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) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/
‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/
And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope
at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/
You can also read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.
“You’re Allowed To Speak Ill Of The Dead
Especially When You Helped Put Them There!”
Especially When You Helped Put Them There!”
She declared, silencing the tutting vicar sharply.
“Besides, I’m only saying
what everyone’s thinking anyway.
Gave that wife of his a dog’s life,
she’s only crying out of relief, poor cow.
Them kids are better off
without his stinking influence
(And I’m being kind with my words here!)
upon their little innocent lives.
He was no good to anyone
and everybody bloody knows it.
A Waster from his first breath,
a Menace as a child
and a Monster as an adult.
We’re all only here to gloat,
bury the bullying bastard
and have done with his crap once and for all.
Now somebody find that communion wine
crack a couple of bottles open
and let’s get on with our long earnt celebration!”
© Paul Tristram 2016
That Drunken Island Of Nonsense
I’ve spent decades there.
Only ever leaving
to row insanely back around it
with my trusty right oar of disaster
and argumentative left oar of mayhem.
Until blackout struck me down
time and time again
like The Tower Card
and found me deliriously sand crawling
its apathetic hungover beaches.
I was Pirate, Preacher, Madman and Fool
all rolled up into one
and Outlaw branded to the core.
Forgetting centuries
within the blink of a black eye,
I foraged blindly through
the morning’s wreckage
for a clarity beyond me.
Unworthy of the sun
I shrunk away nocturnal
and smiled with childlike wonder
and fascination
at the undoing and unravelling
of my once silver-lined mind.
© Paul Tristram 2016
The Life & Crimes Of Major Montgomery Four-Fingers
His offences seldom
went unnoticed
yet he was rarely punished
or forced to answer
for his heinous actions.
There was the odd wrist-slapping
when things got too out of hand
but when you’re born into privilege,
title and money
you can get away with murder,
quite literally.
He had a wicked streak inside
the width of Sodom,
was an applecart upsetter from a boy
and by adolescence was morally
despicable and repulsive.
Stealing from the poor,
humiliating his peers
and leaving suicidal lovers
sexually frustrated
were mere parlour tricks and foreplay
to the evenings twisted entertainment.
I’m afraid to say
he never had his comeuppance,
didn’t end his days
rotting in a prison cell,
dangling from a rope
nor neck-bouncing the guillotine.
Instead he simply boarded a ship
to the New World
and brothel-crawled his way
into exhaustion and extinction.
© Paul Tristram 2016
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