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)  http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096
 

‘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/

Winter Inside

There’s an angry river
within her twisted psyche
where brittle thought patterns
break and freezer burn.
An icicle instead of a heart,
North-westerly winds
ravine the empty trench
where a conscience should
FLOURISH!
Compassion is a sickness,
friendship a weakness.
Every Moral and Rule are Lies
layed down to subserviate,
break and cattle heard you.


© Paul Tristram 2016

Half A Minute Now

 

You come ‘round here tittle-tattling

with your guilty pointing fingers.
Casting stones and accusations
from the broken glass houses
of your own corrupt lives.
Your bedsheets are just as dirty
as the next persons.
You want something to gossip
and slander about?
Come here within clawing distance
I’ll have your sodding eyes out.
Mind your own business
and scuttle back
to where you slithered from.
Not one of you is innocent
or in any position to pass judgement.
She’s served her time
and is now back home
where she belongs.
If I have to call my ex-husband
you’ll rue the cowing day
that you found the strength
to crawl out of that abortion bucket.


© Paul Tristram 2016


They’ve Changed The Ironmonger’s In Town Into Another Funeral Parlour

(They’ll Be Importing Coffin Nails Next To Finally Bury This Dying Place!)

 

It was the Greengrocer’s first, see,

no more locally grown fresh fruit and veg,
you’ll have to walk to Lidl’s now.
Then the Banks started dropping off one by one
but the city centre’s only five mile away
and they have main branches down there.
There’s a terrible rumour about the Post Office,
that’ll be the heart gone, that will.
The top end Butcher’s is just hanging on
by the width of a sausage skin.
(They still call it the top end one
even though it’s the only one still there!)
You can really tell the economy in the area
is knackered when they stop serving
Sunday Roasts and introduce Happy Hour
in the Country Family Public Houses.
It’s sad to see the old place go to the dogs
but on the bright side they’ve opened
three more off licences, a Burger King
and soon we’ll have a second Cash Convertors.


© Paul Tristram 2016