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Resident Poet


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Tina Rath


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.




Our Street

or, The Power of Music


My next door neighbour, Mrs Grey

Is seldom seen by light of day,

A lady of uncertain age,

She keeps a Harpy in a cage

And hangs it in her window where

It can enjoy the light and air.

She feeds it on true lovers' hearts

And Mr Kipling’s Bakewell tarts

Though she assured me such a diet

Would keep a harpy tame and quiet

Still, I confess I hurried by

For fear I’d catch the creature’s eye.


But one bright morning in the Spring

I thought I heard the angels sing

And saw the Harpy from her perch

Carol like choir boys in church

A sweet, heart-piercing melody

Although the words were Greek to me

So beautiful I stood and wept

While all the while the Harpy kept

Chanting her anthem to the day.

And now I do not run away

But coo and praise her amber eyes

And, “Pretty Harpy” she replies.


 Now, two doors down lives Mr Green

He’s seldom heard and rarely seen

But sometimes on bright moonlit nights

When everyone’s turned off their lights

And cleaned their teeth and gone to bed

He sits inside his garden shed

And plays such music to the moon

That nightingales begin to swoon

And rilling from their feathered throats

Gush showers of such perfect notes

That all things join the melody

And the whole world’s in harmony.


The cat who lives at number nine

Is always out, come rain, come shine

He sits upon their garden wall

Keeping a cold eye on us all

You never see him sleep or play

He’s there on duty night and day

But looking out one night by chance

I had the luck to see him dance

He trod a stately minuet

With number eighteen’s pampered pet

The shabby spy danced with the Queen

To a pavane by Mr Green.




New School


“How was your first day, darling?”

“OK, but did you know,

Our form master’s a vampire,

The big girls told me so.

He’s tall and dark and handsome

And he wears a big black cloak…”

“What, even in the classroom?”

“Oh, mum! It’s not a joke!

The gym teacher’s a zombie

They say that you can tell

By gazing in her empty eyes –

But I think it’s just the smell.

The Head Teacher’s a werewolf

And I don’t like her at all.

The caretaker’s a golem

And he’s seven cubits tall!

And RK’s taught by angels

The ones with all the eyes,

School dinners come from Sweeney Todds –

Today we all had pies.

There are dybbuks in the cloakrooms

There’s a yeti in in the gym

The school dog is a wendigo

I’m keeping clear of him!

I’ve got lots more to tell you…”

“Of course, my little star

But never ever let them guess

Exactly what we are.”




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.




Night Life


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.



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