Posts Tagged ‘Paul Tristram’

Time Terror Spent

 

Sometimes you need to stop drinking

not just because of physical pain and discomfort

but because of ‘The Horrors!’

When you awaken to the guilty afternoon sun

terrified and waiting for them to burst in

through the doors and windows team-handed.

Even though you really know

that you haven’t spoke to

or seen anyone for over a week,

never mind done anything wrong.

You’ve just been home drinking by yourself

writing poetry and listening to music.

Yet, it’s there with an executioner’s

gloved finger pointing at you

each time that you slowly awake.

You belch and think it’s a coming heart attack.

You worry and over analyze whilst drinking

your first, second and third beers.

It’s not just a hair of the dog that bit you

It’s a build up of the thing

that’s going to later fuck with you some more.

It can take a week to feel right again, sometimes 

but you’ve got to jump off that merry-go-round

and rest more as you go along now.

For you are entering far darker territory

each time you pick up the bottle and travel.

 

© Paul Tristram 2013

He Said, Sideways, Twice

 

Buttermilk strangers alone in a world of Autumn

caressing the pavement with uneasy stares,

facing the day sideways and aware

of the death within us all.

It’s colour (I’m British) is burgundy

and it laps gently against our tongues

as we try not to speak in rhythms

of anything but passion.

We fail sometimes but fucking hell, we try

and alone I master it: see them fail and pounce,

this world is a background only, I am the magician.

I weave and disappear at will

un-caged and un- harnessed

I am the North side!

you are not alone.

 

© Paul Tristram 2011

 

 

 

Electricity

 

We were having another argument and it was a right fucking beauty!

The last one was so bad that I had taken the house phone out into the back

garden and thrown it into the top pond, then I had grabbed my mobile phone,

taken it out onto the road at the front of the house and thrown it, watching it first

bounce and then shatter into smithereens, whilst thinking to myself

‘That’s £300 I’ve just trashed in less than a minute!’

Then walking back inside the house I proceeded to cut off the plugs to the

computer cables, rendering her vicious emails useless.

But this time (with new phone to my ear!) I was giving it some wellie,

screaming down the phone at her, verbally slicing and tearing back.

This was now my 3rd house phone that I was on and I was not intending to be

buying a fourth one.                                                                 

The arguing intensified to a crescendo where I was now a screaming lunatic,

completely

 

“Fuck you Bitch, you Cunt, you Dirty, Stinking, Filthy Fucking Piece of Whore Shit!”

 

Boom, 3 light bulbs popped above my head, followed by 4 in the kitchen

ping, ping, ping, ping and then the trip switch went for the entire house.

 

Just after I had put the trip switch back on and I am looking for spare bulbs (which

I didn’t have!) she calls me back, only this time the ‘Cunt’ word has made her flip

she is now a neurotic banshee straight outta Hell and she goes for my jugular.

I retaliate, snapping straight into temper, where I thrust and parry with the force

of an amphetamine-crazed wrecking ball (hey, that’s how I roll!)

Whilst walking through my kitchen I see through the glass oven door of the cooker

a blue flashing light and hear a bang! Jesus, that’s my oven ruined now.

I actually find out a few days later that my washing machine has gone too, blown.

I proceed to then drink myself into unconsciousness, after unplugging the phone

and I awake on the settee  at dawn by the dog whining to go out, I let her out in the

back garden and see 8 of my koi fish floating on top of the water.

‘Fuck it!’ I think to myself I’ll deal with them later.

The last time I split up with a girl I blew a water pipe in the bedroom behind my

wardrobe and soaked all my fucking clothes and gear but it had never effected shit

in the garden before.

I opened a can of beer and the curtains at the front of the house and watched an

ambulance pulling out from the old peoples bungalows opposite, this sometimes

happens but this morning by the time I’d drank 5 cans 2 ambulances have been

and gone.

Not too long later she calls me and says

 

“Baby, I love you, please let’s not fight!”

 

I tell her about the fish and the old people and she says

 

“OMG, that’s terrible, I’ll come around later with some new bulbs and look at the

cooker for you, It sounds like the element, I can fix that if we buy a replacement

part, don’t worry.

But baby, we’ve got to stop fighting, you’re fucking killing fish and old people

now, I bet they had pace-makers fitted, Jesus, I’m glad you don’t use an electric

blanket.

I’ll be over soon, don’t touch the kettle, keep drinking beer until I get there baby!”

 

© Paul Tristram 2013

Peter Rabbit Deals Drugs

 

I have seen it with my own eyes.

He’s selling crack to schoolgirls

pimping on the Union Street side of town.

Branded with prison tattoos

and wearing his gang colours.

It was him and his boys who tazered

those bouncers last weekend.

They found a severed female hand

in the gutter 2 doors away

from where he lived a month ago

but they couldn’t make a connection.

This is what happens when fairytales

become too unreal and unbelievable.

They metamorphosis into something

darker or get left behind and laughed at.

Nowadays our children reject them

in favour of killing things

upon a computer screen.

Training themselves up for adulthood

whilst Peter Rabbit and the rest

of the ‘Now Dark Fairytale Crew’

await on dimly lit corners

to poach their adolescent souls away.

 

© Paul Tristram 2012

 

Lead-Free Personality

 

Nothing seems to bring her down, ever!

She just skips down the street.

It’s a Doris Day world which she inhabits

glorious sunshine or rain showers

to dance in.

I’ve never heard anyone whistle so much

in all my life?

You need sunglasses just to look at her

with that beaming smile

and dressed up in Summer colours

even in the middle of Winter.

It’s enough to make you sick!

I would tell her

but she would probably just give me a hug.

I’m sure I saw songbirds

helping her peg out washing

at 6am this morning

unless I was having one of my turns, again?

Life just is not fair

Why does she have to be my neighbour?

Sometimes I could punch her right in the fucking face!

 

© Paul Tristram 2012

Zero Tolerance

I even feel like sticking an axe

in your fucking shadow.

Everything about you annoys me, now.

I don’t know how it got like this but it did?

Fairytales are for children.

Tolerance is for parents

and real life is for grown-ups.

Just leave and go away

before I say something that really hurts you!

 

© Paul Tristram 2013

 

 

Vicious Valentine

 

 

“Well, why do you put up with her?”

 

“I know she can be a handful

but I’ve seen her nice side

the part of her no one gets to see,

she’s just vulnerable is all!”

 

“Vulnerable, she wasn’t vulnerable

when she broke your nose

and gave you that black-eye, was she.

She’s slept with half of Cardiff

and not the good half either.

How many times has she stolen your wallet?

It’s got to be well over a dozen times by now.

She threw a vodka bottle at the framed photo

of your 3 kids on the living room wall.

She’s had you arrested seven times.

Stole your mother’s shopping from the taxi rank

and sold it in the pub to your aunty.

All of her ex’s are junkies or insane or both.

She glassed your sister in the face, twice!

Took the ‘Welsh Lovespoon’ that you gave her                              

in ‘The Angel’ pub last Valentine’s day night

outside and threw it in the gutter, squatted down

and pissed all over the fucking thing

in front of everyone you know, mun.

Oh, and she bit your fucking dog?”

 

“But I love her, you know?”

 

“Yeah, and I love Pernod

but I realized that it was no good for me

and that I had to stop drinking it at age 21,

you know?”

 

“Ok, point taken, for fuck sake!”

 

© Paul Tristram 2013

 

 

You Took The Back Tyre Off The Welsh Love Spoon

 

 

You took the back tyre off the Welsh Love Spoon,

Luckily the drugs were in the dog

And the dog was really fast.

We shall always buy whippet from now on,

My bruises will heal

But long may the dog live on.

                        (We can’t catch the cunt!)

 

 

© Paul Tristram 2010

Get Out Of My Tarot Readings, Bitch!

Jesus Christ, I thought dumping

your ass would be enough.

But Oh No, you’re still everywhere.

Stalking my karma,

Guilting my mornings,

Ghosting my nights

and generally kurbashing

my sanity and peace of mind.

I think I am going to need a priest,

if not to exorcise you

then so I can punch him

to relieve some of this fucking stress!

I haven’t a clue what I’m doing anymore?

I paid £20 last night for a clairvoyant

to sit opposite me with smug smile

on her magical and mysterious face and say

 

“She’s not gone yet, you know!”

 

“That’s it, I’m emigrating,

Going Back to Prison,

Changing my fucking name,

It’s time that I put my foot down

with a firm hand!”

 

I yelled, walking home

with your shadow mocking me

from behind.

 

© Paul Tristram 2013

 

 

Vegas One Time

She lucks the lights

and pulls onto Flamingo

as I finger the Black Derby

upside down in my lap.

I have bought 13 hats in 14 days,

this is my new favourite.

She deals with the concierge, again

while I turn away

and let the first few lines of a new poem

lap dance me softly.

Up to the 9th floor then

where she runs the tub for us

as I undress by the window

watching a small aeroplane

fly low over the early evening

of Las Vegas.

I notice the sand from the Mojave Desert

upon her feet

as I slide around her into the water.

Hitting the jets, I sit back with a sigh

as the hot water pumps around me,

going in and out of my tattooed fingers

and through my porcelain white toes.

She presses play upon the ipod

and the ‘Stereophonics’

‘The Bartender And The Thief’

comes on nice and loudly.

With a freshly opened bottle of claret

she steps in besides me with a smile.

“We did it baby, we did it!” she sighs

holding her hand next to mine,

letting our wedding rings

dance together

like little beautiful, sparkling miracles.

 

© Paul Tristram 2012

“There’s Nothing Like A Nice Piece Of Hickory!”

 

“I’m off to the gas station for some cigarettes,

can I get you anything?”

 

“Yeah, get me three 6 packs

and two tyre knockers!”

 

“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong now

and why do you need two of them?”

 

“I’ve got two hands haven’t I?”

 

“Shall I call and book your jail cell while I’m at it?”

 

“You’re funny!”

 

“Well, one of us has to be, for fuck sake!”

© Paul Tristram 2012

 

 

When The World Fucks You Off, Fuck It Off Back

 

Sometimes you need to get away

find a quiet place externally and internally.

Let the buzzing of the modern age

slowly fade from consciousness.

A little safe place somewhere

some self indulging solitude.

A time of re-charging batteries

of drifting and floating.

A break from the games and competitions.

No other goal right now

than chilling right out.

It will all still be there waiting

the madness and bullshit

just relax for awhile and turn out the light.

© Paul Tristram 2012

She Held A Broken Bottle Up To My Face

 

And I kissed her hand

twice

thought of her

in her school uniform,

the nights we held hands

in Neath fair.

She was only ticklish

under one foot

but she smiled

like springtime

sun surfing

off the Tennant Canal .

She did not cut me

but I did her

with my sharp goodbye.

 

© Paul Tristram 2011

 

What Poetry’s Done For Humanity And The Environment?

Before the use

of computers

and the internet

it contributed largely

to the felling of trees.

It makes people feel happy

when they’re already happy,

It makes people feel sad

when they’re already sad

and sometimes the opposite

way around.

It lusts after women,

soaks itself in alcohol,

glorifies in graffiti

and sheds its skin

more often than a viper.

Applauds the absurd,

laughs at the serious,

loves the loveless, completely

but does not swallow, so there!

 

© Paul Tristram 2010

Son Of A?

We were sat in a Tavern

deep into the early afternoon,

there was an old western movie

on the TV.

The film finished and Stevie

turned to me and said,

 

“You know, I don’t know if I’m

a son of a bitch, a son of a gun

or the son of a whore, anymore?”

 

I laughed into my pint,

this is why I liked drinking with Stevie.

 

“I’m serious man, I’m just lost,

straight up and all the way!”

 

I laughed into my pint again.

 

“Hey, I’m starting to get worried,

I’m serious, you know?”

 

“Yeah, I know Stevie, I’m being serious

too, welcome to the club my friend

and it’s your round!”

 

© Paul Tristram 2012

 

 

Thieves Will Be Prostituted

I had not seen him for a couple of years,

I had heard the rumours and they looked true.

He had lost a few stone in weight,

his face skin was gaunt and grey,

teeth missing or now just black stubs.

He was sitting on a fold-up chair

with a clipboard and pencil

wearing the florescent waistcoat

of a criminal serving his sentence

outside in the community.

He was a really talented guitarist once

but now he’s into sucking heroin’s cock again

and sat on a picnic chair outside of a public

toilet like a pervert.

 

He spotted me passing and scrounged a roll-up

 

“What’s up mate, how are you?”

 

“Hey, the Man got me ticking how many slag’s

go into the ‘Ladies’ and how many assholes

go into the ‘Gents’ I’ve gotta record it all down,

a little tick for each and every one!”

 

“Shit, why do they need to know that?

It’s a free service when you’re not in London,

they’re not checking on customers like!”

 

“I know but the Man’s got to find me something

to do for 3 hours a week, innit!”

 

I wished him luck and walked off,

it was nice to witness a messed-up scenario

that I wasn’t actually involved in, for once!

 

© Paul Tristram 2012