H.D.

H.D. [1886-1961], the famous American female Imagist/Modernist poet Hilda Doolittle [usually referred to with her initials], is one that is not often celebrated. Her work is incredible, often about the ancient world of Greece and Rome, and has an intense 'visual' aspect. For more, read here.

ORION DEAD

[Artemis speaks]

The cornel-trees uplift from the furrows, the roots at their bases strike lower through the barley-sprays. So arise and face me. I am poisoned with the rage of song. I once pierced the flesh of the wild-deer, now am I afraid to touch the blue and the gold-veined hyacinths? I will tear the full flowers and the little heads of the grape-hyacinths. I will strip the life from the bulb until the ivory layers lie like narcissus petals on the black earth. Arise, lest I bend an ash-tree into a taut bow, and slay—and tear all the roots from the earth. The cornel-wood blazes and strikes through the barley-sprays, but I have lost heart for this. I break a staff. I break the tough branch. I know no light in the woods. I have lost pace with the winds.

Mark Folse

One great poet is the NOLA Toulouse Street blogger Mark Folse. His poem "The Taste of Carnations" from Jan. 2015 is gothic in the best way, it's a great piece that reminds you of Neruda's style. Also try his "Its Black Absence" piece as well. 

And if you like old folk music in the Spanish rhythmic style, be sure to listen to the adjacent vid of a Spanish gypsy flamenco song [it's a cut above many that I've heard]:

Tonight of all nights I would hear the saddest songs.

This wine of the Alicante,
dark as blood spilt by night,
sharp as flint, a spark
in the sparkle with the savor
of must fresh from dusty feet
walked hard and long buried.

I would taste carnations
fed with the blood of bulls.

Tonight I would hear the saddest songs
because joy is a wind
that blows hot and cold
but sadness outlasts empires.