"trist" poems
Riding on the back of a super nova
into your blackhole of paradise
a ticket to Mars with Jupiter rising
Saturns rings engulf me into a star lit abyss
orbiting Uranus in a stellar galactic trist
my rocket ship glows in unquenchable fire
riding to Andromeda on the back of ecstatic bliss
exploding in a meteor shower, sealed with a kiss.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
ACT I
DAD: in his late 50's.
TRISTAN: around ten or eleven-years old GLADWIN: in her early 40's.
TRISTAN Dad?
Scene 1
Interior of a cheesy, unkempt motel room. DAD
channel-surfs the cable television, the remote in
his right hand, a cigarette in his left. He's
sitting on the edge of the bed. TRISTAN is on the
bed behind him, crying.
DAD
Yeah bud?
TRISTAN
Is Mom gonna **** herself?
DAD
Well, I hope so.
TRISTAN Dad!
DAD
(Chuckles). What?
TRISTAN
Stop! I'm scared. What if she does?
DAD
Why are you worried? I'm not that lucky.
TRISTAN
(Screaming). C'mon, Dad!
DAD
What? (Chuckles again, longer this time). I'm not.
TRISTAN
Dad, stop. What if she really does?
DAD
Trist, don't be stupid. No one who's really going to
**** themselves tells you like that. They don't sing it
out loud. She's whistling Dixie.
TRISTAN
(Sobbing at this point). Dad, I love Mom.
DAD
(Pause). I know, and I-
(DAD'S cellphone rings. He answers
immediately)
Hold on, Trist. It's your fat mother.
Hello? Yeah. Yeah, you have this kid scared to death.
Would you just tell him you're--What? Alright, Glad.
Well enough's enough. (Pause). Okay. (Reacting loudly).
Oh, quit screaming in my ear! Trist, (extends the phone
to TRISTAN) here.
spotlight comes up on GLADWIN, who is stageleft,
lying in bed and on the phone.
GLADWIN
Trist! Trist? Say goodbye to Mama. I'm going away.
TRISTAN
Wait! Don't do anything bad, please.
GLADWIN
I'm gonna swallow my pills, Trist. I'm gonna take them
all and I won't be around anymore, honey...
TRISTAN
No! Mom, don't!
GLADWIN
...so just say goodbye to Mama and don't ever...
TRISTAN
Mom! Stop. Please, stop, just don't!
GLADWIN
...forget that I love you.
Spotlight goes out on GLADWIN.
TRISTAN
No! (Looks at DAD). Dad, she can't!
(He drops the cellphone)
Oh my God!
(Leaping off the bed and fumbling with
the phone in his hands, he hurries it to
his ear)
Hello? Mom? Mom?
(He closes the phone and quickly reopens
it. He dials GLADWIN'S cellphone)
DAD
Trist, take it easy. She's fine. Stop calling and go to
bed.
TRISTAN
She won't answer! (Breaking down). She won't answer.
(Lets out a piercing cry). Dad!
(DAD lights another cigarette and pulls
TRISTAN onto the bed and under his right
arm)
DAD
(Rubbing TRISTAN'S back gently). Go to sleep, babe.
She'll be there tomorrow morning.
TRISTAN
But--
DAD
Ah, ah! What did I just say? Everything will be okay.
TRISTAN
(Calming, but still anxious). You promise?
DAD
Promise, kiddo.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
Kina poetry på gjesthuset en kveld i regn (Norwegian)
Korean poetry about a guesthouse one evening of rain.
Høstregn senker seg over gjestehuset
kaldt utafor, rolig natt med lampe
trist inni meg, sorgfull i rom
i hjertet en munk som mediterer.
Autumn rain sinks over the guesthouse
it's cold outside, night is calm with a lamp
of sadness inside me, a room of mourning
in my heart a monk who meditates.
Ch 'oe Ch'iwon. Korea
also by him with my attempts at translation:
Høstvind bare sang bittert
knapt en venn kjenner min lyd
regnet siler ute i mørket
fra lampen min går hugen langt.
Autumn's wind sings bitterly
hardly a friend knows my voice
rain pours down out in the dark
from my lamp memory travels far
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 2:27 AM UTC
Jeg må da være den værste datter af alle døtre
Jeg lod ham sidde der
mutters alene
Et ovalt bord og en lun lasagne foran sig
En rank ryg iført en perfekt strøget blå skjorte
Og han var så skuffet
ked af det
grædefærdig
Fordi jeg var egoistisk - sagde han
og han var hensynsløs - sagde jeg
Og nu er alt bare så trist
Trist af alt, var synet af ham alene ved bordet
Det ovale bord
Hvor han stirrede ind i væggen istedet for på mig
Egoistiske jeg, mig men aldrig dig
Ikke en lyd spillede for at opmundre ham
Ikke andet end gaflen som tilsidst ramte den tomme tallerken
som nok forundre og dundre frem for at opmundre
Egoisme er min alkoholisme af individualisme
men denne samvittighed smager af likør midt på dagen
Han er måske den værste far af alle fædre
men jeg må da være den værste datter af alle døtre
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
For første gang i lang tid kan jeg lytte til en sørgelig sang, uden at blive trist. For selv de værste ting synes ikke så slemme lige nu. Og det blæser, men vinden er ikke kold.
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
Manifestive
.. Appeal;
Perceptive
… manner;
Presentative
… charms;
…the wit of a Mad-hatter.
Perceptively perplexing
Both friend and foe;
Degradative
…praises
A mirror image…
I know.
Charade debacle
A farce..
Calamity divine;
Concert in crisis
Drama‘s
… entwine.
Spectaculative Improv
A living excuse
Performing inviolable;
A trist… with Mother-goose.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
Nu er det blevet forår
og jeg har tømmermænd
husker kun få ting fra i fredags
jeg gemmer mig også væk fra min egen eksistens
solen er glad i dag og lyser op med alle dens stråler
det burde gøre mig glad
men nej jeg er bare trist irriterende teenager som godt kan lide poesi og øl.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
Du ser i mine blå øjne og fortæller mig at jeg er typen.
Typen som folk forelsker sig i i juni måned for at aldrig se igen til august. Typen som fortæller en historie der efterlader folk med åbne munde og vandede øjne. Og som danser på vejen fordi at *** stoler på at bilerne stopper for hendes skyld. Typen som taler så tæt på en at man næsten burde kysse, men det er bare for at se ens øjenfarve i mørket. Typen som giver ærlige komplimenter om ens ansigt ud ad det blå og ikke forventer gengæld. Typen som man tænker over bagefter, men aldrig nok til at komme tilbage til. Typen som man kun kysser en gang.
Jeg lever og ånder for at forelske folk
Og hvor er det dog trist at være et tidsfordriv på et eller andet punkt.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Vi havde et godt efterår os to. I skyggen af træet gennem enden af sommeren, indtil blade af bronze faldt i hovedet på os. Små kys på mit ansigt mens jeg sov, som fik mig til at drømme hver nat imens du så på mine fregner og små lykkelige, lukkede øjenlåg. Men ungdoms kærlighed er vel lavet af plastik, og nu er plastikken brandt fast på kogepladen i mit køkken af aluminium, og jeg skal rydde det hele op. Og det eneste jeg laver nu er at spekulere på om det enten er for sent til at drikke kaffe eller for tidligt til at drikke mig fuld, og jeg er trist efter dig. Nu spiser jeg ude hele tiden, selvom det er sidst på måneden og de halvtredsere jeg har kan tælles på en hånd, fordi jeg er bange for at brænde mere på i køkkenet. Men en halv pakke smøger, et par hundrede kroner og en nuddelboks kunne jeg leve af, hvis du ville kysse mine fregner igen.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
Untitled
It's again open season
Yet there remains no vacancy
No rooms for rest
Salmon kite
Days of nostalgia
Free float
Pure trist
Illis quotes Amber
The fungus grows larger
A beast and a rifle to burden this momentum
Falling through a mother's pine
One thousand banes in the form of love
A mother's work is never done
Ninth dynamic
Four hours and this is forged again
Silver screams heard through golden temples
Dust settles, the bricks fall
A mile of bone penetrates the pyramid
Bringing new forma of energy
Satan's toothpick
And sharp fur for another
Ghost conductor entering messages
Down there, he eats in fits of a slothful rage
In fits of overdosed shrubbery
***** clocks
Each hollows and fades you
Advanced romance as strands won't return
Dirt searches for your face in the midnight hours
Artificial chains
Lead by burns
Idolatry commencement
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Prayers and wishes, are what get you through, healing souls, long or short talks, laughs, distractions, interactions, with new people, that you'll meet, and make you forget, but it slips in, you think, on accident, about something, and you know what it is, and you don't even let it get that far in your mind.
It's like the images are disappearing, the memories fading, and you are growing into a new human being that you never thought you'd be. But it's still the same old you. Just doing what you do, consistently. Writing in this blog, and typing poetic things about human beings that hurt feelings, and make things happy and joyous and so very blissful, trist filled, adventures, and late night writes because I couldn't help but stay awake at night, in excite.
Ah yes, the days that I miss, not really, I was so in bliss, now out, realize, that it's so hard to do that, those things, and enjoy so much, when the reality it brings is only suffering. Love lose live again and all that **** over and over, another fallen soldier, or a flower bloomed, planet spinning faster than before, volcanoes ready to explode, and all sorts of feelings inside, that I want to bring into the world, as the me who has been transformed by love.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
It's again open season
Yet there remains no vacancy
No rooms for rest
Salmon kite
Days of nostalgia
Free float
Pure trist
Illis quotes Amber
The fungus grows larger
A beast and a rifle to burden this momentum
Falling through a mother's pine
One thousand banes in the form of love
A mother's work is never done
Ninth dynamic
Four hours and this is forged again
Silver screams heard through golden temples
Dust settles, the bricks fall
A mile of bone penetrates the pyramid
Bringing new forms of energy
Satan's toothpick
And sharp fur for another
Ghost conductor entering messages
Down there, he eats in a fit of slothful rage
In fits of overdosed shrubbery
***** clocks
Each hollows and fades you
Advanced romance as strands won't return
Dirt searches for your face in the midnight hours
Artificial chains
Lead by burns
Idolatry commencement
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 5:27 PM UTC
løb gennem en dugvåd forstadshave ved daggry
smag sommerens frugter i et smil fra en fremmed
rør ved blonderne på en sårbar samtale, frynserne
luk øjnene; se verden
se den!
duft hyacinten i dine drømme og vågn med nye holdninger
læs en andens tanke, anerkendende
jeg er blevet gennemsigtig!
jeg er blevet nyttig
jeg tror snart verden bliver for meget
jeg støtter op om forår
jeg bliver trist om vinteren
jeg har lånt en bog på biblioteket med min mors lånerkort
jeg tænker selvstændigt (af og til)
tænd et stearinlys og se din egen negativitet brænde ned
tænd et håb, flamme i natten
smil med et melankolsk tilbageblik på dine mælketænder
lån en bog på biblioteket uden at læse den. uden dårlig samvittighed
livet går stærkt
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
den kolde luft river i mit ansigt
de farverige blade danser rundt om mine fødder som ildens stråler
jeg træder forkert, for jeg kan ikke danse i det tempo
har aldrig lært at danse to og to
jeg brænder mig
prøver desperat at slukke flammen
men den æder mig og min letantændelige krop op
jeg ender som det fineste sorte aske
efterårsvinden kommer susende forbi
og puster mig stille væk
så nu var det som om at jeg aldrig var faldet over
ildens lange ben og skubbet af den kolde luft
det var som om at jeg aldrig havde danset
det var som om mine dådyrøjne aldrig havde kigget i dine blå
det var som om at du aldrig havde forført mig mens de gule blade lå på jorden
og jeg kiggede op i luften og tænke
hvor er livet dog smukt
hvis bare jeg var ligesom efterår;
forførende men kold, smuk men trist
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
Han forlader mig, jeg ved det
Jeg mister ham en dag
Han er trist over mine handlinger
dem jeg ikke kan ændre
Han betyder alt, jeg betyder intet
Vi var glade for en tid. Lykkelige måske.
Han savner hende stadig
Som et spøgelse sidder *** i hans sind
og ødelægger alt
Han siger han elsker mig
Men han tænker for meget. Jeg tænker for lidt
Jeg føler skyld for os begge, og jeg er bange
Han er den eneste jeg har elsket. Den eneste jeg vil.
Han tror ikke mine ord. Tror de er tomme.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:54 AM UTC
De kigger på mig
Jeg ved det
For jeg ser alt
Jeg kan mærke deres blikke i min nakke
Jeg kan se dem iagttage mig i vinduets afspejling
Men når de ikke kigger på mig
Hvorfor kigger de så ikke på mig?
Er der noget galt med mig?
Mit hår er grimt i dag
Et glimt fra spejlet i morges, fortæller mig det
Det er nok det
Eller måske ser jeg tyk ud
Måske ser jeg trist ud
Kan de virkelig se, at jeg er trist?
Kan de se, at jeg længdes?
Længdes efter noget, jeg ikke burde længdes efter
For man ved
Man ved når noget har gjort ondt på en lille piges barneglade sjæl
Så kig dog på mig
Se mig
For jeg kan ikke se mig selv
Ikke lad mig forgå
For jeg sulter efter bekræftigelse
Jeg er afhængig af deres blikke
For jeg ved
Hvad de tænker
Når de kigger på mig
Men de kigger kun
De ser mig ikke
Blot en uransagelig facade
Men jeg forstår dem godt
For jeg forstår ikke mig selv
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 9:06 AM UTC
Tristă ne e povestea,
Și așa va fi pe veci,
Frântă-n valuri ne e calea,
În căutări de glasuri reci.
De uitare dătătoare
E tăcerea dintre noi,
O iubire trecătoare
Stinsă-n ceasuri fără ploi.
Se înalță norii-n vânt,
Peste tulburea mare
Poartă al nostru trist cânt
În cerul fără de hotare.
Jun 20, 2025
Jun 20, 2025 at 9:34 AM UTC
I think of you from time to time and of how I'd ask you to pass the wine, before our lips joined together as one, your dark to my light, ying and yang, intertwined.
I think of you lesser now, of only how your fuzz had felt, upon my chin and against my cheek, our hearts never had a chance to fully meet.
I think of you, a vague memory of what it felt like to be in lust, not in love but so passion consumed it swelled and bust.
I don't want to admit that I think of you now, because of how our trist fell out.
It was dark and gruesome and nothing like the butterflies that used to carry me off the ground, but instead a sludge that sunk my feet and pulled me deeper in over my crown.
You're a memory of grief buried deep, but out from the mud I have bloomed again, a flower for the moths to pollinate and spread my love to those who hate.
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 8:25 PM UTC
Thought about you again today, going over all the words I would like to have the chance to say
About how much you dearly mean to me, and of how sorry I am that my silence has pushed you away
though I know after it all you will just turn me down again, no matter how much I beg and plead, what’s done is done and no matter what I do it will never be as enough as it could have been that day..
It’s too late for this, we could have been that
but I ruined it and that is the fact
Now there’s nothing left to do but to move on or regret it all as the scene fades to black
The other day your name almost passed my lips, but I caught myself and shushed myself by zipping shut my mouth with my finger tips
Held back a tear I almost missed, because the feeling of you caused my heart to skip as if to trip
the last time we truly spoke I could tell all that was left of us was just a wisp, perhaps we could have built up from there, begin again but I’m not the type to take from another man what I wouldn’t want taken from my grip.
And so the only way to put it all is in trist
It’s too late for this, we could have been that
but I ruined it and that is the fact
Now there’s nothing left to do but to move on or regret it all as the scene fades to black
I don’t know what to say that I have not already put into words creatively from my head
though you deserve it all to be said everyday in everyway whether you read it or acknowledge verbally
You are you and that is why I try, yet I failed and in my fall someone else has prevailed and it hurts but for my fear that was the cost and so you dearie I have lost…
It’s too late for this, we could have been that
but I ruined it and that is the fact
Now there’s nothing left to do but to move on or regret it all as the scene fades to black
Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 7:00 PM UTC
Det gør mig så glad når en mand vælger at stå op kl afføring og tjene små skillinger, ved at spille 'fly me to the moon' og andre klassikere nede i metrogrotten.
En lille bid af lykkekagen fik jeg smagt. Jeg tyggede godt og længe. Og slugte den endelig.
En lille bid lykke fra morgenstunden, i en ellers trist og grå omgivelse
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
det er det grin
der giver mig glæde
det den åbnede besked uden svar
der gør mig allermest trist
det er det kram
der gør mig gladest
det er det kys
der gør mig mest afhænging
det er det smil
der sidder fast i mit hoved
det er de varme hænder
der er dem jeg savner mest
det er dig
der er den jeg vil have
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:00 PM UTC
Ripped, torn, misconstrued
ribbons, from hand to fist
rivals of the paste and glue
rhyme, prose, unholy trist
Wiles, words, and wisdom
worn, on body and on head
wishes for better systems
winding up, not dead
Driving, directing, an epiphany
determined thoughts, not always said
dynamic in your company
portents and bones, that Ive' read
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
er det ik lidt pinligt
er det ik lidt trist
er det ik lidt kedeligt
er det ikke lidt søvndyssende
er det ikke super nederen at være dig
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 3:50 PM UTC