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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Horror Poetry

  • The Hunted | A Gothic Horror Poem of Predators, Moonlight, and Inevitable Doom

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    The Hunted is about inevitability—the moment when fear stops being chaos and becomes certainty. Set beneath an unforgiving moon, this poem leans into isolation, communal helplessness, and the quiet terror of knowing you are seen. Sometimes horror isn’t about escape or survival, but about the instant when the night decides you are already chosen.

    A blood-red moon over dark fields as shadowy predators surround a lone figure at night.
    Some nights don’t chase you. They wait.

    The Hunted
    Poerty by B.D. Nightshade

    Beneath the blood-red Oklahoma moon,
    The wind whispered tales of an impending doom.
    Fields lay barren, shadows stretched thin,
    And in the silence, the hunt would begin.

    From the corners of dusk, they came like smoke,
    Slipping through the dark where nights breath spoke.
    Fangs gleamed like daggers, their eyes burned bright,
    Predators cloaked in the velvet of night.

    The townsfolk prayed, but the prayers fell hollow,
    For shadows were swift, and death would follow.
    Doors were barred, yet whispers slipped through—
    A scream cut short; the hunters withdrew.

    In alleys and homes, the carnage grew thick,
    Their hunger unyielding, their movements quick.
    Lifeless bodies, pale and drained,
    Crimson rivers where innocence waned.

    Yet one remained, a flickering light,
    A soul still standing in the heart of the night.
    Surrounded by eyes like coal aglow,
    Faces twisted, predators’ tableau.

    Breath hitched, heartbeat a deafening sound,
    As they closed in, encircling their ground.
    The air was heavy, laden with dread,
    As the hunted whispered, “Soon, I’ll be dead.”

    The moon, a witness to the fatal plight,
    Bathed the scene in unholy light.
    The hunted stood, with resolve so grim,
    Facing the abyss, staring back at them.

    In that moment, the night seemed to pause,
    A final rebellion against nature’s laws.
    And as the predators moved to consume,
    The hunted vanished, swallowed by gloom.

    Oklahoma sleeps, but the tale remains—
    A town once bathed in blood-red stains.
    For where shadows creep and darkness grows,
    The hunted’s story is one the wind still blows.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

  • Cannibal Carnival | A Dark Horror Poem About Clowns, Cannibalism, and Traveling Nightmares

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Cannibal Carnival leans into the grotesque joy of horror—where spectacle masks atrocity and laughter becomes a warning sign. This poem plays with the fear of what arrives uninvited, feeds unchecked, and leaves nothing behind but rumors and bloodstains. Sometimes the scariest monsters don’t hide in the shadows—they perform under bright lights and dare you to look away.

    A dark, foggy carnival at night with eerie clowns and glowing tents, evoking a sinister horror atmosphere.
    Not every carnival comes to entertain—some come to feed.

    Content warning: graphic imagery, violence, cannibalism.

    Cannibal Carnival
    Poetry by B.D. Nightshade

    The carnival rolls through the midnight mist,
    A twisted parade of grinning faces,
    Where laughter’s a shriek and the air’s thick with dread,
    A circus of death that leaves no traces.

    Their tents rise high like graves in the dark,
    With bright colors that hide the hunger below.
    Clowns with painted smiles, eyes hungry and stark,
    Their tricks are tricks no one dares to know.

    They juggle bones, and toss severed heads,
    Their tightrope walks on blood-soaked lines,
    Each act a feast for the audience fed,
    On terror, fear, and blood-red wines.

    But in one town, whispers began to stir,
    A sloppy clown with a frown too wide,
    He juggled more than just colored balls,
    A question formed deep inside.

    “Did you hear the screaming behind the tent?”
    “A body, still breathing, yet torn to shreds.”
    “I saw teeth marks on the flesh they lent—
    And the smell, my God, the smell of death.”

    The police arrived, badges gleaming bright,
    Their steps firm, but hearts unsure,
    The carnival’s cheer now tinged with fright,
    A deadly game they would not endure.

    “We’ve come for answers, you twisted crew,
    What hides beneath your painted smiles?”
    But the clowns just chuckled, “You’re too late, it’s true,
    You’ll join the feast if you stay a while.”

    A gunshot rang, but no one fell,
    The officers swarmed, hearts frozen with fear.
    The cannibals grinned, as if from hell,
    Their knives drawn, the end drawing near.

    A clash of steel, a cry of pain,
    As the police fought with all their might,
    But the carnival’s troupe, they’d fed on rain,
    The night devoured them, hidden from sight.

    In the end, the town was empty—
    Except for the echoes of the game,
    The carnival packed up, looking so merry,
    As if nothing had changed, no shame, no blame.

    Now the roads are empty, no signs of their tents,
    But the townsfolk still whisper with dread,
    For the Cannibal Carnival travels on,
    Leaving behind only fear and bloodshed.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]