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gothic

Inside the candle, of waxing dripping braillethe moon was dark fading to grayon a winter's cold solsticelike a blind man's cursecensored by the mob because of my thirstwhispering to mum in death's tonguein her bed's crochet, of the devil's fescuetouc...

Waffle 3 months ago

The Salt Made

A story of a woman with child who have unusual fantasies and a nefarious appetite.

The brine beds soaked- the sky was a gloomy basket of silvery ash- the wind announced the forthcoming of unknown bluster. Mother awry spat the sappy betel. Behind her was the panorama of our salt stocking ghetto. Something tickled beneath her skull....

End Game

After 'The Waking Dream' John Polidori (1795-1821) returns to England and prepares to meet his fate.

John strode across the bustle of Piccadilly, the wide road alive with people even at this late hour. He was glad to turn his steps towards home and to disappear into the huddle of dark streets that was Soho. He felt more at ease here in the shadows t...

The Waking Dream

John Polidori (1795-1821) was personal physician to Lord Byron during the fateful summer of 1816...

London, Spring 1816 He clearly remembered when he first became aware of a hint of unease; a sense of otherworldly darkness. Before then in his life, of course, he had moments of disquiet in terms of worry and fretting, but they were normal daylight c...

Piquet 10 years ago

Rose

Inspired by the art of Lucinda Lyons.

Fair Rose of all seasons; Long enamored of you, The sun searches the daytime Then searches anew, Vainly hoping to snare you In his gossamer light. The stars in their towers All relish the sight Of your dark eyes gleaming And the glint of your smile....

PrincessCelia 10 years ago

Lucy Rises

The grave cannot chill the desire of the undead

I thought they buried you in the snowLast winter-- but, pray, was that me?Curious, how I’ve nowhere to go,But pace the graves at half past three:Mysterious ‘tis, where goes my mindThese bleary days since I spied you last;It seems I’m cloistered from...

Piquet 10 years ago

Her Portrait

Inspired by the work of Lucinda Lyons with a nod to Swinburne.

In a chamber suffused with emotion By the light of innumerable dawns, In a house betwixt forests and ocean, Where the briar rose bristles with thorns; There hangs her portrait in splendour, In mystic silence, forsaken, unknown, In lines both violent...

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