Holiday horror poet
Seasons Grievings — original holiday horror poetry
I write Seasons Grievings as a portfolio of original holiday horror poems—carols with their throats cut, tinsel that bites back, and winter comfort turned uncanny. Each piece is built for the page: clean lines, hard contrast, and space to let the dread linger between stanzas.
I’m drawn to the sweet spot where tradition meets unease: familiar dates on the calendar, unfamiliar shadows in the room. If you’re a reader, editor, or event programmer looking for dark seasonal work—readings, reprints, collaborations, or commissions—I’m always open to thoughtful inquiries.
Seasonal Horror, Familiar Then Wrong
Seasons Grievings lives in the gap between comfort and dread: carols with a cracked note, snow that feels too quiet, lights that flicker like a warning. Each piece starts with a holiday touchstone, then turns it—slowly, deliberately—until the familiar becomes uncanny.
Poetry-First Craft and Clarity
The work is built for reading: clean lines, controlled rhythm, and images that land hard without overexplaining. I aim for poems that can be read in one breath, then linger—sharp enough for horror fans, musical enough for poetry lovers.
A Portfolio of Selected Hauntings
This site isn’t an endless feed; it’s a curated shelf. You’ll find featured poems, small cycles, and experiments in voice—each one chosen to show range and intent. Browse, reread, and follow the threads between pieces as the seasons darken.
ABOUT THE PROJECT
Seasons Grievings is a portfolio of holiday horror poems—where tinsel turns to teeth and the seasonal glow goes wrong.
Seasons Grievings began as a private experiment: one poem at a time, written to scratch the itch that December stories rarely satisfy—terror wrapped in ritual, dread hiding behind tradition, and carols that don’t end cleanly.
This space exists to showcase finished work in a reading-first format. Every piece is drafted, cut, and tuned for sound and sense—built to be read aloud, lingered over, and revisited like a familiar ornament that suddenly feels sharp.
It’s intentionally small and independent: no ads, no algorithm-chasing, no content treadmill. The goal is simple—make strong poems easy to find and a little hard to forget, and let curious readers decide what to carry with them.
GET IN TOUCH
Want a reading, reprint, or collaboration?
Send a note for permissions, anthology invites, readings, or press. Include the poem title(s), intended use, and your timeline, and I’ll reply as soon as I can with details and next steps.