Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

From Badness To Madness To Sadness

Why don’t you slam that stubborn head
against Karma’s unrelenting granite wall
for another decade or so, boy?
I know which one my money’s on breaking first!

© Paul Tristram 2015

The Drainpipe Monkey

“Well, you’re going home on the morning train,
you lucky Bastard, I wish it was me,
so, you going to go ‘Straight’ this time?”

”Oh, I don’t know, I mean I’d like to say yes,
I’m getting sick of watching my son grow up
via letters, photos and prison visiting rooms.
But I’ve got this flaw inside me, man,
it’s like a gambling addiction,
I’ve taken every drug there is to take
but nothing feels like walking down strange
hallways at night with people sleeping all around you.
I don’t know if it’s a power thing?
But it’s certainly not perverted at all,
I only like looking at their faces
and then only to check that I’m still in control
of the playing game, completely.
I even do it for the buzz sometimes
and not just the money.
I’ve gotten drunk and blacked out
and awoke sitting cross-legged on an ottoman
at the bottom of someone’s snoring bed.
There’s not a Drainpipe Monkey’s Anonymous,
so I guess I’m left to my own devices,
some people were born to be bricklayers
maybe I was just born to be ‘A Creeper’?
I even thought about getting a normal job once,
fitting burglar alarms but before I even go there
I know that they work the wrong hours of the day!”

© Paul Tristram 2015

Cynach Y Bant Heddlu

The kids upon the flyover side of the street
started squealing and banging and kicking
loudly the metal strategically placed dustbins.
My Old Man heard them first and threw
the drugs and three rolls of money over to Jimmy
the lodger who stuffed them into his wooden leg.
My Cousin jumped under the bottom slashed sofa
and I ended up with my back up against the backdoor
standing next to my Uncle who said in an agitated voice
“I don’t know why I’m running, I only got out
of Prison yesterday, I ain’t done nowt wrong yet?”
I laughed silently as the front door came off its hinges
on the other side of the house and my Grandmother
screamed above the angry voices “Over my dead body!”
Hearing heavy footfall on the back pathway,
I boltholed out of the side kitchen window,
across three gardens and then sprinted along
the terraced dividing wall, winking at Debbie Dunker
through the red lighted window of No. 33.
There were thieves, hooligans, prowlers, adulterers
and all other manner of villainous folk out that night.
Involving themselves in the back lane circus shenanigans
after window, rooftop and drainpipe climbing
each to his own and evading the wrath of Blue Lights.

© 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 http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326241036
And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope
at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1326415204

You can also read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/

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