Sunday, June 28, 2015

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

As Cheap As Resentment

is the place where she is now
destined to remain.

© Paul Tristram 2013

Chewing Granite

It’s that spark of magic, that energy.
The serotonin bursting within your brain,
adrenalin coursing through your veins.
That youthful spring bouncing your step
and laughing twinkle in your dancing eyes.
Dropping a beer bottle from your left hand
but catching it with your right hand in time
with the music, way before it hits the floor.
It’s not walking the line it’s swaggering it!
Feeling Friday night at 6am on a weekday
morning for 5 weeks in a continuous row.
It’s about the glancing curve of the moment,
Elegantly spitting out electric shrapnel
whilst kicking down the walls around you.
It’s chewing granite in roaring anticipation,
being bull’s-eye bound and storming through
with a nonchalant single shoulder shrug.

© Paul Tristram 2014

Tornado Blues (Written On Father’s Day!) 

I remember those Jim Beam nights
and Jack Daniel’s afternoons,
actually I don’t, what I really recall
is awaking to the bloody debris
and carnage of the morning afterwards.
Police cells mostly, hospitals sometimes,
often strange, demented women’s beds.
(One time, with broken ribs and nose
in an old bank safe at the bottom of a hill?)
It was like distilling Russian Roulette
and slamming it down in shot glasses.
As if I was psychotically participating,
for my Family’s honour and Country’s pride,
in ‘The Olympic Self Destruction Games’
Roll ‘em dice and don’t think twice.
I didn’t walk the edge of the knife blade
(That kind of malarkey’s for pussies!)
I slid up and down it, sideways.
Everything a red rag to a bull
with a distinction in dissatisfaction.
It’s a wonder that I am still sane
(Relatively speaking!)
and a miracle I’m still alive and well.
I’ll be 45 years old this coming Tuesday,
the exact same age that my ‘Old Man’
smashed on through to the other side.

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.

Buy his book ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at
And also read his poems and stories here!


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