Walking The Tightrope Of Middle Age
I was supposed to have died in my twenties,
I heard it predicted many times in my late teens.
Then after their unsuccessful attempt
at clairvoyancy fell completely on its arse
I would often hear from behind my back
“I’ll give him 5 more years at the most,
you can’t live like that and at that speed
without crashing into something horrible!”
that was somewhere in my late twenties.
By the time of my late thirties a lot of people
had run out of patience and decided that they
would like to help matters along and I really
enjoyed proving them wrong on that one too.
And here I am, middle aged and still smiling,
stronger, wiser and fitter than ever before.
My secret to overcoming adversity is simple:
I keep my nose out of other peoples business
and I am in competition with no one but myself.
I do not care one jot how good anyone else is
at anything that they do or what they achieve
I only care about how good I am at what I do
and I am only concerned with what I achieve.
It keeps each new day straight and true, always.
© Paul Tristram 2014
Council Crap
You see them on Benefits day
grouped in two’s or three’s
at the bus stop going into town.
Chain smoking cheap fags
and scolding their many toddlers
misbehaving and running circles
around their Adidas and Nike feet,
in street slang and broken English.
Dressed in shell-suits or leggings
with greasy, scraped back ponytails.
They talk loudly of the days adventures
of visiting their latest men in prison.
Always drinking Coke or Red Bull
through uneven messed-up teeth.
(This is Britain, dental care is free!)
They never smile for scowling’s cooler.
The odd Indian ink dot often seen
between the gold sovereign ringed fingers
also tattooed words like ‘Princess’
always makes me chuckle loudly.
I once witnessed one of them
slap a 4 year old and scream at him
“Your father ain’t coming to live with us!”
Then she turned to 3 other kids and said
“None of your fathers are living with us!”
Class, pure class, I shake my head always.
Just because you were born into shit
does not mean that you have to stay in it.
In fact it should give you more of a
strength and determination to get out of it.
© Paul Tristram 2014
The Night We Took Down A Police Station
It was a cold, wet Friday night in February
in the year of our Lord 1947.
The Rebellion against Tyranny started
20 minutes after pub closing time, of course
and by the time we emerged from the darkness
of the back lanes there were nigh on 55 of us.
All armed to the high teeth with vengeance,
alcohol, magic mushroom juice and a curious
assortment of domestic weapons and explosives.
We attacked the 4 sides simultaneously
after first sending ‘Drainpipe Monkeys’(climbing
cat burglars) up onto the roofs and ‘Sewer Rats’
(tunnel and cellar burglars) down below.
We took 33 captives with only minor injuries
to ourselves and left them chained, blindfolded
and naked to the now busted front gates.
Then blew apart the cells, stairs and rooftops
with stolen dynamite from Ystalyfera slate mine
after painting in large letters on the yard floor
‘No Welsh Arrests By English Constables’
with just found pillar-box red fire brigade paint.
As the explosions shook the mountains nicely
we dispersed into the surrounding woodlands,
meeting up later in ‘The Eagle’s Bush’ public house
down The Melyn for a pint or twelve and to catch
up on the gossip circulating the Valley that morning.
© Paul Tristram 2014
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography 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.
You can read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.
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