Ω Gothic Postcard Ω

Dear diabolic debutante / Spawn of the unfathomable abyss of blackness / Daughter of dreadful dead desire / Black-shrouded sinister sister of celestial gloom before whose imperious gaze the heavens fall silent / Whip-lash girl-child of the graves whose pallid visage kindles the myriad infernal fires / Autocratic vampiress of lunar doom whose winding-cloth enfolds the thousand horrors of blood-drenched nightmare / Thou that wanderest the cypress-crested hills of funereal necropolises / Whose icy glance cracks the ungraven tombstones of utter desolation / Empress of night and madness / Who stalks the locked and shadowed hallways of unhallowed thought / Whose burial-boat glides the still waters over Lethe’s silent depths to the unglimpsed isle of eternal mourning / Whose parapets tower above the fiefdoms of quotidian banality / Whose flying buttresses overlook the Stygian waters of the forgotten drowned denizens of damnation / Whose unshackled dungeons open to worlds of regal splendor / Whose spires pierce dark skies where oblivion buries the ruined cities of revelry under the drifting clouds of leaden time / Oh maiden of melancholic alchemy whose petrified passions transmute base metal into pure gold…

May the gibbous moon of equinox shine its baleful eye upon you; may you tread in sacramental calm the winding starlit paths of somnolent cemeteries; may my unmixed metaphors unveil in delirium their parabolic mysteries before the smoldering altar of your uninterpretable allegory; may the favor of your scorn forever lay me out, embalmed, undead, on the cold stone of merciless reality. Behold: in cryptic script of spectral apparition, in tracery of coded illumination, amidst the dawning rays of torment I write thine unknown name on the threshold of daylight. And from within the mortared wall of self I speak forth from my sepulcher the Sibylline utterance, unsought, unheard, undreamt:

JUST WANTED TO SAY ‘HI’ !!!

Circe offers the cup to Ulysses, Waterhouse

♣You Again ♣

 

A face in the chamber –  I couldn’t connect it

Like Dante’s Beatrice, beatific in black

Loquacious you weren’t.  But I’ve come to expect it

How lovely to see you – it threw me off track.

As the summer deceases and winter approaches

Let casting of shadows be gone from your art.

Lighten up, dark enchantress. Your coldness reproaches.

Oh pull out the dagger you’ve stuck in my heart!

Will another bad sonnet, addressed to your highness

Suffice to start thawing the frost in your soul?

Ennobling it isn’t – this taciturn shyness…

Vampire girl – be a sociable witch;

Even necrophiles hope for a smile, or a twitch.

Never fear. Not your corpse, just your friendship’s my goal.

♥ V.D. 1999 ♥

 

Horror of horrors!   Dark lady,  it’s you again

Abbess of shadow and sinister sprite.

Pray show me, sweet Nelida, how to express myself:

Passion?   Pure malice?    Or murder by fright…

You opened the dungeons where dreams slept desireless

Vanquished my sleep of misogynist night.

A sepulchral shudder enlivens my being:

Liquescent infernoes of Gothic delight.

Elevation celestial or depths of despair –

No middle to stand on beholding your visage

The firmament drops as I swing in the air.

In this fall, or this orbit, show mercy, bright maiden

Nor quench solar fires with lunar disdain.

Eclipsing at zenith, you blacken my brain.

 lava-flow

† ideal N †

 

 

Name: Nelida   Gender: female   Nationality: unknown
Meaning derived from Eleanor (shining light)
Continent/Origin: Andean sources of the Amazon 

 

Thy name, somber lady, illuminates heaven

As dazzling light penetrates into shadow.

Enlaid in rare colors (oh Lord, what a lead-in),

Your blackness out-veils the proverbial widow.

Iron maidens get nailed.  Don’t rest in denial

and lie to your soul that your actually dealin’.

I only ask this to your face:  that you’ll smile

Unlocking your Gothic cathedrals to kneel in.

No death-dirges here.  I’m no spike-studded user

Eventually yours to pursue until captured.

Let’s hope there is time – but we risk being raptured.

I’m not into pain;  not a sado-abuser.

Don’t masochists also need fun in the sun?

All I want is a friend.    So I hope you’re the one…

Idol-of-Perversity