Monday, June 1, 2015

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

Hell To Me Is You

But you now dwell in the past
whilst the blessed future smiles and bows
at me walking happily without you.
Yes, I am free from prison at long last.

© Paul Tristram 2014

Teenage Tombstones

Proud Fathers knees buckling under the strain,
once loving Mothers shipwrecked
with crucified souls ripped in half.
It is a long, hard decent down
from the psychotic cyclone of that news.
Where were the police, the army, the lifeboats?
Which Evil Bastard has stolen the Magic from the World?
And why was God and all the Angels
looking away on that ‘FUCKING’ Day?
To tend a patch of earth no bigger than a tea towel,
a prisoner to dead/fresh flowers.
Up and down that Hill come rain or shine.
The pat and feel of cold marble
has hollowed out my finger bones.
The degrading disgust and the volcanic anger
(I could smash someone in the face with a rock!)
The hurt, The misery and the aching
at my broken heart like cruel battering-rams.
Our Dead do not come back to Haunt us,
It is we who are the Ghosts here,
wandering the colourless, barren lands of forever grieving.

© Paul Tristram 2015

Ockham’s Razor Remained Sheathed That Entertaining Afternoon

A slight clairvoyancy is sometimes needed,
arm in arm with common sense
and intelligence never goes amiss, either.
Your promises and reassurances simply bloom
like Magician flowers before my eyes.
Every word slides like warm butter
through that friendly, sunshine smile.
I feel you anticipate an handshake
at each twitch my body makes.
I sit in silent admiration at your boldness,
cheek and self-confidence in your craft.
The stealth and subtle persuasion in the dance
of this one way conversation is almost perfect,
Oh, and the twinkling wink to finish off
just puts the tin hat upon the entire performance.
Yet, I know you to be a Liar of the Finest Order
so I’ll shake my head instead of nod
but thank you very much indeed for that theatrical,
peacock show of underhanded brilliance.
If you had a Beggar’s money box in front of you
I would certainly drop a copper penny in.

© 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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