Wednesday, March 2, 2016

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 books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press)

‘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!

Mr. Nightly-Spite & The Furrow He Ploughs

It is Autumn in the Summerland,
‘How Peculiar’ squawks a ragged crow
squinting down and sideways.
As Mr. Nightly-Spite
wipes away a real ale moustache
with the only pair of panties
she left behind after the storm
that jigsawed wrongly the Seasons.
Lifting the worn and polished
oak and leather once more
to his workhorse shoulder.
He judders temporarily
until falling into steady rhythm.
Frowning through the slow minutes
which strike like ancient whiplashes
born again in mind.
He grinds and trenches
through the amber evening,
crushing memories underfoot.
Longing’s become too distant
to quite recollect?
It’s more a distant wishful toothache
which keeps him unsettled to the root.

© Paul Tristram 2016

It’s A Fucking Zoo Out There

He burst in through the expensive double doors
of The Baroness ‘I’m Alright, Jack’ Bar & Winery.
Crashing wincingly down onto his blood splattered,
rain soaked knees and exclaimed loudly
“It’s a fucking zoo out there!”
“Would you please mind your language, sir!”
ordered the Head of the unfriendly staff
as the ‘In Quite A State’ guy rose and approached the bar.
“Sorry, I’ve just been through hell, I’m not myself!”
he explained both confused and distracted.
“Could I have a double Jameson single malt…
in fact make it a triple and the use of a phone, please?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but you obviously didn’t read the sign
at the side of the outside door which states clearly
No Itinerants, Trainers or Dishevelled Appearances!”
“What? Wait a minute, you don’t understand?
You don’t know what I have just been through?”
“I suggest you walk out of the back exit
and follow the lane to the far end of the street
where you’ll find a public telephone kiosk
and there are also several Taverns down that way
which may be more to your taste and outlook, sir!”
“Doesn’t anyone want to know what’s happened to me?”
“Which way did you come… up King’s Street
or around by Pauper’s Place?” Asked a Suit
from the shadows over in Adulterer’s Corner.
“Pauper’s Place.” answered the guy crumbling inside.
“Fantastic! Thank God I didn’t park there tonight!”

© Paul Tristram 2016

Gate-Happy On A Felon’s Full Moon

Freedom is all encompassing,
it’s knitted into the very fabric of your soul,
you only really understand this
when it’s been snatched away.
Walking out of the Prison Gates tomorrow
will be like being born again.
Given a second chance…
to be smarter or fuck up once more?
Either outcome is unimportant right now…
it’s the chance that matters only.
I could be cruelly singing
“I’m going home on the morning train!”
at the top of my anticipating lungs
just like that twat did on the 3’s a month ago
but I’m just absorbing it instead.
I nearly got run over by a car the last time,
not used to roads anymore, see,
but it’s like stealing a bike… you wobble
a bit at first then soon find your stride.
The women, drugs and partying can wait
until the evening… I just want to walk
into an afternoon Public House,
drink something Welsh and play
The Animals ‘House Of The Rising Sun’
on the jukebox over and over again.

© Paul Tristram 2016

1 comment:

  1. Paul wears many suited ties and reshapes his world for us.Thank you.