A little something jotted here to assist me in a panel discussing dark poetry.

Why ask me to speak on such a...narrow subject? I'm also scheduled to do a reading of my two-part, eighteen page long epic poem retelling of Bram Stoker's Dracula that weekend. I offered it as a way to get myself a niche with my own personal audience and to add a little extra Goth atmosphere to the horror/fantasy/sci-fi themed event. It was originally published years ago (so I'm told) by a specific vampire fan club in its big Halloween issue...which I never got a copy of. Ah, well, the head vampire assured me over the phone it was fantastic and well received. Okay. Whatever. High praise from a chick who secretly desires to be a fictional monster. Some years afterward, I read the piece aloud to a group of strangers at a local coffeehouse on poetry night. There was a woman there who allegedly had degrees in English and poetry and such and who had traveled far across the country for this event, and then there was me. She had six pieces to read. I had one. One really long one. It was decided she would read three pieces, give me my turn, then finish off.

The Brief Romance of Augustine was penned very late one night when I used to go to bed around dawn, then rise at three pm to go to work 'til three am. I wanted to create a piece in which the vampire could be considered the hero for two reasons: One, so many people seem smitten with vampires that they seem to make better sympathetic creatures than reviled ones, and two, I simply love reversing stereotypes, making my readers hate good guys for various reasons, but grow attached to bad guys. It's a very grey world, you know--hardly any black or white left anywhere. Augustine was meant to be a serious piece, and while the overall tone is along the lines of an adult fairy tale with bits of humor here and there, I genuinely cannot call it serious for all the damn cliches it contains. It's literally riddled with mushy nonsense we've all heard before uttered one way or another, and yet, to my befuddled delight, it works.

The woman at the coffeeshop read her pieces, then offered the floor to me. I started reading my piece, hearing the almost childish rhyme scheme, wincing at the cliches, my nervousness causing me to read faster and faster so I could just get through the damn thing and slink away in embarrassment. When I paused before uttering the last word, which was intentional, I was already getting ready to flee. "...Odessa," I said, then stood there stunned as the whole place broke into wild applause. "Just one thing," mentioned the pro as she returned to continue her reading, "you read too fast." Flushed and overwhelmed, I took my place back in the audience and waited for her to finish the evening. She was good, a master at combining words and images...but nobody clapped for her at all. I felt I should have, but was too reticent to gain any more attention for myself, even if it was to show appreciation for her. Nope. I sat there disappointed in the crowd as they resumed drinking frothy caffeinated concoctions and discussing whatever they'd originally been talking about before the poetry readings had ever begun.

Augustine is not my only "dark" piece. Prior to that I wrote Irish Prayer Against The Wolf Beast (available for viewing on my site here at AD), and afterward The Vampire's Reflection--a much more modern piece which seems to be told by a combination of haunting echoes and fading memories. I'm calling these dark because they deal with traditional monsters, though you could possibly call any somber piece dark poetry. I have pieces written while in the throes of depression and pieces dealing with aspects of modern life I find deplorable, but I really don't think anybody wants to hear about those bits at Necronomicon.

Truthfully, the amateurish rhyming and liberal use of cliche adds to Augustine, making it seem more like something penned long ago. The tale begins with a vampire lord in an unnamed part of Europe existing lonely in his castle (did I mention cliche?) who receives a missive from a lady he had fallen for while visiting her country (presumably England). She says she's ready to accept his lifestyle and be his bride, so he grabs some stuff and begins the long journey back to her. Along the way, he questions his servant as to whether he believes she will accept him again when she sees him as he's not had any blood to refresh himself with since his last visit with her. He is surprised to learn that his servant not only believes he will succeed smashingly with her, but that the servant and the people he has ruled for so long are all quite fond of him and glad for his protection from the robbers and the marauding Turks who have tried to mar the land.

Obviously, this is more than just a simple poem. As I mentioned, it's a friggin' 18 page epic in two parts! I had no idea it would be so long when I began it, but the story just seemed to play itself along, so I gave into it. Irish Prayer Against The Wolf Beast is a rather short poem comparatively, also told in simple rhyme, four stanzas long. What makes it so effective, again, is the simplicity of its structure, making it feel like an old chant travelers might have spoken when caught on lonely country roads at night. Many an old spooky legend was created in just such a manner, urging travelers not to wander after dark, to keep to the path, to never allow strange occurances to distract them from their journey. Perhaps they were concocted to help speed the trip--who wants to be alone on the haunted road after hearing what makes it haunted? Or perhaps they came about from loved ones wishing travelers Godspeed through sneaky intimidation. Maybe they were just warnings not to travel at night or through certain territories deemed unsafe for some reason. Many older stories and poems follow easy-to-remember rhyme schemes if only to let them be told accurately each time. For whatever reason, it becomes an effective tool when crafting a dark fantasy piece in which you'd like a centuries-old feel.

I'd read Dracula and other vampire stories and seen plenty of Hollywood bloodsuckers, so without doing any actual research, I was able to put together a believable enough story concerning a setting within, say, the late seventeen/early eighteen hundreds time frame. Augustine has a coach and carriage. Turks were a threat to the villages he ruled over. He describes Odessa's home as richly ornamented with jeweled candlesticks and silk papered walls, a tiger skin on the floor. They met once at a masquerade ball. All of these descriptions seem to point to the distant past, a time very similar to the one described by Stoker in Dracula. By chance, I'm a walking compendium of useless information, so trivial details are easy for me to come up with without much research. If you plan on jotting down a poem of any kind set in a past you yourself do not remember, you may want to research it at least a little to add credibility to your setting.

Irish Prayer...has no specified time frame, just like Augustine, but nonetheless, one is implied. I would place it even earlier than Augustine, as many of the references are rather obscure, yet accurate. For many years in my youth, I happened to study parapsychology and anything lumped in after it like mythology and folklore from different lands and times, thus aside from having to look up the exact spelling of "Bloduewedd", no particular research was done for that piece, either. Again, it is the archaic references which help add dimension to the poem about werewolves, giving us a vague timeline of the distant past. Because were-beast tales are almost universal, many of the references of other fictional creatures come from other lands, adding a second layer of credibility to the brief poem.

May I add that in a number of fantasy type pieces I've read here in Author's Den, the authors have made up creatures themselves. That's cool in itself becuase it proves you're quite creative, but can add confusion for a reader unfamiliar with whatever it is you're talking about. I mean, no one knows what the heck a Jabberwock looks like, and it's fun trying to imagine it, but this allows each reader to interpret your piece each in their own way, and less imaginitive or less intelligent types may simply dismiss your poem as a fluff piece, never giving it the credit it deserves. Jabberwock, to me personally, is totally cool because of all the interpretations of it I've seen in art, music, and Muppets. Otherwise, when I first read it (though I can't recall when that may have been), I probably dismissed it as nonsense on the spot. When you use established monsters in your fiction, more people will have a better understanding of what you're trying to get across to them. You may have to look up "utburds" from Irish Prayer...but discovering they are "real" will give you a deeper understanding of the poem and maybe send you off on journeys of exploration and discovery concerning other ancient legends and lore.

Established monsters are excellent main characters for short poems. You can pull off made-up creatures if you are able to get across setting, atmosphere, and emotion well with the rest of the piece. If this concept baffles you, try reading H.P. Lovecraft--he was well-known for making his readers fear things he only vaguely described, using few adjectives relating to the main physical senses.

The best way to build writing prowess is by reading voraciously. I've read some awfully clever poems by people with little or no knowledge of grammar, who threw rhyming guidelines to the winds. The cleverness of great poetry lies in the ability to understand and combine words effectively. Most poems are a page or less, yet may dispense a lot. I am not terribly adept at grammar, so I brush up on it whenever I can--but only for my straightforward prose. Poetry is like painting or cooking or dancing. You don't have to do things the same way every time. While each can be defined easily, there are way too many examples of different kinds of paintings or cooking or dance to define any of them with a single example. Poetry falls into this category. It is close kin to music, and nearly everybody has some personal feelings about that. It is not too distant from handcrafted art, and many of us have experience with this from elementary school at least. Do you have a favorite dish you enjoy that you made up all by yourself? Then you have rudimentary knowledge at least of how to combine things perhaps seemingly opposed to each other. I enjoy a burger with horseradish, banana peppers and hard-boiled egg. It came about by accident, but tastes delicious to me. Perhaps you like fried-egg chili-chutney sandwiches? Now you know what I mean by seemingly opposed ingredients.

Let me share Irish Prayer with you. As mentioned, it's simplistic, brief, with a 1-2 1-2 rhyme scheme that's easy to remember.

Irish Prayer Against The Wolf-beast

After sunset whence comes dark Nyx
and up comes grey rabbit-of-the-moon
Silvered light rippling on the Styx
The waking of the night-beast soon

Utburds fear its wavering howl
Its cry turns sprites to stone
Silent as the Blodeuwedd owl
Claws sharpened from the hone

The transformation now begins
The pain is much too great
There can never be repent for sins
Its fangs are bared in hate

If we are cursed, oh please Patrick
take silver and do shoot us
If not, my Saint, then do protect
because we fear the Lupus.
—EDD

Okay, so the last stanza wasn't 1-2 1-2. It breaks the rhythm set down by the preceding stanzas which draw the reader deeper into the painful, halting transformation, as though the "voice" or teller of the story has shuddered, realizing the seductive nature of the unholy change and backing out of it with a plea for help.

Flip side. Here's The Vampire's Reflection.

The Vampire’s Reflection

There is a pride within that countenance
deep through the layers
one by one
Peel back and see
those dusty layers
aged thousand moon
and solo sun
The fire once roared behind his eyes
a glow that stoked that stove called life
The only one there
now
cold, yet bright
that glisten’s in his victim’s strife
The thinning cheeks
handsome and exotic
they were once full
and now too thin
Oh, say how long the life-blood fills them
before he musts to hunt again?
And what of his soul...?
Has’t long been buried
with that corpse ignored by death?
‘sit merely suppressed
by ancient longings
or kept warm by Beelzebub’s breath?
What were his motives long ago?
And did he take this road by choice?
He can’t remember
how it was...
just something there...about her voice
And so he sits and stares by candle
while out the eve is cold and bright
by Lilith’s eye that marks his progress
down the spiralled stairs of night

The pride is false behind that countenance
A spark alone
A single star
that burns and smoulders
vain and hopeful
one thousand moon
and single sun
For once it filled its fleshly home
with that conflagration known as life
bold and brazen
full of fire
hot and bright
piercing darkness like a knife
But now there’re fangs
long and exotic
They once were soft
and now too sharp
Oh, say how long the blood does stain them
before they still the victim’s heart?
What of his face?
Should’ve been buried
and rotted with that quickened corpse
Is it the same
as was in true life?
Greyed with sadness, blued with remorse?
Who was his sponsor
long ago?
Who forced him to the path of dark?
He can’t remember
who it was
Upon his throat he feels her mark
And so he sits and waits by candle
patiently now for the next to come
A child of Eve, the bane of Lilith,
his way of taking out the sun.

Totally different feel, don't you think? Besides being written at different times and thus different levels of writing maturity, each has it's own shade of darkness, it's own personal creepy feel. Prayer was penned while I was in high school, just for fun. Reflection is another late-night, I'm kinda feelin' down, getting groggy with lack of sleep piece. It was intentionally told in a stilted, halting manner with no clear-cut rhyme scheme, though one is suggested, to aid the sensation of decay and variance from the norm. I know...this is getting a little far out there for beginning poets. I've effectively used the actual structure of the poem to indicate a breakdown along with the odd phrasing, hoping to convey the stilted, exhausted, adrenaline-fueled descent of the unnamed vampire--who is also quite clearly a victim you can sympathize with--down the spiralled stairs of night.

I've only actually begun writing non-rhymed poems lately, and find myself somewhat adept at them as well. Reflection is an early attempt to break the molds I'd been told to utilize back in high school. It stumbles and stutters like a frightened person attempting to elude threatening shadows. If you enjoy structured dark poetry, may I suggest the collected poems of Edgar Poe? I am a Poe fan--particularly since learning we share an affinity for dream research. He is quite adept at crafting surreal pieces, and most horror deals with something surreal. To begin understanding unstructured poetry (non-rhyming) try reading up on poems translated from other languages. I collect ancient Japanese drinking songs (being weird to begin with doesn't hurt if you long to write dark poems), and when translated to English, not a one of them rhymes, yet the feel of each, I believe, is preserved.

A good non-rhyming dark poem might be constructed of phrases as though the voice of the piece is trying to explain something through gasps of breath after fleeing the horror, or perhaps they are distracted while listening for signs of the thing in pursuit, or maybe they've been attacked or are beginning to become the creature itself, uttering odd phrases which could make up the tale. You want I should offer you an example of dark, non-rhyming poetry? Okay...

Wherefore my heart?
It lies there trampled, trod on, trodden
no longer beating, beaten, bloody
A lump of bruise lying on the sidewalk
lifeforce ebbing, ending it all away
You ripped it beating from my body
left me open to your hurtful lies
Now I’m hollowed, horror, heaving
up my sobs to overcast skies
Watch the cold rain falling, frozen
beating out last breath of life
My love snakes silken, scarlet, slowly
down the drain of darkness, died.

No monsters. Not exactly what we're discussing here. Just the horror of a recent break-up. This bit is from a piece called The Apple. The title hints at temptation which is revealed in the opening part I've left out for just now. The main point is that it doesn't rhyme. You can match lies with skies, but there is no real structure here and the only truly poetic thing about it is the use of alliteration (the repetition of word sounds), suggesting the words are not so much spoken as spit bitterly from an angry mouth. Do you see the effects you can achieve with crafting words together? If it rhymed, it might not be so abrupt and spiteful.

Let me find another example...

I am unable to encompass
just what it is you are with words
In dreams alone can we be near you
and understand the contours of your face
Physically, I cannot grasp you
except that I might see your child
and I remember being near him
knowing the pain both worlds inflicted in him
and there I lingered amidst your greatness
not knowing what I gazed upon
feeling perhaps he was beneath me
not realizing the depths he dwelt within

This is not a dark piece per se, but a piece of a larger poem hinting at a description of perhaps Christ. The point is, it doesn't rhyme, and with no discernable structure aside from breaking up at natural pauses, it conveys amazing depth with a hint of surreality.

Okay, enough with the English lesson. Here are the basics:
1)Either stick with a known monster or dilemma you're welcome to adapt to suit your needs or make something up and make it dark with adequate--even lavish--use of description for atmosphere.
2) In dark poetry, emotion is everything. Grab a thesaurus. Use structure or a lack thereof to convey the ultimate voice of your piece.
3) Research is not necessary, but can add significant realism to your words.
4) Grammar and punctuation are not necessary, though it is always important to guide your reader to appropriate stops and pauses
5) Read. A lot. Not just poetry. Find out what it is about a particular piece or author that makes you enjoy what the words can do.
6) Scribble down the basic idea. Don't worry about it being presentable so long as you have all of your basic ideas and main points accounted for, then make them fit. In other words, gather your materials or ingredients before you get cooking.
7) Read the piece to yourself several times to ensure the timing and feel are accurate. If a word doesn't feel right, replace it, shorten it, rearrange the words, or try the old trick of using "poetic" language--ode to a long work-day. Ode? Owed? Oft' seen betwixt...Often seen between...? Many people forgive poets who even concoct new spellings of still-recognizeable words so long as it fits the feel of the line or piece.
8) To write darkly, try writing when you're not feeling very bright. Yes, I know how that sounds. Jotting down fragments just before passing out in bed, while under sedatives (I'm talkin legitimate use of medicines, here!), while depressed or angry can all help set the tone for a strange, surreal, or just basically dark piece.
9) Let others read it to see if it rhymes where it should or if it makes any sense at all (Jabberwock, apparently, was not meant to make a lot of sense to begin with. Good luck if you go for that tactic.)
10) Stick it here on Author's Den and see what kind of comments you get. Most everybody here is helpful even when criticising. You can always delete it later if it just seems wrong all around.
Even if it sucks, keep it. Poems are nice in that they're usually easy to tear apart, then rebuild at a later time.

For more examples of "dark poetry" I highly recommend checking out the works of some of my fellow poets here in the Den. If you have any questions, most of us are glad to assist in any way we can. Don't forget to leave feedback for the pieces you read here if the mood moves you.

Thank you for your time. I hope I've cleared things up for you at least slightly.

--E.D.D.

All poems and fragments of poems used in this article were originally written by E.D. Detetcheverrie.