Ω Gothic Postcard Ω

Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…

May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt:

JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !!!

Circe offers the cup to Ulysses, Waterhouse

I am visiting my brother in Brooklyn who has taken us all over town to partake of the urban pleasures and cultural treasures of Noo Yahwk. After walking around springtime city landscapes all day, my motivation to write a poem from scratch is very diminished.
So I brought out a favorite from the crypts in order to respond to today’s prompt:

PROMPT 13: write a poem about something mysterious and spooky!
Your poem could be about something that is mysterious and spooky
in a bad way (like a witch), or mysterious and spooky in a good way
Or just the everyday, mysterious, spooky quality of being alive.

 

Ω Gothic Postcard Ω

Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…

May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt:

JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !!!

Circe offers the cup to Ulysses, Waterhouse

♣You Again ♣

 

A face in the chamber –  I couldn’t connect it

Like Dante’s Beatrice, beatific in black

Loquacious you weren’t.  But I’ve come to expect it

How lovely to see you – it threw me off track.

As the summer deceases and winter approaches

Let casting of shadows be gone from your art.

Lighten up, dark enchantress. Your coldness reproaches.

Oh pull out the dagger you’ve stuck in my heart!

Will another bad sonnet, addressed to your highness

Suffice to start thawing the frost in your soul?

Ennobling it isn’t – this taciturn shyness…

Vampire girl – be a sociable witch;

Even necrophiles hope for a smile, or a twitch.

Never fear. Not your corpse, just your friendship’s my goal.

Down for the Count

)

White on white translucent black capes
Back on the rack
Bela Lugosi’s dead.

The bats have left the bell tower / The victims have been bled
Red velvet lines the black box
/ Bela Lugosi’s dead…

Bela Lugosi’s dead  –
Undead, undead, undead…

The virginal brides file past his tomb / Strewn with time’s dead flowers
Bereft in deathly bloom / Alone in a darkened room
: The Count

Bela Lugosi’s deadBela Lugosi’s dead... Bela Lugosi’s dead
(
Undead, undead, undead…)

Belas batsLets hear it for 80’s proto-Gothic bands. Yes, I know – this is lowbrow poetry…
seems kinda silly 30 years later. But I like the  Reggae-Dub rimshots
and the freaky-spooky vibe. Sort of a funereal Bossa-Nova going on…
(I had this huge poster of Bela Lugosi below on the wall of my bedroom as a kid!)

Pure Poetry.  Every last word of it.  Yup.