Gothic | Marie Marshall

October 31, 2019

The ghost-caller

The last of my old offerings for the season of ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night, of bauchles and bogies and long-toothed flesh-feasties, and shadows that torment your sight. Go do Halloween, but have a care for your immortal souls…

The ghost-caller

Where once the sunlight filtered through a curtain
…The woman sits, abandoned and alone;
See how such solitude is iron-certain
…In deeper-darkness, and how late it’s grown.

But wait a while – though many tears are falling
…And though the lonely, moonlit hours are long –
To shifting shades the woman’s voice is calling,
…And ghosts and demons hear the drifting song.

These spectres are the woman’s own creations
…That crawl into penumbras, opportune
And evening-timely come these apparitions,
…As heat’s a trusted herald of monsoon!

But will these things of darkness leave at morning,
…Or will they haunt the woman through the day?
That’s not for us to know – so heed my warning,
…And from this place of sadness… come away!

__________

October 29, 2019

In the Echo-hall of Randomstone

Woe to you who venture too near to my old, old, Gothic verses as Halloweentide nights draw in…

In the Echo-hall of Randomstone

I trod a wild and sunless mountain path,
for many leagues and many days, alone.
It led by rowan grove and elvish rath,
up to the echo-hall of Randomstone.
Within a silent, lofty-ceilinged room,
there stood an altar of obsidian,
on which I placed things stolen from a tomb
where lay an eon-dead Dravidian.
I summoned, from the arsenal of my faith,
such strength as I could muster in the night;
but more than that – I summoned up a wraith
that answered to my esoteric rite.
Such was her might that she took shape, whilst I
forever in this fetid vault must lie!

October 27, 2019

Old stones that lead from heaven to the sea

From the dimly lit chamber emerges the ghost of lost love – another of my old Gothic treats – as Halloween lurks behind the graveyard wall…

Old stones that lead from heaven to the sea –

…the steps which are well-worn by bitter tears

that fall upon their grey severity,

…and weathered by the winds of countless years –

they are the causeway linking love and death;

…thus only stricken lovers’ solemn tread

upon this stairway sounds above the breath

…of God. But still I walk in silent dread,

and downwards, downwards to the ocean cold,

…yet for a reason that I long forgot,

I go; still from the roses that I hold

…fall petals. Ah, she loves me… loves me not…

October 25, 2019

The crystal ball

The plunge towards Halloween, no matter how our fingernails scrabble at the granite walls as we slide, is inexorable. So here is another gothic offering from 2006, the year I scaled the Mountains of My Madness. This one was inspired by a painting by J.W. Waterhouse…

The crystal ball

Where has the seeress lost herself?
…In what relentless seas
Sails she, with helmsman sprite or elf,
…To seek elusive ease?

What worlds are cupped within her hands?
…And where her steady gaze
Falls, are there rich, exotic lands
…In sunlit ancient days?

Her lips that seem to wish a kiss,
…Her beauty gowned in red –
Is all her being wrapt in bliss,
…Or does she see the dead?

Lo, there! Her grimoire and her wand –
…Behind, a grinning skull –
Are spirits summoned to respond,
…Or are her senses dull?

What knowledge, what enlightenment
…Seeks she in realms arcane?
Beware, my sweet! All’s transient,
…Your loveliness will wane!

Whatever is the magic lore
…Whose secrets now entice
You through a dark and one-way door –
…You pay too high a price!

So lady, lay that art aside,
…Forswear your mantic ball
For mind’s health, beauty’s morningtide –
…Or, hazarding, lose all!

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October 22, 2019

O Darkness, be my friend

Another poem from my old gothic collection, disinterred for the approach of Halloween. These poems have been greying in my family crypt, behind the rusting, wrought-iron gate that hangs off its hinges but opens just wide enough for a fearless – or reckless – adventurer to squeeze through, down the dark steps lit only by a faint phosphorescence, inside an ancient sarcophagus in which there appears to be nothing else but dust. If you want to snatch the manuscript, be quick! There are rustlings in the darkness, and the echo of what might be eldritch laughter…

O Darkness, be my friend

O Darkness, be my friend;
…come, sheath my searing shame
in shadows. Comprehend
…the scarlet of my name,
the flames of which transcend
…the tinsel-gold of fame!

O Darkness, take my sight;
…with cold penumbras bind
these brimming eyes, contrite
…in error, hard-maligned
in judgment. Take them – blight
…their seeing, make me blind!

O Darkness, unto death
…walk with me; with thy wand
strike dumb my Shibboleth –
…my tongue dare not respond!
Be this my final breath;
…who knows what lies beyond!

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Marie Marshall

Tag: Gothic