Stereotypical Sanctus Goth Poetry
Stereotypical Sanctus Goth Poetry
Okay, you can't do a "Stereotypical Goth" night without having some bad goth poetry....
There will be at least one bad goth poetry reading during the night next sunday.
KarlaBoo suggested to me last night that I ask for any of you out there to post a few lines of bad "stereotypical" goth poetry. I will be picking and choosing from any postings to add to and make my reading.
So lets see some of that bad late night clove smoke and Java induced words of gloom, doom and gothdom
See you all Sunday!
There will be at least one bad goth poetry reading during the night next sunday.
KarlaBoo suggested to me last night that I ask for any of you out there to post a few lines of bad "stereotypical" goth poetry. I will be picking and choosing from any postings to add to and make my reading.
So lets see some of that bad late night clove smoke and Java induced words of gloom, doom and gothdom
See you all Sunday!
Be Scene, Not Herd
Bone's Lair
Bone's Lair
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- The Fallen
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The Goffness that is Fallen
Ok let's start off with the bad poetry
Untitled (just coz most bad poetry is)
The sanguine stain
of my shattered soul
screams into the nyghte
Of eyes that mirror
the pain of worlds
beyond measure
My dark heart lies bleeding
bereft of love, of light
I am forever...alone
Untitled
This pain within
neverending want
how to live
with the desire
to be wanted
needed
forever lost
in the shadows
seeking life
seeking love
finding despair
alone in the night
I now live
for the darkness
live for the pain
wanting
needing
for nothing.
And now for the good goth poetry
...
(6 days later)
...
...
Okay Okay I'm working on it
...
Jest
I, the fool, capering through life's mystery
to bring the smile upon the faces of others
but my own, a sad caricature of pain
lonelieness is my staff, its bells ring dissonant[/u]
Untitled (just coz most bad poetry is)
The sanguine stain
of my shattered soul
screams into the nyghte
Of eyes that mirror
the pain of worlds
beyond measure
My dark heart lies bleeding
bereft of love, of light
I am forever...alone
Untitled
This pain within
neverending want
how to live
with the desire
to be wanted
needed
forever lost
in the shadows
seeking life
seeking love
finding despair
alone in the night
I now live
for the darkness
live for the pain
wanting
needing
for nothing.
And now for the good goth poetry
...
(6 days later)
...
...
Okay Okay I'm working on it
...
Jest
I, the fool, capering through life's mystery
to bring the smile upon the faces of others
but my own, a sad caricature of pain
lonelieness is my staff, its bells ring dissonant[/u]
Oh sad is the world. but I have Kavorkian's scarf.
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.
~giggles~ here ya go.....this is really bad...
crushed velvet desire
and black lace memories
i cross your path
like a black cat
darkness cloaks the sky
and the pale moon takes her place
stars fade into the background
no light shines upon my face
love bled from my heart
centuries ago
leaving the night
as my only friend
the moon takes her rightful place
as darkness cloaks the sky
stars hide in the background
the light begins to die.
crushed velvet desire
and black lace memories
i cross your path
like a black cat
darkness cloaks the sky
and the pale moon takes her place
stars fade into the background
no light shines upon my face
love bled from my heart
centuries ago
leaving the night
as my only friend
the moon takes her rightful place
as darkness cloaks the sky
stars hide in the background
the light begins to die.
Here ya go. I admit it. Most of my poetry is bad. At least I think! This one is called I AM NOT!
I reach for you.
But you're not there.
Life in a world that doesn't care.
I find myself, once again
With a heart that is blue
Hopeless dreams and thoughtless truths
What will tomorrow bring?
We never know.
And that's the thing.
But I still find myself waiting,
hope filled for spring.
So I strive on in this world
Wishing for and silently debating
Still not knowing what I want
Only knowing that I am not.
I swear every time I read this one I cringe. What was I thinking?
I reach for you.
But you're not there.
Life in a world that doesn't care.
I find myself, once again
With a heart that is blue
Hopeless dreams and thoughtless truths
What will tomorrow bring?
We never know.
And that's the thing.
But I still find myself waiting,
hope filled for spring.
So I strive on in this world
Wishing for and silently debating
Still not knowing what I want
Only knowing that I am not.
I swear every time I read this one I cringe. What was I thinking?
We're All Mad Here!
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Hmm I dunno if the poetry I've done before would be considered "bad" but I haven't had the desire to really write for the past few years, anyways here goes:
The Burning
Fallen,
the loss
the anguish
for having loved
too much
Feeling,
bitterness tears
this torn soul
so far away
from light
Flames,
burning bright,
searing my heart
leaving only ashes
and regret
Fear,
of what's to come
and what has passed
binds me to my pain
alone in the dark
Hunt
Ah the prey which binds us
makes us want and need
we become the thrall
before the dark deed
So let the Hunt begin
as moon shines full tonite
hunger stirs our desire
for the prey, no respite
Free
Broken, the shackles which bind.
I am free.
Torn, from the comfort inside.
I must see.
Fled, from the darkness I did hide
I will be.
Born. So opens my mind.
I am me.
I just haven't really been in the right mindset to write, badly or not.
The Burning
Fallen,
the loss
the anguish
for having loved
too much
Feeling,
bitterness tears
this torn soul
so far away
from light
Flames,
burning bright,
searing my heart
leaving only ashes
and regret
Fear,
of what's to come
and what has passed
binds me to my pain
alone in the dark
Hunt
Ah the prey which binds us
makes us want and need
we become the thrall
before the dark deed
So let the Hunt begin
as moon shines full tonite
hunger stirs our desire
for the prey, no respite
Free
Broken, the shackles which bind.
I am free.
Torn, from the comfort inside.
I must see.
Fled, from the darkness I did hide
I will be.
Born. So opens my mind.
I am me.
I just haven't really been in the right mindset to write, badly or not.
Oh sad is the world. but I have Kavorkian's scarf.
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...
this is an oldddddddd one.....written when I was 15.
"Roses of Death" by E.L. 10-9-89 in memory of R.A.
Roses are red, grass is green
life is death, life is mean
rest in peace, peace doesn't sell
forever rest, resting in hell
Roses are black, hearts do bleed
dying and dead, an evil deed
rotting here, rotting there
bones of a skeleton, bones are bare
Let me be, just let me go
not scared at all, no fear do I show
gone is today, there is no tomorrow
when I die, reveal no sorrow
As I'm writing, writing as you read
blood so red, the blood I bleed
Roses of life, parting from me
darkness returns, I cannot see
Life is short, death so long
am I right, or am I wrong?
Six feet under, black is the grave
death such a defeat, life can't be saved
I took my life, soul and heart
love is lost, the pain now starts
In life itself, life did hurt
it hurts even worse, under the dirt
Roses do fade and so do I
death is true and not a lie
Darkness surrounds me, lying so still
I'm so numb, that I can't feel
The coffin so cold, winter is near
Dad says a prayer, mom sheds a tear
I parted with life on my birthday
making my wish to die and decay
Roses turning to dust, now underground
lying helplessly, inside this muddy mound
Rose petals scattered near and far
gone are my dreams to be a star
Gone are the days I was alive
I had to leave, I had to die
Remembering times alone in my room
a life depressed, a life full of doom
I couldn't survive, anger and hate
a life of tragedy, ready for fate
Roses of destiny, where do I go
death is my friend, life is my foe
My 17 years, gone are they
death my decision, life couldn't stay
Roses of death, life's a memory
to live again, it can never be.
"Roses of Death" by E.L. 10-9-89 in memory of R.A.
Roses are red, grass is green
life is death, life is mean
rest in peace, peace doesn't sell
forever rest, resting in hell
Roses are black, hearts do bleed
dying and dead, an evil deed
rotting here, rotting there
bones of a skeleton, bones are bare
Let me be, just let me go
not scared at all, no fear do I show
gone is today, there is no tomorrow
when I die, reveal no sorrow
As I'm writing, writing as you read
blood so red, the blood I bleed
Roses of life, parting from me
darkness returns, I cannot see
Life is short, death so long
am I right, or am I wrong?
Six feet under, black is the grave
death such a defeat, life can't be saved
I took my life, soul and heart
love is lost, the pain now starts
In life itself, life did hurt
it hurts even worse, under the dirt
Roses do fade and so do I
death is true and not a lie
Darkness surrounds me, lying so still
I'm so numb, that I can't feel
The coffin so cold, winter is near
Dad says a prayer, mom sheds a tear
I parted with life on my birthday
making my wish to die and decay
Roses turning to dust, now underground
lying helplessly, inside this muddy mound
Rose petals scattered near and far
gone are my dreams to be a star
Gone are the days I was alive
I had to leave, I had to die
Remembering times alone in my room
a life depressed, a life full of doom
I couldn't survive, anger and hate
a life of tragedy, ready for fate
Roses of destiny, where do I go
death is my friend, life is my foe
My 17 years, gone are they
death my decision, life couldn't stay
Roses of death, life's a memory
to live again, it can never be.
In shadows of my mind you still linger
Never to feel your touch again
Everyday I am tortured by the memories of sadness
To only hold you, to feel you, to kiss your crimson lips
For this I would surely die...
Once again I sleep, dreaming of your embrace
Never I want to awake as long as we are together
The dark, soft caress of your hands
I can taste you on my lips
I wake to find myself alone
I am so alone again
To face another day without you
Just my dreams of yesterday to cling to
Never to feel your touch again
Everyday I am tortured by the memories of sadness
To only hold you, to feel you, to kiss your crimson lips
For this I would surely die...
Once again I sleep, dreaming of your embrace
Never I want to awake as long as we are together
The dark, soft caress of your hands
I can taste you on my lips
I wake to find myself alone
I am so alone again
To face another day without you
Just my dreams of yesterday to cling to
"My name is Lance and I like nuts!"
I know there are spelling errors but i am really tired!
It is sort of gothy, but it is based off of a song I wrote not to long ago...iI re-wrote it to be overly melodramatic:)
OOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!! ::waves hand in the air and staples it to the forehead::
LOL....I love goths!!! This night is going to be great...it will be like the "old days" when the scene was fluffy shirts, poet shirts, pompous dancing and pompous goths, roleplaying before the club opened, the days of "Long Black Veil" in NY.
It is sort of gothy, but it is based off of a song I wrote not to long ago...iI re-wrote it to be overly melodramatic:)
OOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!! ::waves hand in the air and staples it to the forehead::
LOL....I love goths!!! This night is going to be great...it will be like the "old days" when the scene was fluffy shirts, poet shirts, pompous dancing and pompous goths, roleplaying before the club opened, the days of "Long Black Veil" in NY.
"My name is Lance and I like nuts!"
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my thoughts exactly.ophelia wrote:Just breeze through the KG Storyteller's Forum...
It's like a buffet.
the worlds a cold dark place and im gonna die!~~~~~~~~~~~
gloom
doom
boom
red balloon.
and all that shit.
O(+>
Drinking makes you the same asshole your father was.
http://www.knoxnihilism.com/forum - site admin.
Prayer, Praise, Profit.
Drinking makes you the same asshole your father was.
http://www.knoxnihilism.com/forum - site admin.
Prayer, Praise, Profit.
If you will all excuse the slight departure, I feel compelled after reading all of this to post a really good one. This, to me, sums up "gothic." Just a feeling, things you like and are attracted to, and, like the subject in the poem, embracing your imagination from a fairly young age.
Most of you have seen/ read this before, but here it is again, as I have nothing better to do
Tim Burton's Vincent
Vincent Malloy is seven years old
He's polite and always does as he's told
For a boy his age, he's considerate and nice
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price
He doesn't mind living with his sister, dog, and cats
Though he'd rather share a home with spiders and bats
There he could reflect on the horrors he has invented
and wander dark hallways alone and tormented
Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum
He likes to experiment on his dog Abocrombie
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie
So that he and his horrible zombie dog
could go searching for victims in the London fog
His thoughts aren't only of ghoulish crime
He likes to paint and read to pass some of the time
While other kids read books like "Go Jane Go"
Vincent's favorite author is Edgar Allen Poe.
One night while reading a gruesome tale
he read a passage that made him turn pale
Such horrible news he could not survive
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive
He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead
Unaware that her grave was his mother's flower bed
His mother sent Vincent off to his room
He knew he'd been banished to the tower of doom
where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life
alone with the portrait of his beautiful wife.
While alone and insane encased in his doom
Vincent's mother burst suddenly into the room
She said, "If you want, you can go out and play
It's sunny outside and a beautiful day."
Vincent tried to talk but he just couldn't speak
the years of isolation had made him quite weak
So he took out some paper and scrawled with a pen:
"I'm possessed by this house and can never leave it again."
His mother said, "You are NOT possessed and you are NOT almost dead
These games you play are all in your head
You are NOT Vincent Price, you're Vincent Malloy
You're not tormented or insane, you're just a young boy
You're seven years old, and you are my son
I want you to get outside and have some real fun."
Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall
While Vincent backed slowly against the wall
The room started to sway, to shiver and creak
His horrored insanity had reached its peak
He saw Abocrombie, his zombie slave
and heard his wife call from beyond the grave
She spoke through her coffin and made ghoulish demands
While through cracking walls reached skeleton hands
Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams
swept his mad laughter to terrified screams
To escape the badness, he reached for the door
but fell limp and lifeless down on the floor
His voice was soft and very slow
As he quoted "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe:
"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted...Nevermore."
Most of you have seen/ read this before, but here it is again, as I have nothing better to do
Tim Burton's Vincent
Vincent Malloy is seven years old
He's polite and always does as he's told
For a boy his age, he's considerate and nice
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price
He doesn't mind living with his sister, dog, and cats
Though he'd rather share a home with spiders and bats
There he could reflect on the horrors he has invented
and wander dark hallways alone and tormented
Vincent is nice when his aunt comes to see him
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum
He likes to experiment on his dog Abocrombie
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie
So that he and his horrible zombie dog
could go searching for victims in the London fog
His thoughts aren't only of ghoulish crime
He likes to paint and read to pass some of the time
While other kids read books like "Go Jane Go"
Vincent's favorite author is Edgar Allen Poe.
One night while reading a gruesome tale
he read a passage that made him turn pale
Such horrible news he could not survive
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive
He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead
Unaware that her grave was his mother's flower bed
His mother sent Vincent off to his room
He knew he'd been banished to the tower of doom
where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life
alone with the portrait of his beautiful wife.
While alone and insane encased in his doom
Vincent's mother burst suddenly into the room
She said, "If you want, you can go out and play
It's sunny outside and a beautiful day."
Vincent tried to talk but he just couldn't speak
the years of isolation had made him quite weak
So he took out some paper and scrawled with a pen:
"I'm possessed by this house and can never leave it again."
His mother said, "You are NOT possessed and you are NOT almost dead
These games you play are all in your head
You are NOT Vincent Price, you're Vincent Malloy
You're not tormented or insane, you're just a young boy
You're seven years old, and you are my son
I want you to get outside and have some real fun."
Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall
While Vincent backed slowly against the wall
The room started to sway, to shiver and creak
His horrored insanity had reached its peak
He saw Abocrombie, his zombie slave
and heard his wife call from beyond the grave
She spoke through her coffin and made ghoulish demands
While through cracking walls reached skeleton hands
Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams
swept his mad laughter to terrified screams
To escape the badness, he reached for the door
but fell limp and lifeless down on the floor
His voice was soft and very slow
As he quoted "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe:
"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted...Nevermore."
Keep the taps flowing and be well
"Someone wanted to know how to ï¬
"Someone wanted to know how to ï¬
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