The Girl on the Train : A Poem by Sardonicus

Introduced by Lasha Darkmoon

Dr John Sardonicus is a freelance writer with a doctorate in Philosophy. After the tragic death of his wife in mysterious circumstances, he relocated to Japan, where he now lives in a Zen monastery as a paying guest. ‘Sardonicus’ (a pen name) writes poetry as a hobby, avoiding publication in the firm belief  that his poems are worthless.

Sardonicus’s poem honestly gives me the creeps. He comes across as a weirdo—or rather his persona does. 

I wouldn’t like to be a girl sitting opposite this psychopath on a train.


Teenage Girl Reading on Train

THE  GIRL  ON  THE  TRAIN

by SARDONICUS

Golden girl on the train
I hope you’ve forgiven me
now that you know
I had good reason
to do what I did to you.

I’d hate you to think
I lacked motivation.
I did it because
you were irresistible,
and asking for it!

I did it because
of the blind rage
whipped up in me by
the wind and the rain
and the lonesome rooms

and the golden girls
with their beautiful eyes
in the ruined cities of summer;
like you, sweetheart,
on that train long ago.

I want you to know
only one thing now,
you who sleep so soundly
under the turf of Dartmoor
where the wind howls:
I tried my best
to walk in wisdom.

I tried my best
to do no wrong.
But I failed.

Accept these flowers,
my long-lost darling,
left on your grave
to mark my sorrow.

56 thoughts to “The Girl on the Train : A Poem by Sardonicus”

  1. The poem is good. Really good. Well worth publishing. Even though the guy who wrote it is obviously a nutcase. With psychopathic tendencies. I wouldn’t like to be a girl sitting opposite this creep on a train.

    1. The Girl in the Truck stop……
      A lonely truckstop in west Texas. An unusually mild night in early Winter. Wind rustling through the barren trees and desert brush. Bright night. Almost a full moon. In the very back of a dirt parking lot is a rig. Isolated from the others. All is quiet. No street lamps. Out of a dark corner walks a young girl. Mid to late teens. Long black hair unkept. Her hands shake. She has a need. Must feed the habit. Needs money….at any cost. Been a slow night. Not much business. She approaches the rig. Cautiously knocks on door. A few moments later door opens. A middle-aged man with gray beard smiles. Such a kind smile. Charming. Words are exchanged. Girl enters truck. Time passes. Minutes become hours. At some point deep in the night a man quenches the incredible thirst of his inner demons. Blood is spilt and a helpless soul rises into the starlit skies of Western Texas.

      PS
      Donaldo is a trucker. The narrative above in no way pertains to him. The point is that every year many prostitutes vanish from truckstop never to be seen again. Nor are truckers immune from the danger. Many are murdered in truckstops after letting their guard down and allowing “innocent” girls into their rigs only to be robbed and murdered sometimes with the help of outside accomplises.

  2. The poem by Sardonicus is obviously the product of a sick mind. I don’t like it. It gives me bad vibes. Sardonicus obviously needs locking up in a secure institution. And the key needs throwing away.

    1. MB –

      This poem is a wishful fantasy. Sard told us a few years ago that his wife ran off with another man!

      He elicits frustration that he could NOT do something about it while sitting with her on a trip on a train.

      He had his chance!! But…”Never More!!”

  3. “…avoiding publication in the firm belief that his poems are worthless.”

    Perceptive, at least. (I’m sure a few will disagree, but then I’m not convinced that the commentator who said “The poem is good. Really good” is in fact someone who appreciates real poetry, much less ‘edits’ it (?))…

    Just creepy lines broken into stanzas, quintets and a couple of septets.

    Here’s much better, shorter, (set to music even!) and considerably less creepy stuff from 1969 stoners: Girl With No Eyes/ It’s A Beautiful Day.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3VFWOtT7zA

    1. Sardonicus is worse than a bad poet, he is also a psychopath. As his poem reveals. He has shown himself here in his true colours. He has removed the mask and revealed the monster hidden underneath.

  4. Traveling on the Belarusian railway from Minsk to Kiev during the mid 90s an experiment took place. My Alpha Male traveling partner made a wager with me that he could sleep with every unescorted woman who ate in the dining car. After approaching 10 women they all said yes. But he never kept that appointment. It brings me to the conclusion that Sardonicus was a very homely man riding that train or else neither him or the lady would have been lonely. Statistics say that 80% of women want to sleep with only 20% of men.

    1. There’s alot of reasons why people feel lonely, Melvin. Even very good looking people can get lonely. There are homely people who are not lonely and there are very good looking people who are lonely.

  5. In _The Cloud of Unknowing_, written by a 14th century English monk, it is stated that the devil has a large single nostril in his nose, and if you look up into it you will see the fire of hell, which is the devil’s brain; and if you do this you will become insane. Maybe that’s what happened to the murderer in Sardonicus’ poem — he looked up the nose of the devil.

  6. It is possible that the poet met a Social Justice Warrior fembot on a train. Hence his murderous musings; letting his imagination run a riotous revenge; then plonking flowers on a defeated opponent.

    The poet is shaken from his daydreaming as the scowling, pink-haired Boudica gives him a look to shrivel his manhood, making a gesture with her fingers suggesting a pair of cutting scissors, then booting him in the chin with her Dr Martins…alright I’m getting a bit carried away there.

    Next time, Dr Sardonicus, just change seats, okay? Far easier solution than musing murder.

    1. It is the secret confession of a crime. He is confessing what he actually did to that girl he met on a train. It gives him relief to come clean at last under the anonymity of the internet. Truly disgusting. How I hate men. They are all potential killers.

      1. @ Madame Butterfly

        RE ‘SARDONICUS’

        I think you must have been drinking again. Lasha has known Sardonicus personally for almost twenty years and she gives him a clean bill of health. He was her art lecturer at the Academy of Art in Florence when Lasha was doing a summer course there in her student days. She tells me that Sardonicus is an upper class English gentleman with impeccable manners and a heart of gold. He wouldn’t harm a fly. The poem is an exercise in imagination, in macabre fiction, in exactly the same way as are the poems and short stories of Edgar Allen Poe and Roald Dahl.

        As for Sardonicus being a bad poet, that’s not true. He won three poetry competitions while a student at university and has had many offers of publication by reputable publisher friends of his who have seen his work and are willing to publish it. He is not interested, since he prefers painting and has made a living as a successful portrait painter. He even did a portrait of LD in Florence, age 21, and gave it to her as a gift when she returned to England after her summer course at the famous Italian Academy.

      2. @ Sister Monica

        Thank you, Sister Monica, for your kind comments. I am deeply touched. I’d like to assure everyone here that I have never had murderous fantasies about killing anyone on trains, male or female, and rather than swat a fly I make every attempt to shoo it out through my open window with the help of a paper fan or a rolled-up newspaper.

        The other day a bird with broken wings ended up in my section of the herb garden and I managed to get it to the local vet just in time to save its life. It now visits me sometimes in the early morning and sits on my shoulder for a minute or two, before disappearing among the green foliage of the over-arching trees.

        I have given him a name, this beautiful winged seraph: Zen Bird.

      3. Madame Butterfly…To me,you sound like a dedicated,man-hating lesbian with a bad attitude towards not only men,but life in general.

      4. It’s only an act, Doug. “Madame Butterfly” is just a persona. The Real Me is actually a very nice person! 🙂

  7. Sardonicus :

    How clever, what a clever way to reveal you’re THE ONE who bumped-off your wife without actually coming out and admitting it straight-forward. You put THE CLUE in poem form, ¡Brilliant! Why even Hercule Poirot would have trouble trying to figure out what your poem is all about, 😉.

    1. Aha; but this is, how you say, the obvious thought! Hercule Poirot would not be so pedestrian, you fake miscreant actor posing as a madman. Non. These are not the remorseful words of a penitent man; au contraire, they are the triumphalist sarcasms of the smiling murderer! The one who got away with this most appalling of crimes — the self-murder of a self-hating, transgendered man.

      He was not looking at a strange girl on the train! He was staring into the reflection on the window, and shamed by the monstrous cultural-marxist beast staring back at him. Qui, it is clear to me that this Dr Sardonicus killed himself; buried his body on the Moor and now celebrates his most heinous crime from the safety of a monastery. I Hercule Poirot will track down this damnable person and….

      …at this point, Hercule Poirot vanished in a puff of contradictions; Agatha Christi rolled in her grave; and I went for more coffee 😛

      1. Sad to think that the new “Poirot” on British TV sports a neat beard instead of a flamboyant moustache, talking in an Anglo-American accent because he doesn’t have the skill to do that inimitable Belgian accent for which David Suchet is so famous.

        Sad times indeed when some idiots are even insisting that the new James Bond should be a woman!

        Still, these are hardly problems of cosmic significance. We have more important things to worry about, don’t we?

      2. When I saw the image of Malkovich’s Poirot, I immediately thought he was emulating the style of Sigmund Freud. Methinks there is some sort of sneaky tribute being paid.

        I enjoyed Branagh’s recent stint, mais qui Suchet is the definitive Belgian pedant and detective. It is not cider — c’est Cider!

  8. As Twisted as sards “persona” comes across in the poem , he would struggle to think of the revengefull horrors that would be inflicted upon anyone who attacked my Daughter.
    Would such revengefull horror also be twisted and wrong?.
    My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

    What say you, Braggadocious?

    1. Bark,
      Yes. Quite a few times. Donaldo runs all 48 states. Utah is one of the most beautiful States along with Nevada. I love the desert of the Southwest.

  9. @ Flopot

    Your interpretation of Sardonicus’ poem, i.e., that the Golden Girl who was murdered was the self generated by the deviant sex drive known as autogynephilia, is the best interpretation offered in the comments, in my opinion.

    I tried to interpret it as seeing a deep evil in the world (the Jewish mind) with the result that even murder didn’t matter. But your interpretation makes better sense, I think.

    If I had “murdered” the Golden Girl in me, i.e., if I had put an end to my autogynephilic fantasies, would I have come to regret it? Well, I thought that allowing my Golden Girl to become real would result in superior powers of creativity. So yes, if I had left that opportunity behind I would have come to regret it.

    1. Doug —

      Unfortunately, I am not familiar with the 60s rock band called the Spirit. Why do you ask?

      I used to be quite keen in my youth (in the Swinging Sixties) on the music of the Beatles and the Incredible String Band. All these musicians were obviously under the influence of LSD, hence their appetite for Oriental mysticism. Any thoughts on this…?

      1. @ Sardonicus

        You asked if anyone had some thoughts about LSD.

        Yes, I do.

        In the year 1970 I had the so-called Enlightenment experience while I was high on a strong dose of LSD. For a year or more I had been reading from D. T. Suzuki’s “The Way of Zen” every day, and every day I’d been working on the puzzle “who thinks when I think?”. Then during this acid trip I fortunately had the satori experience in which I beheld the Buddha nature (which is something you see all the time but do not recognize).

        Let me add, LSD is very dangerous. It can cause insanity.

      2. Wow, Kendra! What you have just told me is truly mindblowing. And I’m not being facetious in using such a word. I’ve taken LSD myself (mostly in the 1960s) and I know that it is very dangerous indeed and can cause insanity. It didn’t make me mad, fortunately, but I firmly believe that it would have addled my brain for life if I’d gone on taking hundreds of trips.

        That happened to a friend of mine. He’s not mad, but it’s damaged certain parts of his hitherto remarkable brain, making him prose style incoherent and leaving him with a complete disregard for the basic rules of logic. His sanity is not in doubt, but he gets angry with you if you don’t agree with him, and the reason you can’t agree with him is that you know he is talking nonsense and waffle most of the time. Quite weird, really.

        My own experience of LSD, confined to 4-5 trips, left me in a mystical frame of mind in which I believed that “All is One” … and where I became very sympathetic to Oriental mysticism. However, I do believe that the less one relies on drugs for one’s insights the better. The great sages achieved enlightenment through intense meditation or contemplation, through austerity and asceticism. Artificial means to nirvana are to be deplored. No one ever became a sage by popping pills!

        LSD however can be a stepping stone to holiness if it nudges one in the right direction, forcing one to take up meditation.

      3. Here’s a thought or two as well, even as for some odd reason I feel as though I’m sticking my neck out here.
        Say what you will about Allen Ginsberg. I do.
        Nonetheless, he was highly intelligent.
        ————————————————————-
        Prabhupāda: No, no. I can talk with you whole night. (laughs)
        Allen Ginsberg: So he said that his teacher in India told him that LSD was a Christ of the Kali-yuga for Westerners.

        Prabhupāda: Hmm. So where is the salvation when there is…
        Allen Ginsberg: …that Kṛṣṇa had the humor to emerge as a pill.
        Prabhupāda: No, the thing is that any of these material forms…
        Allen Ginsberg: Yes?
        Prabhupāda: …then where it is salvation? It is illusion.

        Prabhupāda: Well, if you have got attachments for something material, then where is the cut-off attachment. LSD is a material chemical.
        Allen Ginsberg: Yeah.
        Prabhupāda: So if you have to take shelter of LSD then you take, I mean to say, help from the matters, so that is… How you can… How you are free from matter?
        —————————————————————–
        I myself ate LSD-25 and Orange Owsley
        (because inquiring minds want to know)
        and even though it took a few years I eventually realized it was little more than a triumph of hallucination over intelligence.

      4. An excellent comment, Homer. You are not “sticking out your neck” by making it. I am surprised to learn that the Jewish author of “Howl” was allowed into the august presence of Swami Prabhupāda.

      5. Sardonicus, as you know, Allen was a very big figure in the 60’s counter-culture movement. Very popular among the hippies, freaks and intelligentsia of the day.

        Srila Prabhupada never turned down a discussion with anyone who might be instrumental in spreading God consciousness.
        Completely nonsectarian, exactly like a certain someone else we all know and love..

  10. Can the reader as well as the writer miss the subconscious meaning of a poem? To TJ this poem is a metaphor of that undercurrent of hidden meaning. Let us break down Sardonicus’ words to possibly discover that meaning.
    THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN
    by SARDONICUS
    Golden girl on the train (The girl represents the “Golden” haired Women of Germany. The train is Western Civilization with Western men and women on board at odds with themselves).
    I hope you’ve forgiven me (I is the collective race of the West that seems hell bent on destroying itself always asking for forgiveness only to turn around and doing it again).
    now that you know
    I had good reason
    to do what I did to you. (The men of the West rationalize what they do to each other eg total war, mass rape of of the Golden girls and women of the losing side).

    I’d hate you to think
    I lacked motivation.
    I did it because
    you were irresistible,
    and asking for it! (Yes, beautiful Golden girls, you, who were NAZI were my, our, motivation and those of you who survived the fire bombing of your German and Japanese [the little Aryans of the East] cities were indeed irresistible to the murderous lusts of we. the victors).

    I (we) did it because
    of the blind rage
    whipped up in me by
    the wind and the rain (the winds bloviating from the the true psychopathic war lords of the West).
    and the lonesome rooms (away the restraining influence of our kith and kin).

    and the golden girls
    with their beautiful eyes
    in the ruined cities of summer; (the ruined cities from the fire and atom bombing of the summer of ’45. Read the rest with this meaning in mind).
    like you, sweetheart,
    on that train long ago.

    I want you to know
    only one thing now,
    you who sleep so soundly
    under the turf of Dartmoor
    where the wind howls:
    I tried my best
    to walk in wisdom.

    I tried my best
    to do no wrong.
    But I failed.

    Accept these flowers,
    my long-lost darling,

  11. @ HP

    What I saw for 3 or 4 hours was too beautiful to be an hallucination. Such perfect beauty cannot be imagined, and if you can’t imagine it you can’t hallucinate it. Moreover, I can see it whenever I want to (though not in full). If you know what you’re looking for you can see it whenever you look at a wall. This couldn’t be done in the case of an hallucination.

    What you see in the Enlightenment experience is something every person sees whenever he or she sees or is in the presence of anything. Thus everyone is enlightened. This might also apply to animals.

    I have just done a transcendental deduction of the possibility of the Enlightenment experience, based on Kant’s metaphysics. Lot of work. Took me a year. I did this in order to understand the essence of the Jewish mind; also to grasp essence of the White race-soul.

    As for Ginsberg, I never cared for him and I’m sure he never had the Enlightenment experience. Ginsberg was into denying the value of America, and Kerouac realized that.

    1. Well said, Kendra! A woman very dear to me, my own wife, had a mystical experience in the 1980s that was NOT the result of any drugs she had been taking. She was drug free. Yet not for a moment did I question the authenticity of her experience or tell her that she was “hallucinating” or just having “religious delusions”. It’s because I had lived with her for 15 years already and was to go on living with her for another 40 years in marital harmony.

      One summer morning, after emerging from a neighbour’s house where she had been looking after an old woman dying of cancer, she emerged into the daylight quite sober — no drinks, no drugs, nothing — when she was suddenly overwhelmed with a mystical rapture at the bright, shining beauty of the world which was permeated, she felt, by the Divine Essence. Everything about her was shining with a bright preternatural light, brighter than any light she had normally seen in the world, and the very leaves on the tress were sparkling with rainbow colours and pulsing and dancing. She felt in that moment a complete oneness with God.

      The thing is, this was not a momentary experience lasting a few minutes or even for the rest of the day, as it is with LSD and similar mind-enhancing drugs. Her “high” listed NINE months! I was there during the entire period, so I know. During these nine months she would frequently go into a trance in the Catholic church which we both attended. Even the nuns noted an aura of mystical holiness emanating from her and invited her to become a “catechist”, i.e. an officially appointed helper to induct converts into Christianity. She accepted this unpaid role. She offered to coach a brilliant young man who later become a Benedictine monk and went on to become a famous beekeeper working in the monastic gardens of a French monastery, a Father Lawrence.

      I was impressed by my wife’s experience precisely because of its time limitation of nine months, after which the “high” gradually diminished and she finally returned to normal consciousness. Her experience had left its mark on her. Nothing could later destroy or dent her burning conviction in the existence of God. My own lukewarm faith was quickened by my wife’s experience. I was in the presence of someone for nine months who went around with a radiant smile in the streets, astonishing everyone who was to be the recipient of her dazzling smiles. Truly, an angel from another universe! I have lost her now. She has gone the way of all flesh. But God, I am sure, has not forgotten her.

      We need to count our blessings. And my blessing, God’s gift to me, was to give me this angelic being as my life companion for so many decades. The young girl I married gradually because an old lady, and she was even more beautiful when she was old.

      1. Sardonicus, there’s a name for that wonderful and real transcendental enlightenment your wife experienced and even now undoubtedly lives.

        It’s called Bhakti

        “By practicing bhakti-yoga, one can directly perceive his advancement in spiritual life. In other practices — like karma-yoga, jñāna-yoga and dhyāna-yoga — one may not be confident about his progress, but in bhakti-yoga one can become directly aware of his progress in spiritual life, just as a person who eats can understand that his hunger is satisfied.”

      2. Did the woman with cancer have a husband or was there a “nice” man, saying the right words to her, in the house of this old woman with cancer? Was she already emotional when she vistited the neighbour’s house?

  12. @ Hp, what’s all this praising of the jew Ginsburg, seller of illusions? Quit lauding jews is this a jew wise website or not? It’s not that he has done something good for mankind. And if he was “intelligent”he should not have dealt with drugs. But as we know jews are the ones who are behind selling and promoting drugs.

    Don’t brainwash yourself, mind fuck yourself, with bull shit enlightenment as you enter the alpha state. You are just messing with your own head and become vulnerable for suggestions, ideas, myths of the jews.

    1. Mike, I didn’t praise Ginsberg, I simply pointed out the obvious. Though a Jew and a pervert he was highly intelligent, unlike yourself who comes off as an angry amateur sophist.

    2. I like Billy Joel. Go fuck yourself.

      Lee Camp pushes a lot of propagandist shit, like climate change, but he’s very funny. Go fuck yourself.

      I think Einstein was a kosher poster boy and probably a bit of a plagiarist but he had a vision. Fuck yourself, go.

      I think Woody Allen…well he can go fuck himself; but “Take the Money and Run” is still a funny film, I tell ya.

      My point is that we are saturated in Jewish culture (given that they currently rule the planet!) and you have to admit that some of it is good.

      Nora Ephron! Fantastic writer etc etc etc

  13. @ madame butterfly, your last‘ post’ convinced me
    that darkmoon is just another jewish site with many fake posters, probably one person with different roles. This site is a jewish honeytree.
    I leave your site as it leads to nothing exactly what the jews want.

    1. Mike –

      “This site is a jewish honeytree.”

      You got here by using the jewish highway… the www …. built by DARPA!!
      Soooo…. Try to find your way to another one without it. 🙂

    2. Bye, Mike! Take care. I don’t think you belong on this website. Too many intelligent people here, I guess, and you just don’t fit in.

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