Saturday, June 8, 2013

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

Writing Down Words

The way it catapults
thoughts into feelings
whilst pausing everything
into freeze-frame
and once again pulls me
back into my solitary self.
Makes it impossible
to stop the thing
that constantly saves you.

The Bench

It is night time again.
The weight is taken.
There is nothing to do
but look at the stars,
the moon through
the park branches,
listen to the dripping
fountain and sense
the daisies waiting
for the nice afternoon
Blood, cider, piss
and hepatitis B
soaks in gushes
but doesn’t harm me.
Then the morning comes
rushing beautifully
like a peach orgasm.
The stinking weight
gets up and walks off.
Stretching sideways
I wait for something
better to happen.

Spiders Up And Down Her Spine

And so she sat there
blushing, awkward as an infant
as the embarrassment grows in me
not climbing
but actually building
a ladder to the stars.
All we needed was one word,
a simple thing of speech,
a voiced feeling
but it didn't come.
So I looked at her cheeks instead,
rosy as autumn apples,
fringe intertwining each other
in a dance of alabaster,
skin tight jeans
enveloping her legs
as her knees bobbed and weaved nervously.
I watched as the spiders ran up and down her spine
and sighed through desperate eyes
knowing she would never be mine.

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches 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.

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