Poetry About Vampires
Poetry and verses about the sinister undead - vampires, ghouls, liches, earthbound spirits, etc - by Mysty Brett
This site is a work in progress, intended for more than a dozen poems. Scroll down to read poems with the following titles:
Ringletted Wight Just Sleeping Vigil Out Of The Fog She Trusted The Night Fog In The Lane
Not A Dream Snowflakes Murky Shadows Churchyard Soul Haiku A Bat (a cinquain)
Pretty Young Skater Midnight Flowers Awakened She Took Her Secrets To The Grave
For poetry about beneficial and/or harmless spirits and ghosts: http://mystymysty.wixsite.com/midnightmistspoetry
For spooky gothic song lyrics by Mysty, which are like poems: http://mystymysty.wixsite.com/spookyngothiclyrics
Ringletted Wight
Oh Ringletted Wight,
I know you're somewhere out there in the night;
I've sensed you hover past my window pane;
behind those black-out curtains, felt you drain
the atmosphere of light, while you're unseen,
the raucuous wind enveloping your screams!
Oh Ringletted Wight,
the graveyard past this terraced row's your home
Since that day I saw that hearse tableaux,
And noticed your excitement, the keen glow,
of your eyes, so eager to catch mine,
I've ached to see your plight, your sad decline!
We talked that day.
So eerily you spoke, as though of now,
of your job, as mourner on display.
And yet you did half-know you weren't enfleshed.
Yet, whilst I hurt,
to see your sunken cheeks, flushed fiery red;
your waxen pallor, form so painful thin;
the hectic's froth, damp on your temples waves,
long spaniel curls, which coiled so lush and black -
so quick I caught, your half-done plans to snare,
my soul to your possession, so to keep,
your half-life fueled, banished from despair,
with light of life's blood make yourself complete!
And so this night, -
as other nights before, of storm or calm,
I've shut thick curtains tight, sat up to read,
with barriers of mind, protective charms.
But, more I hope, that next door's pretty Belle
who sleeps alone in sky-blue summer shift,
made latest style; her hair bright sunny blonde,
enwaving to white sheets past peach-like cheeks; -
(one ruffled strap, down by her nubile breast),
knows the danger close to us, or wears,
her daytime's crucifix.
___________________________________
Summer 2011/23rdJuly2016
Just Sleeping
I lie in long hair that's like the cream fleece of a sheep.
Fog at the window, swirling through darkness deep.
Dressed in a lace-yoked gown, demure with frills.
Knowing that I look chaste, show virginal thrills.
Clouds eclipse the moon that's portenting full.
Blackness, then more shadows follow a lull.
Slowly, my eyelids flutter, but, I'm asleep;
"Jesus, please, this night, my soul to keep".
What taps now at the window; who lurks there?
A wandering graveyard ghost, or tree branch bare?
Bliss now overtakes me, long do I feel,
songs of admiration over me steal.
My dark lord is here; I know, should I wake,
he will leave, this drowsing ecstasy take;
this sense that he wants me, full and all;
all my body, and my soul to thrall.
I am Beauty; she must have her Beast!
Kiss me, then there'll be the wedding feast!
Though I fear him, I fear loneliness more!
I am ripe for love, true love of yore!
I lie in long hair that's like the cream fleece of a sheep.
In purest white and ruffles, feigning sleep.
Ravished by euphoric fantasy dreams.
Not woken by the morning's piercing screams.
__________________________________________
Murky Shadows
I sense you watching me,
from the murky shadows.
Stalking me through my dreams.
A dread that's so deep grows!
Were you stood by my bed last night,
whilst I slept, in the bright moonlight,
before I woke, with a jolt of fright,
seeing just empty moonbeams?
Often, dreams seem so real,
but they leave no trace by day.
But this one lingers, hasn't gone away,
still moves in the shadows.
When I woke with that jolt of fright,
I pictured still, my dream-time sight,
of a woman, ghostly pallored white,
with hair like midnight.
Oh come to me my dream,
and we will meet by the moonlit stream
Where the weeping willows gleam
And you will tell me what I need to know.
We'll leave behind, the fog and shadow,
and then will I feel, my red blood flow,
for I like – I admit, I liked -
that jolt of fright.
_______________________
Vigil
The window's sash
is down and locked,
the curtains heavy
before the panes.
Thick darkness seeps,
but as she sleeps,
a cross lies on her counterpane.
Her watcher dozes
slumps in her chair.
Then sparkles start
at a mirror there.
A sinister face,
morphs out long white hands,
which find and tighten round the watcher's neck.
_______________________________________
She Trusted The Night
She trusted the night, : -
thought she was safe in her convent bedroom,
this school drenched in beauty,
of foliage, blooms and marine-soothed breezes.
She pushed back the velvet,
opened the pane, now screened just by pink gauzes,
then as cool relieved her,
she listened to the song woven into the darkness.
Blonde head on soft pillows,
she fancied she saw shadows move past her eyelids,
which sleep now had closed shut.
She trusted the night, for life only could be good.
Enchanted, she saw him,
form from the moon's silver beams coruscations;
his glamor entranced her:
fantasies came of her perfect boyfriend.
When too late, she struggled.
His face – graceful pale – now blackened macabre
fangs snarls at her throat.
His weight so heavy, she couldn't move or breathe.
Like silk and spun sugar,
long swathes of her hair past her frills-strapped blue nightdress,
her Princess looks fading,
pallor where once was, peach bloom nubile contours.
A corpse in the darkness
in an '80s gown, white with cream ruffled lace yoke
above the fashions changing
its bright allure unceasing
blood trickling from its lips
Past the field besides the graveyard,
stares out from his sickbed,
a young man, gaunt and weary,
and he senses without sight,
the earth where she lies,
and he sees, though he's dreaming,
her drifting through the night;
her beauty in moonlight;
unafraid in his delight.
___________________________
Fog In The Lane
There was fog in the lane
before the dreams she next recalled
of flights through scarlet skies
a dazzling blonde man at her side
She woke in her bed
So weak she proved too faint to rise
then as that day fled
she swooned once more into the eyes
of that vision of grace
with Dresden curls, jabot of lace
who exuded freedom
as he stroked her hair with his haunting sweetness
They flew through the panes
above the treetops, to the nearest hamlet
where flooded by moonlight,
in frilled nightgown stood a wench by a window.
In rapture they ravished,
her spirit, form; her softness, secrets,
their empty souls' feedings;
shared as their cream hair, red hair mingled.
Now there's fog in the lane …
where she stands in her shroud with her chin stained crimson,
for sister, or brother,
or mother, or neighbour, or you.
___________________________
Not A Dream
I lie in my hair,
that's crinkly and cream,
and looks like the fleece of a sheep.
Fog at the window,
Swirls through the dark,
while I'm pretending to sleep.
Wave round my wrists,
white ruffles so soft;
in the moon's beams shines sweet lace,
on the frilled yoke,
of my long white nightgown.
My heart's now starting to race.
Looms the full moon,
black clouds scudding past.
What are these shadows I see?
Tap tap tap tap, at the window -
what's that? - only the branch of a tree?
Out in the yard, our trusty dog howls,
I picture some scenes on TV,
I saw once, which showed,
in a far-away land,
a vampire dark horror story.
I've read spooky tales, seen vamp films galore;
I've recognised signs that I've seen;
Far through the woods,
where the old hall once stood,
I've sensed a wraith watching me.
The illness and death,
of a friend who'd had dreams -
all this once seemed fantasy.
I know now it's real,
as there steps from the dark,
a ghastly ghoul staring at me.
Lush, long raven coils,
face lurid wax white,
dark eyes which piece right to my soul.
I try to move, scream,
but I find I am froze,
as fear overwhelms, spasms me.
Oh, Mother, oh Dad,
so near but so far!
God rest my soul which must flee!
It's breath on my neck, when
the moon glints upon,
the gold cross I wear to bless me.
A hideous scream!
A pane's shattered glass!
My parents and brothers rush in!
I cling to my mom,
My dad's looking out
into the dark of the trees.
Oh it's not a dream
These things they are real
Not just in weird Gothic tales.
If goodness exists,
then so does the dark,
this we now know, I now see.
_____________________________
Snowflakes
Snowflakes
Drifting past the window
Swirling past my mirror
Like wind-blown lace
Snowflakes
Drifting past the back door
Casting shadows on the floor
Wet on my face
On through them I walk
Hearing high-pitched whistling winds
Like a voice which whispers of sins
But where are you?
You've gone from the snowflakes
But they are so beautiful
I can't leave their magic now
Till I rest on your grave
“Snowflakes”
Till I sleep on your grave
____________________
Churchyard Soul
Oh maiden standing oh so close,
besides the old lychgate,
leave those friends, and meet me here,
where I wistful wait.
Amongst the ivy-choked gravestones,
where the yew trees trail,
here I hover, with my waist,
so narrow, skin so pale.
Pure milk blonde, streams out your hair,
all rippling in the breeze.
A curious look comes to your face;
oh yes keep walking please!
Down to where harboured memories ray,
and darkness gloams, though bright the day.
Just soak up a little, of my streams; -
then I'll rise up and walk through your night-time's dreams!
__________________________
Haiku
he hadnt realised
that she wasn't a Goth bird
fangs in his throat now
__________________________
A Bat (A Cinquain Poem)
a bat
before the car
glides up this narrow lane
Tall black hedgerows almost crushing
light dies
____________________
Midnight Flowers
Midnight flowers,
Long hair of the dead
Something is stirring
Needs to be fed
Mists in the moonlight,
Beneath a crimson moon.
Veiled, deep in shadows,
That stir within the gloom
Always, here.
Never gone, though hidden.
Something stirs.
Something needs to be fed.
Always, here.
Never gone, but hidden.
Something stirs.
This night it will be fed.
___________________
Awakened
A shadow behind those curtains,
drawn close against the night.
A low tap at the window,
by which she sleeps in white.
A glimpse of dark shapes moving,
like a huge black bird in flight.
The lattice is being opened ...
a hand pale in moonlight.
A secret beau now visits?
Now steps from past the drapes?
From the doorway watching,
I spy a handsome rake.
What unease did bring me,
to witness now this sight?
Which angel soul awaked me,
to see my sister's plight?
Her blonde hair's length drops to the floor,
as he parts it from her neck.
Suddenly, I scream and scream -
and he dissolves, in bright moonbeams ...
Dead yellow flowers,
fill the springtime beds below.
Our blooming sister,
saved to live and love and grow.
Beware the night time,
when the moon is dark or full,
wear holy charms,
and listen in your dreams.
_________________________
She Took Her Secrets To The Grave
She took her secrets to the grave: -
faded away of a wasting disease;
eaten inside by the hate and the lies,
she took her secrets to the grave.
But the first time the sunset cloaked her tomb,
far and more wide a miasma grew;
of past-times' anguish, as broken, and beat,
she'd took her secrets to the grave.
People now shudder, then hurry past,
sensing the vibes from around her clay;
the moonlight settles on her name;
her eyelids open as she wakes.
Released from her tyrants, she glides off free;
her mind manifesting things to her will;
the people she broods on, appear to her sight.
No longer can they dismiss her with spite.
Though terrors, and horrors, far past control;
no mercy, compassion, just dislike cold;
with heart attacks, and degrading acts,
with answers duressed, and scorn cast back,
she does to them as they did to her,
except she deserved no tortures or slurs.
No-one believed, that a vicious ghost,
made like a hell all their days and nights.
Warlocks approached, rebuffed their appeals.
Denied wise help, their fates were sealed.
No-one to care, no-one to share;
no good could happen; they suffered silently.
They faded away, or they cracked up quick.
Above them piled the grave soil thick.
It could have been different, but that's not life.
Through hate and denial, the earth breeds strife,
till death brings release, with it's shroud and it's wings;
to those most wronged, the powers swing.
She took her secrets to the grave; -
Faded away, of a wasting disease;
eaten inside, by the hate and the lies.
But now she sleeps.
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