Short horror poems/Classic and contemporary horror poems

Horror poems

A selection of horror poems, the feeling of extreme fear, which is observed in the cold sweat, in the acceleration of the heart rate or even in the total paralysis of the person who feels it.

Horror is a classic theme in movies, novels, and poems. Some people are fond of it, and others hate it. They are known to all works such as Dracula, Frankenstein, The Werewolf or The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe.

Enjoy this compilation of classic, contemporary and original horror poems. They deal with various topics; death, spirits, ghosts, fear, vampires, monsters, among others.

Classic and contemporary horror poems

“Requiem” (Robert Louis Stevenson)

Under the vast starry sky
dig a grave and let me lie there.
Happily I lived and with joy I will die, Short horror poems
lying down with a last wish.

Let this be the verse you record for me:
“Here lies where I wanted to lie;
the sailor has returned, he has returned from the sea;
and the hunter has returned from the hill ”.


It is a religious mass that is offered to dead people. Stevenson was not a believer, although he exposes his ideas about death.

“Spirits of the Dead” (Edgar Allan Poe) Short horror poems

Your soul, on the gray stone grave

alone he will lie with gloomy thoughts;

No one, in all that intimacy, will penetrate

in the thin hour of your Secret,

Be silent in that stillness

which is not Soledad, since

The Spirits of the Dead,

who preceded you in life,

in Death they will surround you,

and with Shadows, your stillness will link;

The night, so clear, will darken,

and the stars will take away their brightness

from their high thrones in Heaven,

with its light of hope for mortals,

but its red spheres, dull,

in your boredom they will have the form of Fever and Flames,

and they will claim you forever.

Now they are thoughts that you will not banish,

now they are visions almost fading;

of your Spirit they will never pass away,

as the dew drop dies on the grass

The breeze, breath of God, is motionless,

and the mist over the hill

Gloomy, gloomy, and at the same time untouchable,

It is a Sign and a Symbol.

How it spreads over the trees,

Mystery of Mysteries!


The author expresses what must be done when dying: be quiet, since you will be accompanied by the spirits of the other dead.

“Black cat” (Rainer Maria Rilke) Short horror poems

A ghost, though invisible, is still like a place where

your sight can touch, echoing; but here

inside this thick black skin, your strongest gaze

will be absorbed and will disappear completely:

Like a mad maniac, when nothing else

can ease him, he throws himself into his dark night

howling, he hits the padded wall and feels like

rage is absorbed and pacified.

Seems to hide all the looks that have ever fallen

in it, so that, as an audience,

I can look at them, menacing and sullen, Short horror poems

and snuggle up to sleep with them. But suddenly

As if he had awakened, he turns his face towards yours;

and with a fright, you see yourself, little one,

inside the golden amber of your eyeballs

suspended, like a prehistoric fly.


The poet narrates from the perspective of a black cat traveling through the city.

“Under the grave” (Robert Nelson)

Terrifying beings grope in bloody lakes,

a foul mist creeps and feeds on bloated slugs;

From the scented plant beds fetid snakes writhe,

and like a flower cultivated with black substances,

a steel moon drips blood on a darkened sky

by the prophecies of mad ghosts.

But this has ceased, it has been left behind,

and in that mephitic forest, under the grave,

the dead dine where shadows float,

and burning candles clean the putrid gloom;

and those who stood in joy and sorrow of sadness,

now they concoct the ecstatic refrain of hell.

Far below where swollen creatures keep Short horror poems

In frigid rooms, and skulls burn like lamps

to guide you through life beyond, and where you run

the green veils of oozing slime and deadly dampness,

the grave echoes eternally in joyous liberation.


Poem narrates in a dark way what a cemetery is and all the elements that are in it.

“Lullaby for a vampire” (Lisa Ben)

Sleep soundly in your silent grave

dream of the crimson feast you long for,

until hunger wakes you up

and you must abandon

your resting place.

Dream, dream of your sneaky flight

to the dark lands of the night.

Your fangs meet the soft white meat

and you come back rejuvenated. Short horror poems

Your lips are a scarlet stain.

Sleep, sleep in your shady bed.

Land of your homeland on your head,

until the moon is high

from the velvety sky

call you again.


The poet dedicates a few words to a vampire in his coffin, as if he were a restless child in his cradle.

“The Messenger” (HP Lovecraft)

The Thing, he said, would come at night,

from the old churchyard on the hill,

crouched before the blush of an oak fire

I tried to tell myself that it couldn’t be.

surely, I reflected, this is a joke,

concocted by someone who undoubtedly does not know

the Greater Sign, legacy of ancient solemnity,

that releases the shapes that poke around in the dark.

He did not want to affirm it, no, but I still turned on

another lamp, while the starry Leo Short horror poems

I was going up the river, the flame sparked like a wish,

And the light from the fire fell apart, slow, very slow.

Then at the door, out of cautious agitation came,

And the insane Truth devoured me like a flame!


The poet enunciates the expectation of the visit of someone who died and said that he would come to him.

“In a disused cemetery” (Robert Frost) Short horror poems

The living arrive treading on the grass

to read the tombstones on the hill;

the cemetery still draws life,

but never again to the dead.

The verses in them repeat:

“The living that arrive today

to read the stones and leave,

tomorrow the dead will come to stay ”.

So sure of death is the rhyme of marble,

yet he can’t help but remember

that no dead, it seems, will return.

What makes men cringe?

It would be easier to be cunning

and tell the stones: men hate dying

and they have stopped dying now forever.

I think they would believe the lie.


The poem deals with visits to cemeteries, the reflection of reality when dying.

“In the black forest” (Amy Levy)

I lay down under the pines

I looked up to the green Short horror poems

dark in the treetops,

gloomy glow that marks the passage of blue.

I closed my eyes, and an incredible

sensation flowed without judgment:

Here I lie dead and buried

and this is a cemetery.

I am in eternal rest,

all conflicts have ended.

I fell straight and felt the wailing

For my little past life

Unfair law and lost labor,

wise knowledge despised;

laziness and sin and failure,

Did I feel sorry for this?

Sad they have put me often;

now they can no longer sadden me,

my heart was full of regret

for the joy he never had.


It represents the feeling of rest for having died and no longer suffering from any worry.

“Such is death” (Charles Hamilton Sorley)

So, so is Death: no triumph: no defeat:

just an empty bucket, a clean broken slate,

a merciful distance from what has been.

And this we know: Death is not Life,

crashed, the bucket empties. And we, who have reached

wonderful things, we know the end has not come.

The victor and the vanquished are one in death: Short horror poems

Friend and foe, cowardly and brave.

Ghosts don’t say, “What do you remember about your sunset?”

But a disagreement is hidden in every yesterday,

So famished, so neatly incomplete.

And his bright, withered and hasty Promise,

It touches, moves, rises, grows softened.

Those flowers are just like you when you’re dead.


The author expresses his vision of death.

“To death” (Amy Levy)

If inside my heart there is boredom,

if the flame of poetry

and the fire of love grows cold,

lacerate my flesh without courtesy.

Quick, without pause or delay;

Don’t let the field of my life be nurtured

With the ashes of dead feelings

Let your song flow tenderly. Short horror poems


The poet Amy Levy made this poem dedicated to death, telling her that if she could no longer do what was fulfilling, to come to her without expecting her life to be less.

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