Tristan Robert Lange

Poet | Mystic | Existential Voice | Human with a haunted halo

Tristan Robert Lange is a poet whose work blends existential depth, gothic imagery, and spiritual subtext. This site is home to their published poems, reflections, and creative journey.

Devilishly Dreadful: Eight Pound

Sepia-black Victorian penny-dreadful engraving. A sinister man in a tall hat leans toward a terrified gagged man bound tightly to a chair with rope. An oil lamp, anatomical jars, coins, and a poster advertising “GOOD SUBJECTS SUPPLIED NIGHTLY. £8 EACH. FRESH. SOUND. DEAD. NO QUESTIONS ASKED.” fill the room. A dark city and clock tower appear outside. Tittu signature, tristanrobertlange.com, and TRL monogram appear along the bottom.
Image: AI-generated using DALL-E and modified by the author; Poetry: written by Tristan Robert Lange, Human-authored.

The official audio production of Eight Pound, Part One of Devilishly Dreadful: Crime, Corruption & Dark Detectives

Shhh—don’t you make a single little sound—
You, my dear friend, will hear how this went down.

You may not want to go a single round,
But you, kind sir, will know how this went down.

I was his…um…partner—his solid ground—
That is how it all started going down.

Stop rolling around like you are a hound—
You need to listen to how it went down.

Hare’s the name—you know!—which is why you’re bound;
You’re here now—hearing how it all went down.

A guy died—poor bloke—laid there like a mound—
What to do we asked that night it went down.

It came quick—the thought to pawn him around—
Brought him to Knox…that’s how it all went down.

Eight quid each, we realized more could be found—
Bodies that is—it’s how it all went down.

Stop it—piggy—don’t make a bloody sound;
I’m gonna demonstrate how this went down!

See, Burke—my partner—the sharpest around
Picked out the weakest ones and they went down.

I held them, see, blocked their mouth, nose—no sound;
Like this here, you pasty bloke, it went down.

Takes awhile—you’ll see—have to keep them bound
Till there is no sound and their lights went down.

Nope, not quite time for you to be gravebound—
One more thing to say ‘bout how it went down—

Sixteen people, Burked like this for eight pound,
Every stinking night a murder went down.

Let me sit, place my weight here—your chest mound—
Now you will feel how it really went down.

They caught—hung—Burkey, no grave in the ground;
Sold him out—public dissection went down.

This is it—getting dark—hear one more sound.
I sold out Burke; immunity went down.

Before you fade, hear—my scheme is sound—
You’re the next one to help me get eight pound.

POET’S NOTE:
This is the first part of Season 2 in my series, Devilishly Dreadful.

For Macabre Monday. Written as a ghazal and Inspired by the infamous crimes of Burke and Hare, this poem reimagines their legacy through a dark dramatic monologue of violence, betrayal, and the terrible price once placed on the human body.

© 2026 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.

Tristan Robert Lange's handwritten signature: Tittu.

Listen: “Eight Pound”—Live at Fergie’s Pub, September 2, 2026


The series continues next Monday with:

The Secrets of Washington

Vintage sepia-and-black penny-dreadful cover for Devilishly Dreadful. A Victorian city skyline sits beneath a swirling night sky, with a gaslamp and shadowed detective figure above. Below, a dark alley shows a distant lone figure, a discarded top hat, and a gloved hand holding a knife. Text reads “DEVILISHLY DREADFUL” and “A SECOND SEASON OF GOTHIC DREAD.”
Image: AI-generated using DALL-E and modified by the author; Poetry: written by Tristan Robert Lange, Human-authored.

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