Saturday, December 6, 2014

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

When I Was A Lammergeyer

I would often glide for days
content in my wingspan solitude.
The pitch of my spirit tuned in
perfectly with that of the sky’s.
Out of the reach of the others,
I soar current levels way up high
as they squabble, bicker and fight
over meagre dustbowl scraps below.
Thoughtful in my aerial acrobatics
it is always only the bare bones
of the matter which interests me.
I smash right down to the marrow
of the situation, breaking everything
down to easily swallowable chunks.
Then off across the mountain range
making bearded shadowy patterns
below with the pulsing eternal Sun.

© Paul Tristram 2014

Silver And Turquoise

They are two
of his favourite
he has worked
with them
almost daily.
There is a
to their
magical mixture.
He applies
his focus
and shortly
a stillness births
within him,
from the
inside out.
The surplus
noise and chatter
inside his mind

as he
carves and chisels,
bends and twists,
then taps
and polishes gently.
His mind,
body and spirit
become one
and for
a little while.
He is free
from the
is strangling
the rest of us,
yet surely
each day.

© Paul Tristram 2014

The Beachcomber

Her thickly shawled,
tanned and wrinkled,
weather-beaten old face
squints sharply against
the salty north-westerly
breeze cutting low across
the late afternoon beach.
As she bends once more
to rummage fingerless
gloved, gnarly hands
through the previous
tide-line of driftwood,
old rope, seaweed
and other assorted debris.
This time finding gold
(More accurately Amber)
She picks up 3 beautiful
golden chunks and holds
each one up to the sky.
The biggest piece has
a mosquito in the middle
of its ancient resined self.
Laying next to these
are 2 small black bits
and 1 cloudy, milky white.
“I’ll take these others home
and drop them in warm
salty water and if they are
indeed amber they’ll float,
pebble and they’ll sink!”
She smiles pocketing the lot
and trudging onwards again.

© 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!

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