Thursday, November 5, 2015

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

Revolving Ridicule 

…another full bottle
to help drink away the mess
created by yesterday’s empty bottle?

© Paul Tristram 2015

A Drunken Didikai

“But it’s my first arrest, Sarg?
 I caught him bang to rights,
in the middle of the actual brawl.
He assaulted me twice, before
PC Jobsworth intervened
and helped me take him down!”
“It’s for your own good, young man.
It’ll be nothing but paperwork
and court dates he won’t turn up for.
The charges are public order offences
which means fines or community work,
he won’t stick around for either.
He’s a Didikai, they only make court
if remanded for something serious.
Hold him in the Police Station
in one of the back cells for the full
3 days, don’t let him smoke or eat,
that’ll be punishment enough for fighting.
Then release the dirty, stinking bugger
you’ll never see him again, trust me!”

© Paul Tristram 2015

Ann The Farm

“She’s just crap with money is all it is, mun,
give her a pound and she’ll end up
owing some bugger two by the evening!”
my Mother used to say about her.
Always had Bailiff’s and the Provident
shouting and banging upon her door.
We found out fast, on a few occasions
that my ‘Old Man’ had been arrested again
because Ann The Farm was in the police cells
over debt when they dragged him in
kicking and screaming like a good ‘un.
She had three kids, all a year or two
older than me, always in jumble sale clothes
like everyone else, but dirty and scruffy as hell.
I remember the daughter being in my Aunty’s
halfway down the hill, drinking Babycham,
Strongbow and cans of Breaker lager.
Playing ‘Alphabet Names’ someone said
the letter ‘L’ and she shouted cleverly
“I know, Lizabeth…you know, like the Queen?”
She lived on the top left hand, dead-end corner
of the street and everyone used her garden
as a Public Footpath to get to Pope’s Off-Licence.
She never noticed, always had the curtains drawn,
hiding in the darkness or there’d be ashbags
full of dirty washing up against the windows
like a right old minger, no shame whatsoever.
I asked my ‘Old Girl’ why they called her ‘Farm’
because she never even had any pets like us?
“It’s short for Funny Farm, now get out of my sight
and stop asking so many stupid questions,
you want to know the ins and outs of a gnats arse,
I swear, you’ll get in trouble for it one day!”

© 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 a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope

You can also read his poems and stories here!

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