on
The Gothic style is generally characterized by gloom, the supernatural, and the grotesque. It has been popular in the late 18th century has since influenced different sites of art such as architecture, literature, music, calligraphy, entertainment, aesthetics, makeup, fashion, and more. It is easily recognizable with its dark, eerie, and cold tone. Some may even associate it with the supernatural. While the gothic aesthetic is very dark because often times it is full of black elements, the gothic poems and writings appreciate the beauty in darkness. It gives a sense of elegance and mystery that comes from the dark unknown.
Browse through our collection of poems at 1Love Poems for your next writing inspirations and ideas, and have your readers talking about the themes that you love.
American Gothic – Poem by William Stafford
If we see better through tiny,
grim glasses, we like to wear
tiny, grim glasses.
Our parents willed us this
view. It’s tundra? We love it.
We travel our kind of
Renaissance: barnfuls of hay,
whole voyages of corn, and
a book that flickers its
halo in the parlor.
Poverty plus confidence equals
pioneers. We never doubted.
The Gothic Ballad – Poem by Ankoku Gekido
I walk carelessly down the dark road
My heavy black boots constantly clicking
Clicking on the cold cement
My long black and velvet Trench coat
Billowing in the slight breeze
My Chest slightly rising under my tight corset
My chains on my pants jingling together
As I walk down this Moon lit road
Staring up at the midnight moon
This is the ballad
The ballad of the lost
Of the silent warriors
Of the people you pass by and call freaks
Of the people
Who will save your soul
For our souls are pure
Our souls sing this ballad
The ballad of the night
The ballad of the pure hearts
A Gothic Horror – Poem by Margaret Alice Second
Thank you for representing life as a Gothic horror
with the nerve-wrecking shocks of demented men,
dad as Heathcliff, mom as Mr Rochester’s mad first
wife and you a strange mixture between Jane Eyre
and the rebellious Catherine
Thank you for recreating ‘Great Expectations’ in which
you are Pip, for describing your life in Sherwood with
Robin Hood among the criminal poor, adding scenes
of the Phantom’s life in his nightmare underworld lair,
yet, I cannot share the stage with you
I am following the narrative imperative of Pratchett’s
Discworld series, applying Mary Poppins’ advice in a
wild dance through the mutable universe depicted in
Bedknobs and Broomsticks – balancing this edifice
with ideals and visions; therefore
Thank you for adding Edgar Allan Poe and Artemis
Fowl to the pastoral scenes of my slow-moving life,
I shall remember you believe that intrigue is the
staple of life as I am sitting quietly, waiting for
the White Rabbit to pass by again…
A Gothic Suicide – Poem by Vision Ghost
Felt all that was within, the dread and lonely pain
Fore seeing all the grey clouds, and endless rain
In an entrapment of her bleak, bedroom place
Many scratches of finger nails, adorned her face
Scars of the tormented, and that without release
Collected them like dolls, upon skin like a crease
Sunken eyes reflecting, the soul of a sunken heart
When futures hope seem diminished, and torn apart
Black lines of her heavy make up, drawn down
By so many tears, shed beneath her failed crown
Clasping her wrist, another attempt failed and stings
The music of her emotion, now in her ear doth rings
Though destinies sands, of her future are running out
Upon her lips adorn the kiss, of this deathly spout
That a dagger drawn from a box, of marble and wood
In her bedroom undetermined, to whether she should
The bare trees of autumn, tapping the dark window
Though to convince her, of an alternative innuendo
So much has she lost, that her black nails are tight
Around the handle of this blade, and loosing sight
That with one last breath, stolen by her searing pain
Of final thrust, that this blade pierced without a strain
Into her solemn heart, choking her grief as her blood
Ran like tears, down her breasts, staining like mud
Dropping to the floor, like a seed of the dandelion
Falls upon the winds end, but only to see oblivion
So much of her last thoughts, as her life ebbs away
Never shall she see, the beginning of a new born day
As the time for her life, has slowly begun to stop
From the blades handle, blood spills dropp by drop
Silent now, as her body lays still, grey as the sky
Young was her soul, victimised, too young to die
Talons Of A Gothic Mind – Poem by Mark R Slaughter
She of talons, borne from gothic mind-
Steel of blue her chilly stare,
Pitch of black her fetid blood-
Whence there came an evil flare
To terrorise the weeping kind
Befogged in mental mire; to rape
The shore with phallic waves –
And all for lust, her one desire:
Corrupt the sand of innocence
Without a case for penitence,
Or cause for such as reticence –
While coming on her priapismic fire.
Gothic – Poem by Aldo Kraas
I burn my past
The blood that is running from my cut
I drink it
Like a devil in the dark
What devil am I?
The Gothic devil
I survive drinking my own blood
I have no shame anymore
I am the Gothic devil
With a few words my heart is torn and in pain
Because there is a cut in my heart
All the lies I told to everyone
Now flash in my eyes
What once was my good life, now remains in ashes
My tainted ashes of love only feed the ashes
Of all lies
Blown in the wind to seek me to die
Under the sweet flowers I lay myself to sleep
Waiting for my life to end
I have grown old
I have grown weak
Because all the blood is running out of my heart that is cut
Nobody will stop the blood from running
The sun still shines where I lay under the sweet flowers
My life is now immortal
I am going soon
I am feeling more dizzy and weak each hour
Death is approaching me fast
This time I don’t fear death
I accept it
Hurting other people was my sin
And not telling the truth was my second sin
All the things that I’ve done raise questions in my head
I don’t do everything perfect
Why should I do?
Yes I can change my thinking
But I think I still have time for that
I still have time to say forgiveness
Before I go to my new home
I am the Gothic devil
And this Gothic devil is going home now to die
The hour arrived
I take one more look around where I am
I say good bye to mother earth
I shut my eyes
And now I feel myself going through a deep sleep
My breathing has stopped
Now the Gothic devil is dead and the Gothic devil is me
Nothing I can see anymore or feel
It was a wonderful day to die
It was a perfect time
Now I just lay down frozen like a stone beneath the sweet flowers where I Once stood
Someone carried me, the Gothic devil
And buried me in the cemetery
My body is there
But my spirit is in heaven
Source: Poemhunter
https://www.poemhunter.com/
