Category Archives: Gothic

The Blood Moon


The Moon rose red

And we slipped through the shadows;

Like wraiths of smoke

Silently twisting.

We ducked under lights

And slipped in the Garden,

And under the nightflower bloom

We sang the old names.

The wind rolled through clouds

The thunder boomed in the east

And still we sang and danced round the tree.

If it was rain that hid us,

As we slipped back to the real,

Who was there to say

How we shone under the Blood Moon?

Finding the one


It was the best of times

It was the worst of days

But in the end

So long as we stood together

We could watch the world burn…


That’s what he told her with a smile

As she handed him the match,

And at their feet there stood

Piles of old photographs,

Letters, mementos of people they knew.


There were no tears-

There need not be.

As the smoke spiralled upward

They left the past behind

And hand in hand they walked,

Out to the sunlight,

Out to their own new world.

Fever Dreams


Shapes are dancing in my eyes,

Shadows laugh and lightning cries.

Whispers scream, cold is hot,

Up is down, right is wrong.


Fever dreams haunt me tonight;

Full moon howls in clouded skies.

Come the dawn when I awake,

There’ll naught but fears a-fade.


Deep in my delirium though,

I am calm and safe and home.

None can harm me in the fire;

None can reach me is my desire.

Automatic writing exercise (aka why I must not stay up late)


It was cold, it was wet, and I wanted to punch someone. So….a typical Monday morning. The mist curled around my ankles as I leaned tiredly against the bus stop, like wet fingers crawling up my spine. Yawn after half-formed yawn I shook myself. Staying up late last night had not been a good idea but the alternative -an eight-hour roller coaster of nightmares- didn’t sound very inviting either. A shiver ran through my spine as it started to actually rain and the shadows of the nearby trees lengthened sinisterly. Great! Just what I needed! I’m running late for my class and now I’m to have an encounter with a semi-immortal being with a shtick for showy entrances before my first cup of coffee.

“I swear, whoever-you-are, if you so much as materialise a finger, I will bind you in a circle and hit you with my bag.”

I let said bag fall to the ground with an impressive THUD. The shadows shrink back to their proper place hastily and I smirk. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Nothing like the comforting wight of Shakespeare’s Complete Works to make a girl feel safe…



Astral Projection

Flickering and fluttering

Out of the corner of your eye

I fly ethereal


And silver and

Full of half-formed ideas

A sudden noise and…


A sudden startled gasp.

I wrench myself from

Half-remembered dreams

Of flight. Pain

On my chest as if

I slammed back to

My body. How I fear






The Spider-wife


I am a spider. I stay here, stretched on my web, trapped. The sun reaches through the glass, but never warms. My skin is ice. The great black bird that guards me won’t let me light a flame.

I hate you. You lock me in.

Charms of my nurse, to make you sleep.

Creeping quietly more each day,

To sink my fangs on the icecold.

The key is heavy, I escape

Through the dark.

We spend our days guarding each other. I have forgotten how people look. Only the great black bird and the monster see me. His eyes make me mad. I don’t want him to look. Mad makes me colder. No sun. No sun but storms through the glass. I long for fire. I long to dance.

Traitor, you did this to me;

Shackle me to the monster,

Tore me from the sun,

The flowers, the warmth,

You pity me!

I’ll tear your eyes,

Wear them for jewels,

How dare you pity me?

I don’t want it.

I want your blood,

Warm and coursing,

To keep me alive.

The first time I leave the prison, I wonder in the dark. It’s colder and I don’t linger long. He scares me now. He’s brought the monsters everywhere.

You sleep. I tough you.

You are warm. Why am I freezing?

I need your warmth.

I’m freezing alive,

I’ll burn it out of you.

Your soul will fly,

Take the monsters away,

Your ashes left to warm me.

The monsters are scared of me. I was but singing to sunlight, trying to coax it to me. It loved me back home, the bright black salamander. Why does it hate me now? Does it not love spiders? He brought them here. One is ice-white. Did he touch her too? Is she going to be my sister-spider?

Run you fool.

Run from the demon.

See what he did?

He steals your life.

You’ll lose your blood.

Get out you silly, little snowflake.

Before you become me.

The snowflake left. The earth, the air are warmer. I walk more. My charms finally work. The bird sleeps, the key is warm, my hand human again. The monsters hide away. I steal a fire, hide it in my web.

When I was a child I read

The story of one who stole the

Fire of the gods to give to people

Light and was locked away for it.

The sun is warm today. I stretch on my web and breath. I strike the drooping bird with my eyes. It falls. The key clatters on the floor. The spider-shape melts, I am human again. I take my fire. The sunbeam dances on the wick. A song of victory. I break my chains. The wind kisses me on the battlements.

The flames, the smoke, the wind.

I’m warm, I breathe, I live.

No more a spider, I’ve wings.

I leap, I fly, I leave

The monster to burn, burn, burn.

The light embraces me.

I am free.

“Then Mr. Rochester was at home when the fire broke out?”

“Yes, indeed was he; and he went up to the attics when all was burning above and below, and got the servants out of their beds and helped them down himself, and went back to get his mad wife out of her cell. And then they called out to him that she was on the roof, where she was standing, waving her arms, above the battlements, and shouting out till they could hear her a mile off: I saw her and heard her with my own eyes. She was a big woman, and had long black hair: we could see it streaming against the flames as she stood. I witnessed, and several more witnessed, Mr. Rochester ascend through the sky-light on to the roof; we heard him call ‘Bertha!’ We saw him approach her; and then, ma’am, she yelled and gave a spring, and the next minute she lay smashed on the pavement.” (Jane Eyre, chapter 36)

Thunder and Ice


To kick things off in a chill manner, here is a poem I wrote about a year ago when I was still attempting Gothic poetry:

Thunder and Ice
She dances in the snow, no sanity left in her eyes
She buried her child today
Amongst the thunder and the ice
So many words been left unsaid
Not even a goodbye
She left a white rose in the tombstone
a vow of blood
Revenge is what she craves now,
against a lover, hated traitor.
There will be no regret left to feel
when in battle from her dagger he falls.
It burns and burns the need for justice
Years pass, spent nursing the hate
They’re old and grey when the time comes,
he finds he cannot look away.
I love you- I hate you- I’ll see you dead.
Three lifetimes spent in plotting
three in preparing
and three in wait.
The moment has come, she’s taken everything away
I hate you- I love you- I’ll see you dead.
Dancing in the snow, amongst the thunder and the rain.