Always Lost And Lost Always
Is the pen on fire?
Well, not exactly.
But it smoulders,
with ink for ash,
paper for fuel
and a fractured heart
to compass its movements.
© Paul Tristram 2004
Published in Poetry Cornwall, Number Nine, October 2004
She drew a circle in the sand.
Someone pointed and asked
“What does that mean?”
She stayed silent
staring at her circle in the sand.
Someone else chipped in
“Why don’t you answer,
we’d really like to know?”
She stayed silent
staring at her circle in the sand.
This got them argumentative,
how dare she sit there in silence
staring at that circle in the sand.
She was removed, taken safely away
from the circle in the sand
that they were destroying.
© Paul Tristram 2007
Published in Reach, Issue 113, July 2007
He sat on the embankment
throwing stones at a wooden lamppost,
someone phoned the police.
“What are you doing?” asked an officer.
He ignored him
carried on throwing stones at the wooden lamppost,
aiming for the upside down engraved writing
two foot from the floor.
“If you do not desist from what you are doing
we will have to arrest you.
You could have someone’s eye out!”
He sighed and stood up,
walked left away from them,
up the side of the bridge,
down the country lane
to the small granite church
where they were burying her.
© Paul Tristram 2006
Published in Reach, Issue 109, Jan / Feb 2007
Paul
Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches
published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo
porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.
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