…And On We Drift
With the mental carnage,
emotional destruction and renewal
and that bridge burning chaos
gladly far behind me.
Faith, Hope and Charity
contentedly at Life’s wheel.
Smiles have true depth and meaning now.
Happiness is not to be found
inside someone’s lap or a bottle
…it’s a way of thinking, a state of mind!
Look at those perfect blue skies up ahead,
I can barely remember those storm clouds now
and when I try it’s almost laughable nonsense.
I un-ruined my course through this strange life
and my future’s a-shining like a diamond
inside a beautiful dewdrop, at last.
© Paul Tristram 2014
Running Along The Logs Of Fern Canyon
Fast, nimble and happily kamikaze,
like a child again, as she watches
and shouts “Do be careful!”
But there is just no stopping me
as I angle sharp and curve
at breakneck speed, bounce, leap
and trampoline into and out of a puddle.
Casting two glorious arcs of rainwater
7ft high upon each side of me.
Bobbing and weaving my balance
just like I learnt as a child
upon the Mountainsides of Wales.
I startle some other visitors
by practically sky-running
past their shrieking heads and shoulders
from one log over to another.
Then turn in mid-flight
to head straight back to the start,
without stopping for breath,
for she still has my first Elk to show me.
© Paul Tristram 2014
The Night Everyone’s Eyes Changed Into Gaudi’s Windows
…and wave after ridiculous wave
crashed through me, repeatedly and rhythmically,
as I sauntered wobbly and giggly
through the crowded funfair stalls.
Spread out through the red-bricked flooring
of the pedestrianized streets of this Town.
Like a manic, regurgitated, magic trick
which had simply gone too far this time
and was right at the peak of spinning itself out.
Hiding my smile both unprofessionally and unsuccessfully
with a belly full of anarchy, beer, fungus and old copper pennies.
I could taste them all, shining brightly
and brilliantly fireworking away, inside.
As The Harlequin danced upon The Market rooftop,
pulling down priceless clouds into fingertip-shreds.
The Moon big and fat and mischievous
‘Pee-Bo’d’ widely a frown,
now that it’s silvery sight was unlatched, at last.
And everyone’s faces around me
melted into Barcelona windows
as I quickly changed direction, and side-streeted,
delicately, my way out of Changeling Danger.
© Paul Tristram 2015
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.
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