Notice of absence from Tristan Robert Lange
Friends, I’m doing my best to keep up with comments. 😅 I’m still current on my own poems and first replies on others’ work, but this season has been a bit of a twister. Figured I’d drop a quick note so you don’t think I’ve vanished or gone flaky.
Read. Write. Rise. Realize. 🤘💀🖤
Friends, I’m doing my best to keep up with comments. 😅 I’m still current on my own poems and first replies on others’ work, but this season has been a bit of a twister. Figured I’d drop a quick note so you don’t think I’ve vanished or gone flaky.
Read. Write. Rise. Realize. 🤘💀🖤
One, two, three, four, five, six stictches
Sewing up the lips of ditches;
Moths rolled in balls and put to flame,
Singed wings whisper a macabre name.
Ten tied up—seven laying down—
Spiders weave their tactical gown.
Flesh-o-Filet, stripped of its bones,
Our lives are ghosts wailing in moans.
Four and five, six, seven, eight eternal,
Infinitity is ever infernal.
Worms submerged in God’s tequila—
Consumed—a swig of vanilla.
Twenty horses fall down a wall
With twenty-five wolves standing tall.
Cardigan covered corpses climb
The caverns of this cruel lifetime.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, February 16, 2026.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: February 16th, 2026 07:46
- Comment from author about the poem: I’m published in an anthology featuring authors from across the Poconos, PA. All proceeds benefit the Pocono Liars Club — a collective of authors and editors dedicated to supporting and mentoring local writers. Available in paperback and Kindle, please consider purchasing one and supporting a great cause. https://a.co/d/58uxM69
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Friendship, Paul Bell, GenXer Sharon 🙏🍀, rebellion_in_sanity
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Comments6
Tristan this is a numerologist's dream so many messages in each line woven in rhyme. Metaphor piled on metaphor layers of meaning. It is dark with the macabre name that goes unmentioned only whispered by singed moths. There are spiders and fileted flesh. Worms normally in Mescal now in Tequila. Are the horses from the kings men that tried to put Humpy Dumpty together again? And those wolves standing tall where is the shepherd? Did he cry wolf too many times? Those cardigan covered corpses were the buttons to facilitate the fileting of flesh? Crazy questions no doubt off base but this poem makes the mind race. Good one my friend
Soren, you stepped all the way into this one…and I love that. The way you chase the wolves, the shepherd, even Humpty 🤣…that’s exactly the kind of restless engagement this piece invites. “This poem makes the mind race” says it best. Your questions aren’t off base…they’re proof the layers are moving. Always grateful for how you read, my friend. 🕳️🔥🖤🙏
My pleasure my fiend
Well done. Your poem explores themes of mortality, despair, and the macabre nature of existence. It juxtaposes the innocence of counting and childhood with dark imagery and reflections on death, suffering, and the cyclical nature of life. The poet delves into the grotesque and surreal aspects of life, using imagery related to death, decay, and the eerie elements of nature. It reflects a sense of hopelessness and the inevitability of mortality.
My friend, you named the core without dressing it up. It isn’t horror for shock’s sake…it’s mortality surfacing through rhythm. Your note about the cyclical nature of life lands exactly where this piece breathes. Thank you for reading it with that clarity. 🕳️🔥🖤🙏
Great title and represents my nightmares as a child.
What are the worms going to do now that the burial grounds are full up and we're all getting burnt to ash.
Life and death in the animal kingdom, nightmares and fairytales. Very apt for a Monday.
Paul, I love that you went straight to childhood nightmares with this. That tells me it tapped something primal and it felt primal when I wrote it. The way you frame the worms with no burial ground left…that’s bleak in the right way. Life and death folding into fairytale dread…yes. Grateful you felt that current. 🕳️🔥🖤🙏
Ain't nothing corpse-like about that glugger and his mates! lol.
Oh...you know it, my friend! LOL! 😝
Yep, never a day goes by
When we hear a glugger nigh
Having it to bear
Does anyone else with us share? (in hearing the glugs). lol.
Nigh, the glugging goes not,
Just keeps gurgling onward
Flowing into the Bater's pot,
Swoon, not soon enough, forward.
Intriguing work as always. Well done Tristan!
Thank you, Sharon! Much appreciated, my friend! 🕳️🔥🖤🙏
Not going to forget "Our lives are ghosts wailing in moans." or "Cardigan covered corpses climb" soon.
My friend, the fact that those two lines linger says everything. The ghost line holds the ache…and the cardigan corpses bring the strange familiarity of it all. Haunting but ordinary at once. That’s the tension I hoped would echo. Thank you, my dear friend! 🕳️🔥🖤🙏
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