Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

But It’s Just Broken Glass…Baby?

“Right, that’s it, I’m leaving!
I’m packing my shit and never coming back.
You are sleeping upside down
on the bottom 6 stairs
with your face in a pile of broken bottle and blood.
Where’s your new coat, eh?
You’ve only gone and lost your new coat again,
that’s the 3rd one this month.
I can’t cope, I swear, I give up!
Your shirt’s all ripped ‘round the collar
and it’s a Ben Sherman.
And who gave you that black-eye?
I bet you did it yourself again for a bet?
Or because you think you look beautiful with it?
Well, you don’t Mister, that might have worked 10 years ago
but now you just look like a bum.
Why can’t you just be like normal husband’s, I could weep?”

© Paul Tristram 2014

Total Eclipse Of The Head

“Jesus Christ, Sarge, is everything alright,
what’s that racket coming out of Cell 2?”

“Oh, it’s one of those Melyn Boys
off his head on valium and whisky,
he’s actually starting to calm down now.
He’s nuts, completely off his rocker,
when they turned up at his place earlier
to attend the reported disturbance.
He was seen two gardens away falling
backwards, naked, out of a 20ft fur tree
whilst singing ‘Oh bless your beautiful
hide wherever you may be’ from the film
Seven Brides For Seven Brothers.
He’s actually been arrested for drunk
and disorderly, threatening words and
behaviour, urinating in public and finally
assaulting a police dog with a dented
kitchen kettle which he was earlier seen
throwing upwards at tonight’s full moon.
We can’t wait for him to sober up enough
so we can interview him, it’ll be hysterical!”

© Paul Tristram 2014

Shoe People, No!

The Public Bars only had one and
three quarter hours left until Stop-Tap.
We had broken off from the rowdy
tribe of gypsies and miscreants
that we were travelling with
to spend sometime alone together
under the Magnificent blood red moon.
I wanted us to go to the sleepy hamlet
we had convoyed through this morning
on our way to site which was nearby.
It was a mile or so back down the road
and there was a giant oak tree there
in the middle of a field next to a woods
with a humpbacked bridge stream
just off to the side and a country pub
close by called ‘The Fox & Pheasant’.
“We could catch last orders there first?”
I declared with six pint enthusiasm.
But she shook her sweet, pretty head
let go of my diesel smelling sleeve
and declared with a playful frown
“No, Dear, it’s full of Shoe People!”
I laughed confused asking her to clarify
so she did with a roll of her half-cut eyes
“They’re the ordinary folk, you know.
The black & white people, the ones who
have lived there all of their lives people.
They don’t get the likes of you and I.
We’ll take a walk over to your oak tree
but we’ll get something cold to drink
from this good old city off-licence first!”

© Paul Tristram 2014

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.

You can read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/


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