Gothic Poetry Quotes

“Back to the dark, my cursed throne,
I bear her forth, I stand alone.
Her breath is shallow, soft and dim,
Her pulse a song—a fleeting hymn.”
― Mason Carter, Gothic Poems to Love & Liberty: A Collection of Poems on Myths & Broken Hearts

“Her breath, a perfume laced with midnight’s bloom,
Her skin, a canvas brushed with lunar gloom.
She lies, a mountain range of flesh and might,
And I, a pilgrim, kneel to kiss her light.
Her neck, a column where the ancients wrote,
I trace with tongue, each vein, each whispered note.”
― Mason Carter, Gothic Poems to Love & Liberty: A Collection of Poems on Myths & Broken Hearts

“Words can be like gems or sticks. A coalition of words can become a diamond necklace or a broken picket fence, whichever way one wishes to use them, and as such, I use them for my works of fiction and poetry. Dark fantasy can be alluring but dark reality is sometimes unavoidable and can cascade one's imagination deep into the hollowed skulls that litter the subsoil beneath our feet, to be returned once again to the world in the voice of a poet.”
― Barry Harden, Ada & Eddie: A Novel

“A Mind's Minotaur - A Soliloquy by Stewart Stafford

In a labyrinth’s mental corridors, prisoner of consciousness,
Fleeing a Minotaur I fear is me.
Achilles' heel, masked by strength hath shown,
An arrow cometh from Time's swift flight,
For those with bountiful time enow,
Find themselves slain in a heroic light.
When thou dost gaze upon the world below,
And scorn its depths, thou canst not comprehend
The truths that pool o'er its shadow, glow.
No tears stain that meadow of solace,
A phantom limb, tickling in memory's store,
Galley slaves in hurricane's heart so lashed.
Transient madness and renown, conjoin on pomp’s bridge,
Champions of the joust wave paramour's kerchief,
Revered statues limp from a pedestal's ridge.
The signs of pride and brittle ardour,
The hubristic bite of isolation's cur.
The death warrant quill must ne'er be stilled,
For authority doth stifle beauty's song,
Staged chaos through the written word is willed.
Phantasy's balm to verity's scourging,
A cleansing soak of battle-scarred minds,
And in the dark, imagination reigns.
He who hath fear of the dark hath vision keen,
Whilst those who see but naught are dull and plain.
Thus, let us not be swayed by others' lore,
But splay in error, heal to prosper once more.
Idolatrous moth to lechery's candlelight,
In lover's tongues, passion's seared delight.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Physician's Pageant by Stewart Stafford

Can aught endure the masquerade
Of this world's blindfolded night?
Melancholy's strike doth calm the raving,
As babes roused from stillbirth in fledgling light.
We know that the womb doth wander,
Around the body, causing ills without care,
A pessary's charm doth anchor it in place again,
As bait doth lure the quarry to the snare.
Burn sulfur, rosemary, lavender and juniper,
Or foul dung smoke to cleanse tainted rural air.
Light aromatic torches in the playhouse and market,
Let vile odours and miasmas in these spaces beware.
Though ragged contagion and death still doth assail,
God willing, some blessed souls still shalt prevail.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved. ”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Dead of Winter by Stewart Stafford

In truth, winter is the dead's season,
Their graveyard chill touches Earth,
The skeleton moon's danse macabre,
As the darkened Sun heralds rebirth.

Wild hunters of Christmas Eve skies,
Mighty Odin or Arthur leading all,
Hellhounds, fiery steeds, chase,
To feast in a Valhalla or Camelot hall.

Assemble at the hearth, my kindred,
Share unnerving tales of gothic fright,
Raised pulses as spectral guests join us,
Frayed nerves spiked on this haunted night.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Beneath the pallid gaze of waning skies,
I stood, a shadow where the darkness lies,”
― Mason Carter, Gothic Poems to Love & Liberty: A Collection of Poems on Myths & Broken Hearts

“The Night When Fear Strays by Stewart Stafford

Each Hallowtide, all monstrous shapes do quail,
No balm for wounded wretches feeling frail,
Spectators as charlatan mortals filch frights,
Appropriated skins on haunted nights.

With bonfire’s glow ablaze in dauntless eyes,
Children’s fun quelled by strangest sighs,
A hulking shape, once fierce, wails tainted,
Its fearful gaze in phantom mists attainted.

Small, tender hands caressed its sodden fur,
A trembling growl betrayed its lonesome blur,
“Peace, gentle shade, what sorrow stirs unfed?”
“November’s dawn shall call me home,” it said.

Their kindly-shared oat cakes eased its pangs,
A webbed claw from veiled night to munching fangs,
It feasted with a hunger born of striven years alone,
Stroked the child’s cheek for the kindness shown.

When parents called, it whispered, soft and torn,
“At midnight’s knell, this thicket heralds morn—
Go, kindred babes, I’ll linger in this glade.
Each Halloween, I’ll mourn my fear remade.”

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Sensitive Scarred by Stewart Stafford

Bizarre monolith world,
We waylaid pilgrims tread
In a whirligig of fair and ill
Serrated lots for drawing.

Consider those without armour,
Senses wounded beyond measure,
With struggles incomprehensible,
The burdened head asphyxiates.

Devoid of several layers of skin,
Internal organs lacerated—daily,
A ribcage so spinelessly cracked,
Clarity's chains relentlessly taut.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“On Darkest Paths by Stewart Stafford

Temporal loop on a ravenous street,
A vampire denied a ticking heartbeat,
Restless spirit of night's prettified edge,
Bound acolyte of the infinite pledge.

Human life, another planet’s memory,
This skittish flock, a prized delicacy,
Blood frenzy mingles with death's choir,
A living essence merged with undead fire.

No loving touch nor warmth of light,
I must stay numb, shun my plight,
Solitary, not lonely; sated yet lost.
A fickle captive in my permafrost.

I spurn self-pity’s indulgent call,
My wastrel's drudge to primal thrall.
A millstone for necks of mortal strays
Perishing slowly in diminished ways.

An inversion of creation, a deviant lie,
A predator's bloodlust can never comply,
Rogue feeders, unbound by pack affliction.
Until driven away or freed of addiction.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“The Christmas Crasher or Merry Crisis & Happy New Fear
(The Yule-Get-Yours Scapegoat)
A Poem by Stewart Stafford

A malevolent sprite in our living room,
A mouldy Púca in the Christmas tree,
Bauble-gleam eyes in festive branches,
A sulphur stink while we watch TV.

Swallowing a window candle flame;
A fire-eater’s trick to no applause,
Season’s sweets wolfed down—
Even wrappers, devoured without pause.

A fridge raid’s boozy-woozy walk,
A true eggnog nuisance — every inch,
Crash — a muffled, 'Timber! God rest ya!'
So loud, we thought it was The Grinch!

My parents demanded it come out:
"A wrecked tree and hangover’s enough!"
It pleaded against eviction in the cold,
Squatter’s rights for lack of sterner stuff!

Seated at the Xmas dinner table,
Tossing scraps to our strange ‘pet’ below,
Foghorn burp aria, a puked tinsel encore,
Pine-needle toothpick snores in fake snow.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Ebb and Flow by Stewart Stafford

Happiness, briefest harbour in a squall;
Tempests funnel us to splintered docks,
High-seas missions to a last port of call,
Fading feast taste of a haven of stasis.

Weather springs with raging misprision,
All things far beyond fingertip calculation,
If we go off course with Fool's Gold vision,
The reefs of avarice shall starkly claim us.

We set sail or are torn from fragile sanctuary,
All these stays, noted in the strangers' ledger,
The Fate Morgana's captain - marine actuary,
Virtual kin crew with fish and fowl companions.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford