Sunday, December 14, 2014

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

“You Mean To Say That She Deliberately Sabotaged Her Own Face?”

“Quite simply, yes…she thought it would bring him back.
And it did but not out of pity or concern,
more of a sick curiosity, like he was being presented
with some kind of an award or trophy.
His face actually beamed with self importance
when he first set eyes upon the disfigured damage
and he smiled approvingly, patting her thrice
upon her bandaged shoulder with a patronizing ‘there, there’
I’ve seen people commit the most depraved, insane acts
under the banner of unrequited love but this one takes the biscuit.
She is completely unrecognizable apart from her sweet voice
-and you remember how much she loved singing-
but the final horror of it all is that she has now started
to sound less and less like her own self day by day, God help her!”

© Paul Tristram 2014

Dr. Fuckfingers

Wiped the smirk from his cringing mouth,
counted up to ‘ten’ for composure,
after stopping to laugh insanely at ‘five’
for three and a half minutes, silently,
by biting or rather gnawing upon
the left forearm of his white surgical coat,
whilst stamping his right brown comfortable shoe
up and down in a crazed pumping motion.
Until the giddy, euphoric, ecstatic, manic episode
passed and he slid down the wall and onto the floor
in sadness and tears as his mood crashed
completely through the ground around him.
After fleetingly entertaining suicidal thoughts
and only self harming slightly twice,
he finally managed to calm himself with a slap
that his own Mother would have been proud of.
Then after mumbling ‘The Serenity Prayer’ once
whilst swallowing down four Dexedrine,
he practiced his voice back to normal,
put in place his ordinary, everyday face
and exited the sanctuary of the broom cupboard
bandying about himself nonchalantly
brave and heroic tales of closet spider killing.

© Paul Tristram 2014

Winchisel Nut

“And that’s how I killed her,
with a ‘Winchisel Nut’
it took years and years
of twisting it slowly.
My work of art, with dedication,
craftsmanship and perseverance.
Grinding the very life out of her
before everyone’s unsuspecting eyes.
I listened to them trying to find
explanations and remedies for it
in the medical and spiritual world,
everything from ‘chakra blockage’
‘childhood abandonment issues’
to ‘going through the change’
diet and post natal depression.
I just sat there silent, shaking my head
unhelpfully and playing stupid.
All the while my murderous fingers
turning and squeezing out her essence.
I threw it away a day after the funeral,
no good anymore, you see, it only works
on one person and then becomes useless!”

“But there’s no such thing as a damned
‘Winchisel Nut’ I’ve asked everyone
I know and I’ve even Googled it?”

“Aye, that’s what the Police said and all,
that’s why I’m able to walk around free
spending her life savings on fast cars,
roulette, cocaine and young hookers!”

© 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!

No comments:

Post a Comment