The Dracula Society
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The Resident Poet's Page
In 2014, the Dracula Society Committee created the honorary post of Society "Poet in Residence".
The second incumbent since 2017 is Tina Rath, who is based in London, and is a long-standing member of the Society.
She is a noted authority on Dracula, and vampires in general, and has her own website here.
Many of these works have been presented "live" by their author at Society meetings, and/or reproduced in our Society magazine Voices from the Vaults.
Please be aware that these works are the property of the author, and should not be reproduced elsewhere without permission.
To see the work of our first Poet in Residence Cardinal Cox, please click here.
Blood and Roses
(From an unwritten Gothic novel)
Oh redder than the roses
Blood blossomed at our feet
The fairest of our roses
Lay murdered in the street.
Now he who sees a murder
And turns his eyes away
Shall stand condemned for murder
Upon the Judgement Day.
Oh Lord of Blood and Roses
Whose Lordship is the knife
There’s canker on your roses,
A shadow on your life.
For he who dares cry murder
Shall one day find impressed
Your rose-red seal of murder
Upon his naked breast.
Though blood springs bright as roses,
It has a bitter smell
And fiercer than your roses
Will burn the flames of Hell.
Oh rose-red Lord of Murder
There’s blood upon your head
Have you no fear of murder
With all your roses dead?
The Absolutely Shocking Story of Belinda
Belinda loved the Gothic scene, she couldn't get enough
Of weathered stones, and human bones, and all that kind of stuff
She changed her name to "Cankered Rose", she dyed her hair maroon
And went to live in Whitby with her little pet baboon.
One midnight she went walking up the Abbey steps alone
(The baboon was rather chesty and he had to stay at home)
And Belinda, gazing seawards, saw, with more surprise than fear,
A great storm-beaten sailing ship go smash into West pier.
So down the steps she hurried, and across the empty street.
The people in the houses heard the patter of her feet.
They heard her run across the pier, they heard her give a cry
And never since has she been seen by any human eye.
For when they dared to go and look, the ship had vanished quite,
And there was nothing to be seen but storm and waves and night.
Now every evening when the dusk displaces afternoon
Upon the pier, in hope and fear, there waits a small baboon.
He doesn't think they'll bring her back, but just in case they should
He's got a store of garlic and some pointy bits of wood.
The moral of this story is writ in ancient runes:
Steer very clear of vampire ships, and never trust baboons.
Werewolves like a public park
They can hunt there after dark
Down the paths on furry feet
On the trail of human meat.
Afterwards they like to play
When the moon shines bright as day
They find playgrounds loads of fun
Hardly wait for set of sun -
Up the ropes and down the slides
Giving one another rides,
Sharing all their favourite things
See-saws, roundabouts and swings.
Happy werewolves never fight,
Always patient and polite,
Still - it's best to keep away
When the happy werewolves play.
Vampires like to dance all night
Won't go home until it's light
But their ballrooms are discreet -
You won't see one from the street
Only glimpse a vampire belle
Flutter, like a moth from Hell
From her smoked-glass limousine -
Vampires can be epicene -
Toss a coin for Queen or Jack -
If you see one don't look back.
She may want to dance with you -
You might last a night or two
Playing games of cat and mouse
To a pretty tune by Strauss -
Better - far - to run away.
Live to dance another day.
Zombies favour shopping malls
They can hang with zombie pals
Underneath that neon light
Everybody looks a fright
Everybody's skin looks blue
Zombies can look just like you
And they like to club and rave -
It's so boring in the grave
When they're out they want to riot
Zombies don't like peace and quiet
Call them up and watch them race
From their fine and private place.
All On a Midnight Moon
As he was out walking in Grammerie Park
All on a midnight moon
He met an old sweetheart, it was in the dark,
And the night will be over soon.
He spoke not a word, nor bad nor good
But he led her deep into Darkman’s Wood
He laid her down on the earth so chill
And there in the darkness he had his will
The withered leaves were their wedding bed
And the small cold rain was their coverled
But the clouds blew by and the moon shone clear
And he gazed on her face in doubt and fear.
“Oh why do you look so weary-worn,”
“That once was fresh as a midsummer morn?”
“It was after you left me I lost my bloom
By lying too long in a narrow room.”
“And why are your lips so scarlet red,
When all the rose from your cheeks is fled?”
“All of my blood I gave for this
To mark the place of your long last kiss.”
“And why are your eyes so foxie bright?
“And why are your teeth so sharp and white?
“Oh can it be you’ve turned vampire, too?”
All in a midnight moon.
“Why yes, my dearie, but so have you.”
And the night will be over soon.