Paul Tristram- Three Poems

That’s An Expensive Looking Mirror You’ve Got There, Girl!

There are even rolled-up £50 notes
falling off of it
and your Tweaking lap
as you wipe and tidy up
your sweet powder-room nose.

© Paul Tristram 2014

The Ruins Are Bewildered

As the mildew runs between my toes and fingers
the dust settles within the cracks of my soul.
The anger and hurt and high emotion
have gone, they just vanished one day.
Leaving behind a vast barren desolation.
There is an emptiness to ponder over
of such a size that I actually get vertigo
just thinking about it.
Tell me, where did all of these seconds,
minutes, hours and days come from?
Are you sure that I have not been handed
someone else’s share along with my own?
There is still a lot left to be said
but absolutely nothing to be done.
Head and heart no longer fight bitterly
but instead think up new contradictions together.
I have just invented another season
in between Winter and Springtime.
Where I now sit upon a throne
made up of bones from the past
wielded together with the thoughts
of what might have been’s and never will be’s.

© Paul Tristram 2014

I Swear I’m Gonna Head-Butt The Floor In Front Of Me!

He was stood the wrong way around
in one of those new door less phone boxes,
right next to the main bus station
in the middle of the city on a busy afternoon
a week or so before ‘Thanksgiving’
She was stood a foot or two away
pointing a nicotine-stained accusing finger
and screaming sharp, vile and angry words
into his red, embarrassed cow-like face.
Both in their mid fifties and not wearing it well,
she looked like she’d had her last bath
back at the beginning of last month
whilst he really didn’t seem quite as bothered.
Both in sweatpants and nylon anoraks
and each carrying an opened 2litre bottle of Coke.
I chuckled as we passed and she turned
her eyes of fiery knives and fury upon me,
opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it
and instead started licking her bottom lip and chin
in a contemplative and serious manner.
He looked at me and smiled stupidly,
then she lunged, grabbing the phone from his hand
and twating him upside the head with a crack.
He yelped and starting to harmonize her yelling,
then forcefully pushed her with both hands
into her chest and over she toppled with a thud
like an overweight drunken sailor.
Rolling around like an upturned turtle,
waving her arms and legs around like windmills.
“One more word out of you, woman and I swear
I’m gonna head-butt the floor in front of me,
you vicious lunatic!” he warned timidly.
Off he went that way while we went off this way,
leaving her to find her feet and bearings
and to right and adjust herself accordingly,

© 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.co.uk/