Paul Tristram- Three Poems

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/

Memory Lane

Yesterday, I took a ‘Trip’ down memory lane,

I hallucinated until I came down.

Phew! I won’t be doing that again in a hurry.

© Paul Tristram 2010

A Bag Of Fruit & Nuts From Skewen’s Greengrocer

We tried mathematics,
astrology
and simple common sense,
trying to pinpoint
when the shift
would occur each time.
Yet, a surprize
wrapped up in a mystery
it remained.
Mamo would cage-pace
the kitchen floorboards,
eagle-eying
the lower bend in the road.
Watching for police,
criminals
or any other indication
of trouble or danger.
On rare occasions
her hard-earned wisdom
would be gratefully wrong.
We’d literally
feel the tension snap
from the living room.
Her voice would break
with happy emotion.
“Here comes your Old Man now,
just one bottle in his hand
and a big brown paper bag
of fruit & nuts in the other.
Sometimes he can be a sweetheart
just like Big Len,
your Grandfather, used to be an all!”


© Paul Tristram 2015

Jimmy

He was an old black and grey mongrel with scars
(A ‘Bitza’ my Father called him, ‘bits of everything’)
He would howl every evening to the 9 o’clock news.
Follow my Mamo to catch the bus into Neath
and sit waiting at that lonely bus stop
across from ‘The Travellers Well’ until she returned.
He was the Old Man’s dog but it was her who fed him
(What with all the prison sentences and alcoholism!)
That dog was as street smart as they come
and would wander the roads of Skewen like he owned them,
knew those back lanes like the backs of his paws.
My Nana often came back from the shops cursing
“That bloody Tristram dog’s followed me home again.
I couldn’t get rid of it, I tried shouting and throwing stones
but it just circled me like a lion, and when I came out
of Jeffries Stores ‘and you know me, I was in there
a good three quarters of an hour’ he was still waiting
and now he had a cowing gang with him, I swear,
there must have been five or six other dogs with him.
They all tailed me through the park, growling and barking
whenever anyone came near me, that animal’s too clever
for it’s own good, you can see it in its eyes, it just knows!”


© Paul Tristram 2015