Devilishly Dreadful: Resting Place Poem, by Tristan Robert Lange, at My poetic side

Autumn’s air is chilled.

Bustlin’ voices natter street.

A customer sits.

Fall clothing adorned;

Fella seems ter be wealthy.

It drizzles dahn the street.

Leant ‘im all comfy,

Foam applied to a strong face,

Warm in fall’s crisp air.

‘E likes a close shave,

Makes ‘im feel alive, ‘e says.

Tallow soap—mint oil.

‘E smiles and ‘e shuts his eyes.

The latch clicks—the drop sudden.

Clunked ‘im, did I, right proper on ‘is ‘ead—

Quite a wallop, ‘e’s a stunned sad young bloke—

Dahn stairs the ol’ crone will make sure ‘e’s dead.

Quite a wallop, ‘e’s a stunned sad young bloke—

‘Is lady—that’s me—slices throats like bread—

Clunked ‘im, did I, right proper on ‘is ‘ead.

‘Is lady—that’s me—slices throats like bread;

Not to be tossed, but something else instead—

Quite a wallop, ‘e’s a stunned sad young bloke.

Not to be tossed, but something else instead—

Pies need lots o’ meat if they’re fillin’.

‘Is lady—that’s me—slices throats like bread.

Pies need lots o’ meat if they’re fillin’—

Lovett’s got the best meat pies in London.

Not to be tossed, but something else instead—

Lovett’s got the best meat pies in London—

Clunked ‘im, did I, right proper on ‘is ‘ead—

Quite a wallop, ‘e’s a stunned sad young bloke—

‘Is lady—that’s me—slices throats like bread.

Originally posted on tristanrobertlange.com, September 15, 2025.

Tittu

Author: Tristan Robert Lange ( Online)
Published: September 15th, 2025 08:57
Comment from author about the poem: For Macabre Monday. This is the first part in my series, Devilishly Dreadful, and the third poem I’ve written in my original form, the Chameleon Cantos. Drawing from the infamous penny dreadful The String of Pearls (1846), this piece revives Sweeney Todd’s grisly world where barbershops and bakehouses became stages for horror. Todd’s first victims were dispatched through a trapdoor—an image that’s haunted Gothic imagination ever since. Here, the dreadful’s grotesque humor and terror meet the cadence of my form.
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