Poetry competition CLOSED 3rd July 2016 2:56pm
WINNER
SatansSperm
SatansSperm
RUNNER-UP:
Kou_Indigo
Cats, Crows and Ravens
Anonymous
Poetry Contest Description
Write a poem in the style of Edgar Allan Poe
100-110 lines maximum
as Gothic as possible
as Gothic as possible
Anonymous
A Gothic Sonnet
The darkness grows. Perhaps it will consume
What little day is left, as time speeds on
To some strange assignation, whereupon
The world will find its purpose, or its doom.
To me it matters naught. My only care
Is for the one I know I must possess,
The one whom I shall carnally caress
No matter what perdition I must dare.
For you, my love, I'd choose that endless fall --
(My special one, whose blood I chose to taste,
Not to extend my life, but in my haste
To share a "little death".) I'd sell it all,
No thought for what affliction may ensue.
What pact would I not make for more of you?
The darkness grows. Perhaps it will consume
What little day is left, as time speeds on
To some strange assignation, whereupon
The world will find its purpose, or its doom.
To me it matters naught. My only care
Is for the one I know I must possess,
The one whom I shall carnally caress
No matter what perdition I must dare.
For you, my love, I'd choose that endless fall --
(My special one, whose blood I chose to taste,
Not to extend my life, but in my haste
To share a "little death".) I'd sell it all,
No thought for what affliction may ensue.
What pact would I not make for more of you?
Anonymous
Nevermind
Grabbing the raven's beak
I said of my precious Lenore
Don't you no more speak!
tiring of this black bird
repeating its obnoxious greeting
weathered feathered turd
cawing, croaking, tweeting
the word nevermore
to the point of no return
couldn't take it anymore
to which I did turn
chased him throughout the room
swiftly swatting with a broom
hockey-pucking
slap-shotting
the little motherfucking magpie
right out the door
Grabbing the raven's beak
I said of my precious Lenore
Don't you no more speak!
tiring of this black bird
repeating its obnoxious greeting
weathered feathered turd
cawing, croaking, tweeting
the word nevermore
to the point of no return
couldn't take it anymore
to which I did turn
chased him throughout the room
swiftly swatting with a broom
hockey-pucking
slap-shotting
the little motherfucking magpie
right out the door
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
I laughed out loud in response to 'Nevermind'. nice take on 'The Raven'.
Darkness falls
On this night when darkness looms
as shadows cast upon my gloom
there seems to be within my room
a spirit
devoid of of human form
to live
amongst my eternal storm
reek havoc with my fragile mind
and show me to which
i have been blind
and lead me from this mortal coil
to let me rest within the soil
Beautifully done Aem and T..both true tributes to a gorgeous poet as well as heart stopping story teller....
Our Crowfly should be in this...he writes Poe like no one else. Great author to chose for a comp....will be joining.
Our Crowfly should be in this...he writes Poe like no one else. Great author to chose for a comp....will be joining.
This is not new...but a piece done with dearest Darksighs in gleam of my eye...in my Poe voice...
Widow
She leaves a dainty footprint...
A trick to cover her sly track
her step taken heavy and with
Feline power full of nefarious purpose..
Woman begins again a sticky journey started by ruby lipped generations of her past...
She carries them in her candle..
She wears her ancestors femme gleam with fierce pride...
In eyes that show up the night sky.
The moon is hung there..
In her glimmer and glinty ways..
One wink outta her bedroom hoods
Fluttered in black spider leg trim
Cat cornered and deadly....
Dangerous.
She is the last of the many great beautiful wicked
Blood starved scarlet shine tummied Widows.
With vices of the damned...
Written by calamitygin (Jennifer Michael McCurry)
Widow
She leaves a dainty footprint...
A trick to cover her sly track
her step taken heavy and with
Feline power full of nefarious purpose..
Woman begins again a sticky journey started by ruby lipped generations of her past...
She carries them in her candle..
She wears her ancestors femme gleam with fierce pride...
In eyes that show up the night sky.
The moon is hung there..
In her glimmer and glinty ways..
One wink outta her bedroom hoods
Fluttered in black spider leg trim
Cat cornered and deadly....
Dangerous.
She is the last of the many great beautiful wicked
Blood starved scarlet shine tummied Widows.
With vices of the damned...
Written by calamitygin (Jennifer Michael McCurry)
X
It was here..
It was surely here!
She knew...
She knew she burried love deep right here!
OH demons be!! She screamed at a deaf shameless moon..
Clawed at the ground..she did...
Clawed and fought the cold ground...
She clawed..
She pawed furious and her tears made muddy the earth...
Spit flung from corners of red smudged mouth..
X's X's x x X'xusss!!!
She wailed into the night...
Oh holy Gawd pullleeeez..she put her hands together as if in prayer...and shook them hard...
Then from bony shoulder she drew a defiant pointed chin..
Pointed hard...
Eyes lit with crazed rage and cause for vengeance...
She flung up a dirty...dirty middle finger!
Screw you God!! You traitor..messin in mih in between with me...
Long thin grey hand shook then drew in..
Long nail pointed to shallow temple..
She hollered out in stalwart demand....
X marked her precious spot...!!
Precious! Spit flew...
Now you do me right! Hear!
My spot...
Our spot..
Her heart beat Mad for reason..
Long gone...
Her heart beat finally and for once...!
Her mind fought valiantly..
Batting herself ear to ear..
For the answer..
Where?
Then light...
Lit up old face to once young...
A once young woman smiled..
As finger tip found old lace in the deep black she had gathered in a messy heap.
Just a bit..
A bit of lace..
But it was enough to hold to her sunken chest..
And rock.
Back 'n forth...back 'n forth...
Written by calamitygin (Jennifer Michael McCurry)
- Raven Angel -
No dreary midnight, is ever too beautifully dark,
For my blackest weary wings to find their rest in!
I am at home in the ebon folds, to which I hark,
For the twin of that darkness lies sweetly within.
Raven Angel some call me, and I find that ideal…
For even in the light of day, my shadows are cast.
There is a heaven within me, comforting and real,
And there is a hell, belonging to the distant past…
Which my memory conjures from ancient climes!
I am an enchantress, and my will flows with art…
Both magical, and mundane: since bygone times.
I work my spells, and the shadows do their part!
The cross upon my blouse symbolizes what was,
And the wings upon my sleeves are for what is…
The dreams that I carry to the morrow, because:
I am a fallen angel, who is in search of true bliss.
Black tights beneath my garments, like the night,
Upon my slender legs which have come so far…
Are in a contrast, to my intensely pale inner light.
More blinding is it, than the radiance of any star!
The tresses of my hair are like the sunless void…
Which lies, between worlds, across the heavens.
But my truest beauty lies far deeper, just inside…
With neither endings nor origins whence it stems.
My sandals have tread, upon paths uncounted…
And my skirt has brushed, against spirits unseen.
My eyes did behold visions that oft surrounded,
The world you see, far more than it might seem!
Raven Angel some call me, of the twilight realm,
For between light and darkness, there I do walk.
You may only know so much lest it overwhelm…
So listen raptly to my words whenever I do talk.
Love is my hope, and passion is ever my nature,
For I am a soul who craves joy and happiness…
Even in the shadows, where I restlessly may stir:
Before I spread my wings, a true dark mistress!
No dreary midnight, is ever too beautifully dark,
For my blackest weary wings to find their rest in!
I am at home in the ebon folds, to which I hark,
For the twin of that darkness lies sweetly within.
Raven Angel some call me, and I find that ideal…
For even in the light of day, my shadows are cast.
There is a heaven within me, comforting and real,
And there is a hell, belonging to the distant past…
Which my memory conjures from ancient climes!
I am an enchantress, and my will flows with art…
Both magical, and mundane: since bygone times.
I work my spells, and the shadows do their part!
The cross upon my blouse symbolizes what was,
And the wings upon my sleeves are for what is…
The dreams that I carry to the morrow, because:
I am a fallen angel, who is in search of true bliss.
Black tights beneath my garments, like the night,
Upon my slender legs which have come so far…
Are in a contrast, to my intensely pale inner light.
More blinding is it, than the radiance of any star!
The tresses of my hair are like the sunless void…
Which lies, between worlds, across the heavens.
But my truest beauty lies far deeper, just inside…
With neither endings nor origins whence it stems.
My sandals have tread, upon paths uncounted…
And my skirt has brushed, against spirits unseen.
My eyes did behold visions that oft surrounded,
The world you see, far more than it might seem!
Raven Angel some call me, of the twilight realm,
For between light and darkness, there I do walk.
You may only know so much lest it overwhelm…
So listen raptly to my words whenever I do talk.
Love is my hope, and passion is ever my nature,
For I am a soul who craves joy and happiness…
Even in the shadows, where I restlessly may stir:
Before I spread my wings, a true dark mistress!
- The Ship of Death -
I walked amidst the purple flocks, the tiny flowers smiling back,
I looked upon the old farmlands, and saw many a tiny shack…
How long has it been since someone worked those old lands?
How long has it been since the soil felt gentle, loving hands?
It is not a curse upon those grounds, but neglect that poisons,
And so I shall not venture there, thence thusly my pace hastens!
Unto the shores of the sea I’ll go, to watch the tide rolling in…
I must forget, the pain that brought me far from my fellow man.
And so I walk, but cannot talk, for who shall hear me there?
Far from where I’ve been before, I hear a voice say: beware.
It is not courage that propels me on, though never a coward I,
It is vain hope to which I cling, as I walk beneath the cold sky.
And as I walked, I heard a raven rasp its’ mournful call…
“Beware the arms of the Angel of Death, for she must take all!”
At the shores of the sea, I sat upon some rocks amidst the sand,
A tiny crab was smiling at me, as if by some joyful command…
I spied a vessel coming forth through mists as old as all of time,
I heard the sailors singing merrily, the words of some old rhyme.
And soon the ship did drop anchor before my high rocky perch,
As towards the shore came a small boat, made from hard birch.
Sent from the larger vessel it was, that small boat made for two,
And rowing it was a lady fair, with bright eyes of sparkling blue.
Her hair was crimson in the sun, her gown as black as the night!
She put her craft upon the sand, and had caught me in her sight.
Reaching forth a slender hand, the lady urged me to come forth,
And so I left my gray rocky seat, for all that my soul was worth.
And as I walked, I heard a raven rasp its’ mournful call…
“Beware the arms of the Angel of Death, for she must take all!”
I asked the lady from whence she came, so she answered back:
“I come from across shadowy mists, and gulfs of outer black!”
I took her hand and it was cold as ice, numbing to the touch…
So as she led me to her boat, I was feeling in need of a crutch.
“Do you know why I have come, and whither we are bound?”
The lady asked me, but I knew not and stared at the ground…
At which she saw my puzzlement, and bid me take great heed,
She told me she had come, to collect the harvest of life’s seed.
To take the souls whose time is nigh and sail on darker tides…
For she was Death: and in colder mists her vessel ever resides.
And so I took my hand away, and bid the cold lady farewell…
Another time I’ll board her craft, when the tides rise and swell.
And as I walked, I heard a raven rasp its’ mournful call…
“You have spurned the Angel of Death, but one day must fall!”
I walked amidst the purple flocks, the tiny flowers smiling back,
I looked upon the old farmlands, and saw many a tiny shack…
How long has it been since someone worked those old lands?
How long has it been since the soil felt gentle, loving hands?
It is not a curse upon those grounds, but neglect that poisons,
And so I shall not venture there, thence thusly my pace hastens!
Unto the shores of the sea I’ll go, to watch the tide rolling in…
I must forget, the pain that brought me far from my fellow man.
And so I walk, but cannot talk, for who shall hear me there?
Far from where I’ve been before, I hear a voice say: beware.
It is not courage that propels me on, though never a coward I,
It is vain hope to which I cling, as I walk beneath the cold sky.
And as I walked, I heard a raven rasp its’ mournful call…
“Beware the arms of the Angel of Death, for she must take all!”
At the shores of the sea, I sat upon some rocks amidst the sand,
A tiny crab was smiling at me, as if by some joyful command…
I spied a vessel coming forth through mists as old as all of time,
I heard the sailors singing merrily, the words of some old rhyme.
And soon the ship did drop anchor before my high rocky perch,
As towards the shore came a small boat, made from hard birch.
Sent from the larger vessel it was, that small boat made for two,
And rowing it was a lady fair, with bright eyes of sparkling blue.
Her hair was crimson in the sun, her gown as black as the night!
She put her craft upon the sand, and had caught me in her sight.
Reaching forth a slender hand, the lady urged me to come forth,
And so I left my gray rocky seat, for all that my soul was worth.
And as I walked, I heard a raven rasp its’ mournful call…
“Beware the arms of the Angel of Death, for she must take all!”
I asked the lady from whence she came, so she answered back:
“I come from across shadowy mists, and gulfs of outer black!”
I took her hand and it was cold as ice, numbing to the touch…
So as she led me to her boat, I was feeling in need of a crutch.
“Do you know why I have come, and whither we are bound?”
The lady asked me, but I knew not and stared at the ground…
At which she saw my puzzlement, and bid me take great heed,
She told me she had come, to collect the harvest of life’s seed.
To take the souls whose time is nigh and sail on darker tides…
For she was Death: and in colder mists her vessel ever resides.
And so I took my hand away, and bid the cold lady farewell…
Another time I’ll board her craft, when the tides rise and swell.
And as I walked, I heard a raven rasp its’ mournful call…
“You have spurned the Angel of Death, but one day must fall!”
- Enshrouded -
Part One: Alien Things
In fog enshrouding like a cloth fit for some burial…
The town I walked through was caught in the mists.
White and gray the sky, with shadows most surreal,
The air thick with cold, as if by winter itself kissed!
Was this the same place I called home for so long?
And still I dwell here; still do I consider it my abode.
Yet on nights like that, silent without cricket song…
The town is bleak and harsh, the soul itself to erode.
Yet mine is unaffected by the purgatorial bleakness,
For I have walked in Hell and returned quite whole.
A part of my soul dwells eternally in the darkness…
So on nights like that, my nerves remain in control.
The mists are primal, something from another time,
As am I, and so am I not the mists’ own kindred?
The familiar becomes alien, the ordinary sublime…
When, all is by such gray nothingness enshrouded.
And so I walked through the streets, so caressed,
By spectral hands, that it seemed a spiritual realm.
A lesser soul might: have by that been distressed…
But aliens things do not, my senses so overwhelm.
Part Two: Pale Moon
Child of Faerie, child of other worlds, merry meet!
This spoke the mists to me, and I did not hasten…
For night is my time, and its’ shadows I must greet.
I pass a pond, and the waters do strangely glisten,
Through what moonlight can pierce the thick veil…
Of fog and mist, that steams upon the waters near.
No craft would dare at such times to so make sail,
Its’ timbers creaking as the pilot prepares to steer.
Yet do I not hear such sounds, in the far distance?
Nay, it is but the creak of trees upon the shoreline.
The waters are heady with some soggy fragrance,
As above me, in the sky, I see not stars that shine.
Nearby is the cemetery where my mother sleeps…
Dreaming, like the kings and queens of Avalon do.
Whilst in nearby woodlands, a wild thing creeps…
For old animals dwell there, beneath a pale moon.
The company of the dead is all the water can feel,
In certain seasons, when the stars align just right…
The bite of winter to harden their hearts like steel!
But my mother’s heart is soft, even for such night.
Part Three: Journey’s End
I try to forget the dead as I think of life and living,
And I have no wish to be enshrouded any longer.
But the night holds what it can in arms unforgiving,
Even so I break free, and I become far stronger…
For I pierce the fog and mists, with my very spirit.
If only for the moment so that I can find my way…
As my feet quicken in pace the way I must see fit.
I would see the stars but once ere dawn and day!
The night has a will, and fights my effort to resist…
Becoming lost in the gray oblivion, with humanity.
I was ever apart from my peers, so I do persist…
Until at length, I have been granted a tiny victory.
I see the stars as the pale nothingness disperses!
The shroud is lifted, and I can find my way home.
Did I beat death, in a way: coldest, of all curses?
I see the distant mountain, and its’ crags of stone.
The fog drifts away from it, like fingers grasping…
One final time for some prize, which eludes them.
A raven squats upon some power lines, rasping…
As I return whence my journey did this eve stem.
Part One: Alien Things
In fog enshrouding like a cloth fit for some burial…
The town I walked through was caught in the mists.
White and gray the sky, with shadows most surreal,
The air thick with cold, as if by winter itself kissed!
Was this the same place I called home for so long?
And still I dwell here; still do I consider it my abode.
Yet on nights like that, silent without cricket song…
The town is bleak and harsh, the soul itself to erode.
Yet mine is unaffected by the purgatorial bleakness,
For I have walked in Hell and returned quite whole.
A part of my soul dwells eternally in the darkness…
So on nights like that, my nerves remain in control.
The mists are primal, something from another time,
As am I, and so am I not the mists’ own kindred?
The familiar becomes alien, the ordinary sublime…
When, all is by such gray nothingness enshrouded.
And so I walked through the streets, so caressed,
By spectral hands, that it seemed a spiritual realm.
A lesser soul might: have by that been distressed…
But aliens things do not, my senses so overwhelm.
Part Two: Pale Moon
Child of Faerie, child of other worlds, merry meet!
This spoke the mists to me, and I did not hasten…
For night is my time, and its’ shadows I must greet.
I pass a pond, and the waters do strangely glisten,
Through what moonlight can pierce the thick veil…
Of fog and mist, that steams upon the waters near.
No craft would dare at such times to so make sail,
Its’ timbers creaking as the pilot prepares to steer.
Yet do I not hear such sounds, in the far distance?
Nay, it is but the creak of trees upon the shoreline.
The waters are heady with some soggy fragrance,
As above me, in the sky, I see not stars that shine.
Nearby is the cemetery where my mother sleeps…
Dreaming, like the kings and queens of Avalon do.
Whilst in nearby woodlands, a wild thing creeps…
For old animals dwell there, beneath a pale moon.
The company of the dead is all the water can feel,
In certain seasons, when the stars align just right…
The bite of winter to harden their hearts like steel!
But my mother’s heart is soft, even for such night.
Part Three: Journey’s End
I try to forget the dead as I think of life and living,
And I have no wish to be enshrouded any longer.
But the night holds what it can in arms unforgiving,
Even so I break free, and I become far stronger…
For I pierce the fog and mists, with my very spirit.
If only for the moment so that I can find my way…
As my feet quicken in pace the way I must see fit.
I would see the stars but once ere dawn and day!
The night has a will, and fights my effort to resist…
Becoming lost in the gray oblivion, with humanity.
I was ever apart from my peers, so I do persist…
Until at length, I have been granted a tiny victory.
I see the stars as the pale nothingness disperses!
The shroud is lifted, and I can find my way home.
Did I beat death, in a way: coldest, of all curses?
I see the distant mountain, and its’ crags of stone.
The fog drifts away from it, like fingers grasping…
One final time for some prize, which eludes them.
A raven squats upon some power lines, rasping…
As I return whence my journey did this eve stem.
Evening lament
As i ponder of the morrow
there resides
within me
a great sorrow
darkness dances
with delight
to gaze upon
my tormented sight
my soul forever in periphery
to take that step
and be free
hope abandoned
so i must stay
and with my demons
forever lay
As i ponder of the morrow
there resides
within me
a great sorrow
darkness dances
with delight
to gaze upon
my tormented sight
my soul forever in periphery
to take that step
and be free
hope abandoned
so i must stay
and with my demons
forever lay
Anonymous
Kou_Indigo your brilliant!
Anonymous
Thanks to: AlwaysHungry, JohnnyBlaze, AEMelia564, SatansSperm, calamitygin, and Kou_Indigo, for your submissions.
