Category: Lovecraftian

NaPoWriMo Day 19

On By WinstonIn Dark / Gothic, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Poetry, Macabre, My Chaotic Mind, NaPoWriMo, Old Gods and Magic Folk, Poetry, The Old WaysLeave a comment

Another literary world of which I am a fan is that created primarily by H.P. Lovecraft and a number of his contemporaries. Commonly known as the Cthulu Mythos, it began in 1919 and continues to be added to in literature and film to this day. Here is my offering to the Great Old Ones. Enjoy

My Last Free Will

Great ancient ones from far beyond,

This world that we know,

They call to me and will not stop,

As slowly mad I go.

They seek the key. Am I a key?

Is that a thing they said?

Or are the voices only here,

Inside my rotting head?

No wait! The speak again to me,

From this I cannot run,

From this asylum I’ll be freed,

For them I’ll wreak such fun.

I have been locked up here for months,

For things I have not done,

Then when you see my real work,

Know I was not the one.

I can’t! I won’t! I know this is,

Not who I’d truly be,

They’ve twisted, broken, swallowed whole,

The soul inside of me.

Sedate me please and bring more guards,

To stand outside my cell,

If they succeed and I run free,

This place will turn to hell.

It is on chaos that they thrive,

Their food our misery,

They would use me to cut a door,

From their dark void set free.

They show me visions of their dreams,

Of all that I might do,

In my nightmares, I glory there,

Skin flayed and blades pierced through.

They think me lost, bereft of will,

Abandoned to my fate,

That I am just a key they’ve shaped,

To break that eldritch gate.

But I’m still here, I write this note,

How do you know it’s me?

If you’re alive and reading this.

I’m dead they are not free.

Cheers,

NaPoWriMo 2022 Day 13

On By WinstonIn Dark / Gothic, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Poetry, Macabre, NaPoWriMo, Old Gods and Magic Folk, PoetryLeave a comment

So today was a “No Idea What I’m Doing” day. I just started writing and let it take over and become whatever it was going to be. Turns out, it’s a little bit Lovecraft with a hint of “Cabin in the Woods”. As always, I’d love to know what people think.

The Keeper of the Eight-Fold Gate

There’s more around than meets the eye,

More things than can be seen.

If you could see between the lines,

Learn what has always been.

Be warned now, that way madness lies,

For such has been the fate.

Of all who sought for wisdom there,

Beyond the Eight-Fold Gate.

Some claim eight is the number of,

The Gods who live beyond.

For others, it’s how many deaths,

It takes to form the bond.

I only know that madness waits,

For any who would dare.

None have returned, with minds intact,

Who have once ventured there.

I do not know, just what they hope,

To gain at such a cost.

For what is gained is surely gone,

Their shattered souls are lost.

It’s not my place to look beyond,

The Eight-Fold Gate and see.

My job is just to lead you to,

The place you need to be.

Then I collect the ruined thing,

That stands where you once stood.

And take it to a place of rest,

In ancient, sacred wood.

I know, I know, you are the one,

The one who will succeed.

And find that which so many sought,

That for which you still bleed.

Your eyes and flesh were just your part,

Of what you had to pay.

But what you did to others now,

Would make a demon pray.

Now stand upon the stone and speak,

Just as you have rehearsed.

Look through the Eight-Fold Gate and see,

If you are blessed or cursed.

I hear you scream but do not look,

Until the light has gone.

A body slumps upon the stone,

So glad I’m but a pawn.

And as I lead away the husk,

Dark laughter fills my mind.

“I thank you for the meal, such ones,

Are getting hard to find.”

It’s not my place to look beyond,

The Eight-Fold Gate and see.

So long as there are those who would,

What lives there eats for free.

As long as it is fed it need,

Not breach that ancient door.

For if it does, then all is lost,

We will exist no more.

I am not evil, take no joy,

In sacrifice I bring.

Seek just to keep this world safe,

From ancient monstrous thing.

So if you know someone who would,

For ancient wisdom seek.

The sort who’d kill and torture just,

To get themselves a peek.

Send them along, and I will guide,

Them to the Eight-Fold Gate.

That they may claim their just reward,

And so delay our fate.

Cheers, Winston

NaPoWriMo 2021 Day 28

On By WinstonIn Fantasy, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Poetry, NaPoWriMo, Old Gods and Magic Folk, Poetry, The Old WaysLeave a comment

Tonight’s poem is this year’s official entry where I speak to the poet in my head and say, “I’ve got nothin’. Go write it without me.” This is what happens when I let these things write themselves.

Poem Write Thyself

The elder Gods, the ancient ones,

The ones we would deny.

The elder Laws, the ancient ones,

The ones we would defy.

We who now walk where legends strode,

With our diminished stride.

Pretend we are the pinnacle,

Yet know the truth inside.

The elder Gods, the ancient ones,

Forgotten not unmade.

Technology and med’cine now,

The ones we call for aid.

The elder laws, the ancient ones,

We flaunt and wonder why.

We have no blessings, find no peace,

And bitter tears we cry.

The rules were so clear back then,

Those were much simpler days.

The elder laws, the elder Gods,

All understood their ways.

We tell ourselves that times have changed,

That’s our excuse for all.

But when our need is at it’s worst,

It’s them we seek to call.

We call them by a different name,

Than what they used to know.

But they still recognize the tone,

Though we have wronged them so.

So now and then, our broken prayers,

An ancient God will find.

And they may grant our desperate wish,

But not ’cause they are kind.

There is a price that we must pay,

If their aid we would seek.

The ancient laws are very clear,

Their terms often quite bleak,

The elder Gods obey the laws,

Which most men have forgot.

Their aid is earned or bargained for,

But never can be bought.

So when our science and our skill,

Fall short of greatest need.

We may invoke the elder Gods,

The law says if we bleed.

For it is long since sacrifice,

Was offered for their fame.

And blood will buy forgiveness for,

Forgetting any name.

If you would seek the aid of them,

Beware the price you pay.

For elder Gods and elder laws,

Take blood the elder way.

Cheers, Winston

NaPoWriMo Day 20

On By WinstonIn Dark / Gothic, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Poetry, Macabre, NaPoWriMo, Poetry, UncategorizedLeave a comment

So…. ummmm… this is a little more different than usual. Also, a lot longer (which is why I didn’t finish it yesterday). If Lovecraft had written in rhyming couplets, he probably still would’ve had too much self-respect to write this. Regardless… enjoy!

On The Hidden God

“Come in and see! Come in and see!”

He cries out with a grin.

“Behold the ancient magic ones,

They wait for you within!”

 

The paint is peeling from the door,

The glass cracked in it’s frame.

A sign above so faded that,

I can’t make out the name.

 

I turn to walk away and then,

He catches at my arm.

“No charge for you today good sir,

Pray what could be the harm?”

 

“I only ask when you have seen,

The mysteries waiting there,

That you will tell where you have been,

And all your visions share.”

 

I think that I will walk away,

But then I think, “Why not?”

I did not know, but even then,

I was already caught.

 

I let the hawker guide me back,

I stand before the door.

It swings in on a squealing hinge,

Now all is dark before.

 

I step into the gloom and feel,

A moistness underfoot.

There is a smell of dank decay,

And long forgotten soot.

 

The darkness fades, a lesser dark,

And now I dimly see.

I look around and realize,

There’s no door behind me.

 

I’m standing in a larger space,

Than what there should have been.

Where massive shapes loom all around,

More sensed than truly seen.

 

Perhaps the dark is caused by smoke,

An opiate I think.

Or someone slipped a mickey in,

The tea I bought to drink.

 

I start to walk, to seek a wall,

A door back to the street.

And realize there is a sound,

A deep, abyssal beat.

 

It is so low, more felt than heard,

It fills my soul with dread.

My every thought to scream and run,

The pounding fills my head.

 

As suddenly, the beating stops,

Now silence takes it’s place.

A moment’s warmth upon my cheek,

A breath upon my face!

 

Yes, now I scream and now I run,

From what I do not know.

Just run until I cannot breathe,

No further can I go.

 

The beating comes again but now,

It sounds more like a heart.

Some monster of antiquity,

Raised up by darkest art.

 

The panic comes in blinding waves,

My mind plays tricks on me.

I think I see some movement there,

And strain my eyes to see.

 

I stumble forward gasping still,

Must know what horror dwells.

In such a place impossible,

The terror in me swells.

 

A piping wail, a droning chant,

Now join the steady throb.

They baffle and confuse my mind,

Of me, my wits, they rob.

 

I’m closer now can see for sure,

A chanting, piping crowd.

While far ahead the being whose,

Heart throbbed ungodly loud.

 

Impossible! My mind screamed out,

Such things just can’t exist.

Yet every time my eyes are closed,

Those images persist.

 

One hundred meters high or more,

And more than twice as wide.

A sickly iridescent gleam,

Upon its blotchy hide.

 

A thousand grotesque tentacles,

Obscenely writhe and coil.

They crush the closest of the crowd,

Their corpses left to spoil.

 

Uncounted eyes, their lidless gaze,

The windows to it’s soul.

But do not look! There’s nothing there.

A howling, sucking hole.

 

I notice now I’m chanting too,

I’ve joined its soulless choir.

This endless paean to my God,

To sing my one desire.

 

I’m closer now, one tentacle,

Grasps me and lifts me high.

I gibber in my terror as,

I gaze into its eye.

 

I stand once more before the door,

It’s flaked and peeling paint.

Looks faintly iridescent now,

As from some demon’s taint.

 

“You like the show?”, the hawker asks,

With empty holes for eyes.

“Remember you must tell your tale,

He’ll know if you tell lies.”

 

So now I know the truth of it,

I’m bait that’s why I live.

Instead of taking just my life,

Take all that I can give.

 

I am a prophet of my God,

Lead others to that place.

By writing this, those fools read,

Begin to seek that space.

 

If you still want to meet a God,

You’ll find a certain door.

It may not be the one I found,

There are so many more.

 

But just be sure and just beware,

Before you make that choice.

That if you live, you’ll be it’s slave,

Like me, its human voice.

 

Cheers, Winston

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NaPoWriMo Day 3

On By WinstonIn Dark / Gothic, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Poetry, Macabre, NaPoWriMo, UncategorizedLeave a comment

It’s a little rambling and definitely a little dark, but I chalk it all up to being exposed to Lovecraft, Howard, Derleth and their ilk at an impressionable age.  Whatever may be the explanation…. Enjoy!

 

On Hubris

I’d not believe had I not seen,

The thing with my own eyes.

Collapsed, my knees gone weak with fear,

Un-manned by it’s sheer size.

 

In truth no living thing should stand,

Titanic as this stood.

I rose and fled much deeper still,

Into that cursed wood.

 

As I ran on, I oft’ looked back,

At what bestrode the land.

That nightmare beast set free at last,

Released by my own hand.

 

I had been warned, would not believe,

Trust just what I could see.

The ritual, I did perform,

To call this God to me.

 

Oh now I see, now I believe,

Too late! Too late by far!

The God has come by my command,

From some dark, distant star.

 

It’s found me now, it lifts me up,

And so much higher still.

It’s inside now, inside my head,

Laughs at my my feeble will.

 

I beg for death. I pray for death,

But God has plans for me.

It grants me now my secret wish,

Grants immortality.

 

That was the thing, the prize I sought,

The prize for which I’d kill.

Yet now it’s mine, this nightmare prize,

It’s my blood I would spill.

 

The laughter of my hungry God,

Grinds at my very soul.

To know the evil that you’ve done,

Exacts a dreadful toll.

 

A billion screams, two billion more,

Damnation’s choral sound.

And through the flame, and smoke and death,

See corpses all around.

 

Now this is what, what I have wrought,

Wrought with my mortal greed.

I sought to make a God a slave,

Must pay now for my deed.

 

My lot to witness for my God,

Through all eternity.

Denied the balm, the gift of death,

Condemned, condemned to see.

 

I cast these words out to the stars,

Know not whose eye they’ll find.

Believe, believe, I beg believe!

Don’t let pride make you blind!

 

Cheers, Winston