Dark Poetry, Volume 8: Tiptoe Thru The Twilight & Other Gothic Poems: Dark Poetry, #8

By J J Ginty

FROM THE AUTHOR OF 'GOTHIC TWILIGHT':

HE WHO CONTINUES TO TIPTOE THRU THE TWILIGHT, RECORDING THE MIX OF BODILESS VOICES HE ENCOUNTERS ECHOING WITHIN THE PSYCHIC ACOUSTICS OF THE INNER MIND'S EAR …

A more than usual personal impression is left keenly resounding, after one has explored, considered, and unraveled the exquisitely delivered, profoundly deep and arcanely crepuscular, evocative messages contained within J J Ginty's poetic journal.

The pulsating theatricalities and transmittable intensity felt between the lines of this impassioned, honest, and most consuming read is especially potent and curiously palpable – from the very first line to the very last. This distinctive and uncanny little composition is sure to articulate and resonate somewhat further and deeper beyond that which might normally be expected from a short book of dark/gothic poetry; in the sense that, the 37 poems herein are not archetypically consistent with that of the dark and the gothic in a classical, traditional or conventional, or even contemporary, sense.

That is to say, if one is expecting or hoping for pages brimming with nothing but haunted castles, spooky graveyards, vampire bats hanging upside down in the belfry, living folk being buried alive and dead folk rising up out of their graves, and other such jeepers-creepers; or, if one is looking for overt tales and experiences that share accounts of abuse, self-harm, suicide, depression, various psychopathologies, criminal insanity etc., etc., this may not be the collection for you; though, it must be said, there are a wide variety of these preternatural themes and psychosomatic subjects (along with many others, and much more besides) woven into, between, and beyond the vivid lines and emotional content herein, which are, at the very heart of it all, obliquely dark/gothic in their depictions, considerations, feelings, inscapes and outlooks.

It would not be precise to describe these poems as light, dark or gothic (per se) – they would be more accurately described as (shall we say) … twilight (i.e. somewhere in-between the light & dark).

For isn't twilight that wonderous great vehicle which transports us from the light of day into the darkness of night?

J J Ginty does so colorfully express that which he conceives – born out of that which he perceives – thus communicating and connecting with those of us who decidedly share in similar proclivities: those of us (albeit so very few of us) who perhaps appreciate the widely interweaving, multifarious and provocative twilit themes to be found within one's own life, … death, … afterlife …

This book was conceived, born and nurtured out of ordinary day-to-day life and its mortal, earthly, mundane happenings ('reality', if you will), leading the author to produce this collection; effectively displaying his very own idiosyncratic take on Strange & Peculiar Reality.

Contains strong language.

Dedicated to the 'Isolationist':

Those who generally feel somewhat adrift

Those who perhaps feel they are something 'other'

Those who don't always believe in what is seen, heard, taught or disclosed

Those who are of a deep & introspective nature

Those who occasionally like to stick two fingers up at the external world

Those who are inwardly travelling Time.

In Appreciation. Always.

J J Ginty

• Language: English
• Publisher: J J Ginty
• Release date: Jun 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781386078029

J J Ginty

J J Ginty is an eclectic writer who is indeed a poet by nature and selection; and beautifully exhibits his artistry through the composition of verse and prose. An author who could perhaps write about any theme in any place, in any time, or any space. Composing his work to suit almost any style, and almost any taste. Having a propensity towards the darker characteristics of life (and death); whether they'd be real or surreal; natural or unnatural (supernatural); normal or paranormal; ordinary or extraordinary. It would be difficult to sum J J Ginty up as a writer; but for now, at least, it shall be said ... he is a writer/poet who has crafted his style to articulate the Dark and the Gothic.

Book preview

I DREAM WITHIN THEIR DREAMS

Idream

I dream

I drown

I drown

With the untold

Countless paramours

Of old gentleman ghoul

& old lady fiend

Who fly above

Over Time

Who

Looking down

Into the black paralysis

See me drown

Within their dreams.

BEAST

Ogusty wind upon shadowy mountain

I belong here, with you, nowhere

In desolation

In primal communion

Everywhere – an elixir in kindred blood

I feel it alone – only here

Lonely? – never!

Great moon

By you, I roar, I tear ... upon savage fold

So frail, so tender

The antelope

Hunted

I chase

To meet their death

Of this, I partake

‘til the break in my fast

To conquer nothing

but to slake the drought in my blood.

These mountainous pastures

Where I rule,

for now,

It is only for now

Here, this moment ...

Possessed, spellbound

under your supernatural shadow

of moonlight

Where you & I are one/the same:

Same hunger, the same ... – irrevocable

In the end, I guess, I hope (no, pray),

that one day, in You,

I am freed.

AERIALS

Dream leaders supreme

Fraught with frozen heat

Pulsing pain

Delusion dashed

The transparent hedonism

OH, IT LACKS, THIS earthly paradise

It’s unending summer fair

Full of the flower, & the song, of those

Who grant to us the aerials of Plenty:

Hosts of ravishing wings

EATERS OF BONE & SOUL

THE PASSIONS THEY BESTOW

Like a plague avalanche, sweet

Bitter their faces bleed, mutilations

Peeling & dripping onto their feet

Running from the flying wings of Paradise

THE EARTHLY LEADERS of Famine.

FOOTSOLES (INTO THE TWILIGHT)

Chasing my own fugitive footsoles

across the paltry pastures on into the twilight

of my own indifference on over the borders

which appear to snuff out the noise

of the murmuring sleeping birds

I feel their weighted eyes & folded wings

in the shadows, sleeping,

tho somehow watching over me

thinking again about life’s sick philosophies

Watching, engrossed,

as all the engorged herds of frantic

babbling ghosts are being chased

all about me

by the lofty featureless Sandman

He is so blank, he is so struck & stuck