(Poetry) A Gift

Along with reams of short stories, and longer attempts at fiction, I’ve written countless poems over the decades. The bulk were written in my teens and twenties and I literally have folders full of handwritten and typewritten compositions.

I’d been threatening to put a selection into print since the mid-90’s. I remember discussing it with an old girlfriend in ’95 but a number of things always seemed to stop me. Part of that was not really being sure if I wanted to share them with the world, part was never having the time to go through what was amounting to thousands of bits of paper – ranging from typed and formatted finished compositions to hand written stanzas on the back of paper bags, or anything I had at hand when inspiration hit.

A few years ago I finally got round to sorting out a collection and published them under the title “Wild Card Symphonies”. Consisting of three smaller volumes of my work, “Wild Card Symphonies”, “Cry To Me”, and “This Graveyard Heart”, the book totaled just over 120 poems. You can buy a copy (plug plug) through Lulu on one of the links at the bottom of the page if you like what you read and want to have more.

It will come to little surprise to anyone who knows me to discover that I read a lot of vampire fiction as a teen and in my early 20’s. I loved Interview With A Vampire/Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice and Lost Souls by Poppy Z Brite, and was one of the first in the UK to buy and run White Wolf’s Vampire: The Masquerade Role-Playing Game when it was released (the shop where I worked received copies on a Tuesday and I ran the first game on Wednesday evening). The Gift is my love letter to them.

A Gift

Kiss Me sweet now

With lips of deception.

You close your eyes,

So I can’t see

What lies behind them.

You never let me see.

I turn from you

And see a night,

In distant motion,

Where people dream

While others scream in comfort,

And some drink their wine.

Dream of darkness.

Dream of passion.

Dream of freeing the beast

From where it’s caught,

In the guesthouse,

From where it waits inside.

My life closed twice

In the arms of different lovers,

But there’s still a chance

That I’ll live again.

There’s still the lust

That I feel inside.

They say your life is blessed

But, in truth, it’s cursed with hunger

That is never satisfied,

And don’t you wonder,


Why you bleed?

Naked and dead

In the streets of a city,

Your fingers clutching

At all you own now,

Your last possession, a gift from a lover,

Of a necklace of blood.

Now life is elsewhere,

If living was what you did,

And you can tell your lies in silence,

If silence is what you receive.

No more kisses will be given

From your lips the colour of wine.

(A GIFT, By A R J Abranson, 15/16-07-91)

My poetry anthology, Wild Card Symphonies, is available to buy now on Lulu in both Softcover and Dust Jacket Hardcover.


Wild Card Symphonies, Cry To Me & This Graveyard Heart are Copyright ©2015, Angus Abranson. All rights reserved.
Cover design by George C. Cotronis (Ravenkult Studios, www.ravenkult.com) Copyright © 2015 Angus Abranson
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
No reproduction in part or in whole without prior written permission from the author of the copyright owner.

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