Saturday, March 1, 2014

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

She Told Me That Skulls & Cross Bones Don’t Work Anymore

She told me that
skulls & cross bones don't work anymore
 and that hiding in visions is wrong.
 That each step we take becomes a mile
 and everyone turns on you in the end,
 like a viper biting away its past.
 There is no heaven when you're homeless,
 there ain't no love when you're alone,
 there's only that quiet emptiness that kills people
 and tears apart what's left of your soul.
 the end.

© Paul Tristram 2012

Published in Inclement (Poetry For The Modern Soul) Summer 2012

The Trout Of Ponty’s Bistro

It was Valentine day’s evening
when they got him.
They came in team-handed
through the front doors
and the back kitchen.
The romantic atmosphere
dissolved and seemed
ridiculous in seconds.
It was no fault of the customers,
yet the dining couples
looked table length
at each other,
over the tops of the red roses,
in embarrassment.
They found it in the fish.
3 kilos of heroin
in 1 ounce parcels.
They remanded him in Swansea
until the court case,
then they put him in Cardiff
and finally in Dartmoor.
the Bistro’s now a chip shop
where last Valentine’s day
we got ourselves two portions
of cod in batter, chips
and two cans of soft drinks
for £6.00.

(It took a Frenchman to write ‘The Count Of Monte Cristo
But it took this Welshman to write ‘The Trout Of Ponty’s Bistro.’)

© Paul Tristram 2005

Published in Pulsar, Edition 42, June 2005

The Mad Monk Of Neath Abbey

“Hello, this is the Samaritans,
could you please give me your name,
at least your christian name,
so I can have something to call you by?”

“I am the Mad Monk of Neath Abbey
and I have been dead for 200 years.”

“Really, could you tell me the name
and surgery of your CPN, please?”

“Look, I just want to talk,
my job is boring, I can’t seem to
frighten anyone anymore.
People don’t seem to see me
and if they do, they let off
rape alarms in my face.
The grave I guard has a
flyer stuck on it.”

“Are you on any medication, sir
and are you contemplating
abusing your medication?”

“Medication is probably
a big part of my problem.
I mean everybody’s taking it.
They are accustomed to seeing
far more scary things than me.

As for the youngsters
dressed as Punks and Goths
they intimidate me,
I don’t stand a chance.”

“You are obviously feeling very confused
and fragile, would you like the number
of a duty CPN,
there are 2 working tonight?”

“I still have 300 years left
of walking the same ground,
I think I am losing my mind?”

“If you will not let me
help you sir, then there
is nothing I can do for you.
I suggest you phone your
doctor’s surgery tomorrow
morning just before 9am
to book an appointment.
I have other callers waiting,

“Jesus Christ!”

© Paul Tristram 2006

Published in Boy’s Own Rocket Science, 2010

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.

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