Sunday, May 17, 2015

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

The Motorway Kite

I looked out of the window of the prison bus
and saw a kestrel hovering above the grass verge
and bank at the side of the midday road.
It made my heart ache a little, he (I know it was a he
because he had a grey head and tail feathers)
looked stuck, like an invisible string was keeping
him from flying away like a children’s kite
in the park as he beat his wings, redundantly.
Or he was somehow nailed and chained in place
by some unseen hand of Natural Justice
just as I was shackled to this unforgiving seat.
But in reality I knew that he was just a-hunting
for a vole amongst the undergrowth for dinner.
I half smiled and thought to my daydreaming self
‘If I was you, mate, I’d forget that little rodent
and fly off that way over the fields and meadows
while you still have the chance and freedom to do so’
Then I was rudely awoken from my reverie
by the Screw up front shouting “We’re stopping
at Pucklechurch Prison for dinner in 30 minutes,
it’s mixed, there’s girls there, behave yourselves!”

© Paul Tristram 2015

My Little Flower From The Gower

She looks ten years younger
with each dazzling smile,
the glass is always more than half full
whenever she is around.
‘Being Cheerful’ is a quality
which you learn to admire more
with the passing of each taxing year.
Those arms and shoulders
were built for warmth and comfort.
Chestnut, almond eyes a honeypot
for the swarm of bees within my soul.
That Summertime dress,
naked feet splashing seawater,
the humming contentedness
and the happy glowing of a healing heart.

© Paul Tristram 2015

St Nectan’s Glen

We couldn’t get a taxi from Tintagel’s Fore Street
so I cheekily stuck out my thumb.
You laughed and scolded me for being silly,
you had never hitchhiked before.
A car stopped instantly and a dear old couple
drove us right up to the footpath
talking lively about kingfishers and admission prices.
We walked along the woodland path
with the Cornish May sunshine peek-a-booing
through the canopy of leaves.
I went into the stream and pulled free milky quartz
to sit with our sea urchins upon our kitchen windowsill.
I held your hand down the crooked steps,
worrying about you a little more than was needed.
Watched the Awe light up your face
as you soaked the energy in to the majestic sound
of that wonderful, crashing, feminine waterfall.
As the Old God’s swirled around our heads
and Ancient Pagan pathways came back to life,
you said a little prayer for loved ones passed over,
I rubbed cool water upon your 6 month pregnant belly.
When we arrived back at the road a bus pulled up
to our smiling amazement and you said happily
“We were meant to come here today, they’ve helped us!”
As we headed off down to the Castle
so you could be introduced to King Arthur and Merlin.

© Paul Tristram 2015

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.

Buy his book ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at
And also read his poems and stories here!


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