"tragical" poems
Beautiful, tragical faces—
Ye that were whole, and are so sunken;
And, O ye vile, ye that might have been loved,
That are so sodden and drunken,
Who hath forgotten you?
O wistful, fragile faces, few out of many!
The crass, the coarse, the brazen,
God knows I cannot pity them, perhaps, as I should do;
But oh, ye delicate, wistful faces,
Who hath forgotten you?
3.6k
Come prisoned moon in steep cloud-fastnesses,—
Throned queen and thralled; some dying sun whose pyre
Blazed with momentous memorable fire;—
Who hath not yearned and fed his heart with these?
Who, sleepless, hath not anguished to appease
Tragical shadow’s realm of sound and sight
Conjectured in the lamentable night?…
Lo! the soul’s sphere of infinite images!
What sense shall count them? Whether it forecast
The rose-winged hours that flutter in the van
Of Love’s unquestioning unreveale’d span,—
Visions of golden futures: or that last
Wild pageant of the accumulated past
That clangs and flashes for a drowning man.
2.7k
With my windows tenderly open,
the moonlight, a pale marble phantom I admire
The dark light rests beside me,
unveiling a vivid urban gleam
A jet black silhouette transpires
He whispers in the dark
Porcelain lies, radiant yet feeble.
His words achingly deceive
the lights that disdain me;
belittling my affectionate delusion
Pitch dark silence, I weep as I grieve
My tears filling in everlasting secrecy of
this tragical devotion blurring out the stars
You speak with a passionless passion
Yet my world doesn't fall apart-
It makes the whole universe perish.
That night, the stars seemed to blemish.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 11:04 PM UTC
Black lagoon brain pools,
Drown me in our retrograde...
Long and tactful tentacles ...
To catch my anatomical....
Retracting my soul from your memory tubes.
Painting our moments in shades of black.
Disappearing phantom laughs...
And lucid nightmares follow me to sleep.
Ghostly appendages wrapping me tight.
Ensnared by his tragical hold,
Farewell snap shots are never enough.
Goodnight static dream tracer.
Your everywhere is no where now.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
no mean feat to reestablish,
palpitating those few seconds
when arms-in-motion wave frantic,
in desperation,
in fall-prevention mode,
comical and tragical,
a salty suite,
and the semi-familiar
taste of fall/failing
the freshest fear,
jalapeño hot on the tongue
some months ago,
the thinnest tightrope,
not an obstacle feared,
what I lacked for,
I could not say or now recall
the kindness of calm prevailed
now tension lines drawn,
under the feet,
around the neck,
high voltage wires that
no artist-survivor-breadwinner
can walk without trepidation
though you don't see my arms flailing,
there are faint marks on my soles,
parallelograms on my throat,
where fear has tested
the prowess of its equipment
my life retrospected,
have miracles
made and gained,
given and taken
nine lives used up so many times,
thought my allotment was
nine X nine to the power of nine,
stupid-stopped looking over my shoulder
the poems came so easy,
every phrase overheard was a
story explicated, and the insights slid
from throat to paper so fast
I did not count myself blessed,
just merely fortunate
well fortunes veer,
turn left bad right,
no direction home,
and what was easy,
now impossible
how the story final beds,
will keep you posted,
right now all I can predict
with 100% surety,
the fall is surely coming
for the summer-man
the sun cannot burn off
the fog that paralyzes his
ship to shore,
invisible the safety of port,
the horn sound more of a croak,
his voice, ashamed of failing,
has this man both
landlocked
and lost at sea
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you- lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind- with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that’s quite your own.
Yet this is you.
2.2k
Southampton Docks: October 1899
Here, where Vespasian’s legions struck the sands,
And Cendric with the Saxons entered in,
And Henry’s army lept afloat to win
Convincing triumphs over neighboring lands,
Vaster battalions press for further strands,
To argue in the selfsame ****** mode
Which this late age of thought, and pact, and code,
Still fails to mend.—Now deckward ***** the bands,
Yellow as autumn leaves, alive as spring;
And as each host draws out upon the sea
Beyond which lies the tragical To-be,
None dubious of the cause, none murmuring,
Wives, sisters, parents, wave white hands and smile,
As if they knew not that they weep the while.
1.7k
enchanted was he for her eyes were seemingly like a dream paradise.
he drew himself closer and closer till their lips touched
then viciously bit and filled her with tragical lies.
tormented was she for her eyes were seemingly like a fiery inferno.
it were once flourished with ravishing and unwavering beauty
and all that was left in her was the bitterness of his memories.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
I've seen the wind that you can feel,
and it was magical.
I've been in places that you dream,
it is tragical.
The beauty, the passion, and your relieve,
it was nothing,
compared to what we can truly feel.
As I can see those shadows,
Now dancing, being free.
I wonder if you could ever,
Run after what you believe.
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 3:36 PM UTC
Portrait d'une Femme
Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you — lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind — with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that's quite your own.
Yet this is you.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 1:07 PM UTC
When I go, they'll say how they knew me. That they knew my passion. She'll say she pursued me. The only thing they show is nothing but cruelty. Neglect me, and vexed me, filled me with regret. I expect the fake tears, you've been practicing for years.
You'll say that you knew me, when you were never here. You were never there for me, but I cleaned up your fears. You'll say that you were down for me. Well you were never near. You could've saved me, from the wine and the beer.
You'll tell them they don't know me, when you don't know me too. You left me for some ha-ppiness, the pun's intended too. They'll tell you I was magical. I smithed my words with ease. They'll tell you it was tragical, the pain I pushed on me.
They'll say I was a saint. They'll say I was a sinner. they'll say I enjoyed being the center. They'll call me a hero. They will call me a winner. But I haven't won, I never entered. They'll say was arrogant. I needed anger management. They'll call me a villain, because I lost my feeling. I started talking killing.
Me myself and I have watched you all go by living on in your lives, I don't even get a hi. You never say goodbye, when you walk out of my life. You just keep on walking by I'm not even on your minds. Even though I find the time to sit here and dry your eyes, you'd think you could return the favor sometime. I'd tell you I see through you.
But really, are you surprised? I'm taking the time out for you before my demise. Sometimes I despise all of you guys. So I wonder why, I just wonder why. I wonder why they say they know me? I'm a ghost of their past. I'm losing color fast and I'm fading to the contrast.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 1:19 AM UTC
Before I die,
I want to live
Loudly.
Before I die,
I want to travel
The unknown.
Before I die,
I want to host more
Students from
Not-here.
Before I die, I want to
"Perform something
Bold, tragical and austere."
Before I die:
Lava flows.
Norway fiords
Northern lights.
A car driving me or
Hyperloop SF->LA
Sub-orbital flight to see
Earth from space
(aim high before I die!)
Proof we aren't alone.
That would be a big one.
And while we are alive,
LET'S DO THIS!!!
Before we die.
Word.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
What could've been there, we don't seem to know.
Deep inside, I wanted to be all that your soul ever wanted.
But I know,
I knew even before,
that when the time comes that I need to know the truth,
it would be the most painful one.
That day came like a bitter storm on a sunny summer day.
Slowly,
it has torn
even
the thinnest
piece
of faith
I had
for myself.
It was nothing for a goner like me to taste such bittersweet kiss of reality.
It was all natural, so typical,
very fantastical, extremely tragical.
Surely, it wasn't me all along.
It wasn't me alone.
It was never me.
I know, there are things I thought I knew and understood well:
things I thought were real,
things I knew were just so fine.
I gave up on the idea of nothingness despite the vague feel.
I set it aside, knowing that there might have been, just hidden.
But, of course, everything was plain wrong;
it wasn't surprising, though!
Guess I just got the price for having hoped too much on things that seemed real.
Well, they seemed to be the greatest stuff I'd ever felt,
after a long while.
At least, it was.
It really was until I had to realize it wasn't.
Accept. Regret. Forget.
I tried to release the tension in my head.
I tried [so hard] to cover those tears up, until I'm all alone.
I tried to shake it off,
stroll around the city,
see some happy faces,
read a boring notebook,
or just hang in there and look for some pain again.
I tried, I swear, I tried until I finally grew tired.
Because in everything I had to do, I just have to think there was you,
who had been there all along to make me realize such dismal truth,
that once in my life, I met someone, thought he was the one,
but broke it all in just a while with his cold song.
And once again, I knew, I felt
I was falling in love
With someone,
Alone.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
as the night started to glimmer
and i was sitting at the balcony
curiously seeing a city of madness
wondering the tragical tragedy
that could happen for thrice
my eyes could barely see
a rhythm that keep spinning around
on the sightly stars
my soul was trying to reach out hardly
but still trapped in this seductive frame
words by words were running through my teeth
on this peculiar night of nights
then the fact that i smiled
even wider
meant to the blissfulness
upon this endless grief
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 7:41 AM UTC
RECORD: WHAT'S THE ALTITUDE
FROGMAN: CrUsT al-CHEMIST
I will show you something different from either
Your selfse at mourning striding behind you
Or your selfse at even-ing rising to beet you;
I will show you freedom in a fistful of data!
-- T.S. Eliot, Frogman'a'thought
STOP: TRAGICal THOUGHT
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
Everytime that the lustrous moon's visage apply
as how the stars that glimmering divided in the sky
waiting to perceive a new chapter of tragical book,
that she always utter while descending her tears—
When she's sensing at the antiquated photographs,
titled by their names with date and sugary caption
especially those blessed-satisfactory representation.
She poisoned her mind that he's a gentle saviour
as how he grasps her hands when she fell before,
She reminiscence when he enunciate the word hello,
that gave color to her life but he just left her alone.
She severed her wrist to release her poorly feelings
and filled a pen with her blood that she use to write
her unheard emotions and questions into a paper;
Is it bad if I look to our immemorial representation?
Is it bad if I believe that you're a good-hearted person?
Is it bad if I verbalize your splendiferous sanction?
Is it bad if I cut my wrist to impoverish my emotion?
Is it bad if I wear happy mask to hide my impression?
Is it bad if I didn't fight our love for your satisfaction?
Is it bad if I still love you without any hesitation?
Is it bad if I want you to be yours without limitation?
She asked using literary art from her fragile heart—
as a glass that downward-sloping from the paradise,
Moving swiftly with air, think through being escaped
but directly goes to the pits and broke into pieces.
Sunlights reverberate his faded shades of love for her
make her to reckon his spoken metaphors anywhere,
that slowly killing her willingness to symphathize life,
due of his falsity phrases that stabbed her as a knife.
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 7:56 AM UTC
over the world
there is a boat
u can cross from the seas
to the lord
over the time
there is a line
u can follow the sign
to the crime
over the religion
there is a god
u can use the prophet
to reach the sun
the story of elements begun
sleepy angels took the golden gun
bang bang the human's done
and then prayed for hidden holy shrine
beyond the love
there is a magnet
connects the emotional moments
to the passional hours
further more
there is a suffering soul
rip the clothes of rules
this is the mention of truth
the story of elements begun
sleepy angels took the golden gun
bang bang the human's done
then prayed for the hidden holly shrine
yeah the story just begun
behind every successful god
is a loaded gun .....
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
I exist to change this world.
I exist to change myself.
I exist to show the world
That it is much more than itself.
I exist to find the one,
The one I'll know in an instant.
I exist to make people understand
That pure feeling can still be distant.
I exist to prove to myself that love is real,
That love is not tragical.
I exist to make myself believe
That love is really magical.
I Exist
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:19 AM UTC
I thought that daydreaming
Was allowed always,
That no age could
Stop you from doing so,
Far away, to lands
With a precious gaze,
Who no one other than yourself
Would know.
There would be many
Pastel meadows there,
And storylines
Of characters unknown,
Some ugly, tragical or only fair,
Who still all have to be
To people shown.
But no, it's hard to think it is allowed; I should be serious,
Only think of the things
Who're near,
And not be like a cloud,
Always on well-known earth –
Not up above.
Now I am in my
Twenties and reflect,
If I should embrace this,
Or only neglect.
Aug 25, 2019
Aug 25, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
what a sad slip of a boy
who wears grey jumpers and hats
sitting in the dark of his bedroom
writing stories of the past
a haze clouds his eyes
for the future he cannot see
grief-stricken and dissociated
he does not realise all he could be
the solitude comforts him
as he's pumulled by history, the sundrenched kisses
wearily typing
imaging all of his tragical wishes
Oct 9, 2017
Oct 9, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
Life feels like:
a grand and tragical
theatrical performance,
in which,
I'm the leading lady.
Despite the fact,
I did not audition,
and I know not the lines.
Aug 21, 2025
Aug 21, 2025 at 9:22 AM UTC
Coming back home,
only to see you standing in the middle,
You were so graceful,
I nearly thought you were incognito.
You felt like a dream,
almost too good to be true,
The temperature turned so hot,
I felt like a fondue.
A ray of sunshine traced your skin,
and you became my deadly sin.
I heard the sound of violin,
as I watched you do a spin.
I hold you so carefully,
afraid you'll break in my hand dreadfully.
You were magical,
each look from you felt nearly tragical.
Every part of you was so beautiful,
it made me go numb,
Now I watch you fade as usual,
in the air,very plumb.
You made me go mad,
after you left expectedly,
Cause I hear your voice all the time,
and your image became virtually.
I knew you were an impossible one,
as you seemed to be not of this world,
But I wish you didn't say goodbye,
and just kissed me telling me I'm your love.
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 5:45 PM UTC
The cruel voice echoes across the crowded room
The naked prisoners, their ankles and wrists tied
Are shown to the masses, quite aware of their doom
And not a single soul is staying on her side
A black marble statue watches them from afar
But the queen fairly knows they won't escape so far
She wishes and awaits to sip their strong sour bloods
To bathe and to bask in those red furious floods.
Look at her, o pagans, ****** by the universe
Fallen from the heavens yet still as glorious
As the twisted tarnished despised and devious
Feelings shaped, created in this tragical verse.
August, 31, 2013
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 6:31 AM UTC