
What God once provided
turned flower to thorn.
He's shedding his skin
in the dust you were born.
Though knowledge and beauty
embody the throne,
the spirit requires
what cannot be shown.
It longingly gazes
from Camelot's view
at boats in the harbor
devoid of their crew.
Maniacal melodies
resound from the shore
where innocence wandered
just moments before.
She slipped off her dress,
swam out to the stones,
assembling her nest
with a bounty of bones.
Her footsteps are vanquished
by incoming tide.
Subversion becomes her
repentance denied.
Written by DampKitten
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Eternal night
Under the cover of eternal night
where crows caw destinies.
Poets whisper dark verses
in a theater of shadows and laments.
Black wings cover the skies
echoing stanzas of a lost melody.
While the poets, with bloody ink,
they disdain dreams in the rhyme of agony.
Each feather has a hidden secret
each verse an imprisoned spirit.
In this ball, macabre and enchanted,
crows and poets are waltz partners.
The moon watches, pale and distant,
reflecting in silver the lovers' ball.
Crows fly in elegant dance
and the poets declaim eternally wandering.
In this nightmare of gothic glimpse.
I'm your pet ghost!
If you need anything else
I am entirely at your disposal.
where crows caw destinies.
Poets whisper dark verses
in a theater of shadows and laments.
Black wings cover the skies
echoing stanzas of a lost melody.
While the poets, with bloody ink,
they disdain dreams in the rhyme of agony.
Each feather has a hidden secret
each verse an imprisoned spirit.
In this ball, macabre and enchanted,
crows and poets are waltz partners.
The moon watches, pale and distant,
reflecting in silver the lovers' ball.
Crows fly in elegant dance
and the poets declaim eternally wandering.
In this nightmare of gothic glimpse.
I'm your pet ghost!
If you need anything else
I am entirely at your disposal.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
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The Wedding Vow
I walked the fields in early morn
no sound among the mist
I longed for more, my lover's touch,
his lips that I did kiss.
We came this way
not but a day
ago when we were wed;
we pricked our skin,
sealed blood within
eternal vows, we said.
The crumbled church comes into view
the dewy brambles clear
"I've come at last to wait for you!"
my bridegroom, he is near.
The ancient stones
had formed our home
the altar, it still stood;
desires awoke
from what we spoke--
I'm now his wife, for good.
I wore no white
but lace of light,
a blue to match his eyes;
the heavens rejoiced
the bond we voiced
and feathers fell from skies.
They softly turned and floated down
and touched upon his face
a wind then came from all around
and wrapped us in embrace
'O feathers, more feathers
colors of forest heathers
soon encased my love;
they formed his wings
what curious things--
and then he flew above!
Alas, my dearest,
do not fear this!
He soothed as he took flight;
An owl, he became
when I took his name--
the sky fell into night.
I go this way
to prepare our place
and return tomorrow, morn.
Go, gather your thoughts
and all you ought
to need for what was born
And now I wait among the stones
that made the church foundation;
He's coming now to take me home
to live in love's elation.
He steps out from
the mist with some
smile that's filled with knowing;
A man, once more,
from owl's form
Come, take my hand--we're going.
Yes, my love sealed with a kiss
and now here comes the hiss
of feather-winds, wrap us around--
I'm going his way, now.
no sound among the mist
I longed for more, my lover's touch,
his lips that I did kiss.
We came this way
not but a day
ago when we were wed;
we pricked our skin,
sealed blood within
eternal vows, we said.
The crumbled church comes into view
the dewy brambles clear
"I've come at last to wait for you!"
my bridegroom, he is near.
The ancient stones
had formed our home
the altar, it still stood;
desires awoke
from what we spoke--
I'm now his wife, for good.
I wore no white
but lace of light,
a blue to match his eyes;
the heavens rejoiced
the bond we voiced
and feathers fell from skies.
They softly turned and floated down
and touched upon his face
a wind then came from all around
and wrapped us in embrace
'O feathers, more feathers
colors of forest heathers
soon encased my love;
they formed his wings
what curious things--
and then he flew above!
Alas, my dearest,
do not fear this!
He soothed as he took flight;
An owl, he became
when I took his name--
the sky fell into night.
I go this way
to prepare our place
and return tomorrow, morn.
Go, gather your thoughts
and all you ought
to need for what was born
And now I wait among the stones
that made the church foundation;
He's coming now to take me home
to live in love's elation.
He steps out from
the mist with some
smile that's filled with knowing;
A man, once more,
from owl's form
Come, take my hand--we're going.
Yes, my love sealed with a kiss
and now here comes the hiss
of feather-winds, wrap us around--
I'm going his way, now.
Written by MadameLavender
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A Day at the Beach
(written for gothicsurrealism's competition)
There is the heat,
the ubiquitous and sad
blue umbrellas,
the water and the gulls.
The beach
is dedicated
to a dead man. He died
the year I was born.
I've gained
so much weight,
I must use
the beach chair as a walker.
The salt I taste
in my mouth
from the sea
is soon replaced by
the salt of my tears,
face burning in shame
as I push myself in agony
towards our destination.
Every ounce of hatred for myself
gurgling in my throat
and dripping mucus
from my nose.
I sit in a black dress
upon the shoreline.
Watch my daughter and her fiance
swim and kiss within the waves.
As people laugh and drink beer
in bikinis and Speedos,
I mourn
the loss of myself,
my youth and my life,
and the man
named Leroy Colombo
whose body is buried far from here.
There is the heat,
the ubiquitous and sad
blue umbrellas,
the water and the gulls.
The beach
is dedicated
to a dead man. He died
the year I was born.
I've gained
so much weight,
I must use
the beach chair as a walker.
The salt I taste
in my mouth
from the sea
is soon replaced by
the salt of my tears,
face burning in shame
as I push myself in agony
towards our destination.
Every ounce of hatred for myself
gurgling in my throat
and dripping mucus
from my nose.
I sit in a black dress
upon the shoreline.
Watch my daughter and her fiance
swim and kiss within the waves.
As people laugh and drink beer
in bikinis and Speedos,
I mourn
the loss of myself,
my youth and my life,
and the man
named Leroy Colombo
whose body is buried far from here.
Written by toniscales
(Lost Girl)
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Ode to A Cold Poe
Icy rain is reigning falling
cold is silent wind is calling
slicing sheets crawl blackened floor
sliding sideways, nothing more.
Dropping plenty, thirty, twenty
mercury is still and snore
sipping latte with Lenore.
Dead is here and never ending
leaves are falling limbs are bending
chill is cheating come inside
window shutters open wide.
Creep and creeping let me be
aching taking toe to knee
season end feels like beginning
sun is springing now defending
battle clouds come crashing, booming
settle in for season looming
wishing, hoping pacing floor
dire inching nothing more
sharing winter with Lenore.
cold is silent wind is calling
slicing sheets crawl blackened floor
sliding sideways, nothing more.
Dropping plenty, thirty, twenty
mercury is still and snore
sipping latte with Lenore.
Dead is here and never ending
leaves are falling limbs are bending
chill is cheating come inside
window shutters open wide.
Creep and creeping let me be
aching taking toe to knee
season end feels like beginning
sun is springing now defending
battle clouds come crashing, booming
settle in for season looming
wishing, hoping pacing floor
dire inching nothing more
sharing winter with Lenore.
Written by Ms_LaCarte
(Ms. La Carte)
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