Posts Tagged ‘Poems by Paul Tristram’


It’s More About The Mind (The Older We Get!)

“Tits, ass and that delicious flower
tucked away beneath it all
are a young man’s best friend,
and rightly so.” he explained
with a reminiscing half-smile
lighting up his wrinkled face.
“But it’s more about the mind
as we get older and wiser.
There’s all this crap about
finishing each other’s sentences…
now starting each other’s sentences
that’s where the magic is.
You get a soul connection
and you don’t just ejaculate
then wipe it on the bedsheets.
You stay there warm and buzzing
for weeks, months, sometimes years.
All the words in the world
mean absolute shit in the long run
compared to just knowing
that someone cares deeply for you-
no matter what-without them
having to open their mouth about it.”

© Paul Tristram 2016


The Widow’s Wank-Whimper & The Brambles Of Sorrow

 

Down below her barbed wire waist
is ‘Dead Man’s Land’
used to defecate
and piss out poison only.
Sex is a mongrel dog
with a manky eye
in need of castration.
To be controlled
and leashed at all times.
The last time she foolishly
touched herself and came.
Her fingertips lost grip
and she dropped
as heavy as the word ‘No’
into the abyss
that he had left behind.
It took her 18 long months
to crawl back up onto shore.
Nowadays… instead…
she practices throwing knives
inside her furious mind.
Whilst waiting adamantly
for tonight’s inevitable
clawing match with insomnia.

 

 

© Paul Tristram 2016

 

 


A Bag Of Puckering Arseholes

“Oi!, if you bang on that front door
one more sodding time.
I’m throwing down this half-full
pot of piss onto the lot of ya.
I told you that as soon as the last kid
left home so would you be.
Now it’s been 3 months
get over it and move on already.
I’d call the Heddlu
but I’m not threatened in the slightest,
more irritated like.
It’s half past midnight for Christ Sake!
and you’ve brought
your 3 divorced friends ‘round
from The Lamb & Flag
with you for moral support.
Aww, my heart pumps piss for ya,
they couldn’t save
their own cowing marriages.
I’ll be Damned
if they’ll be doing owt for yours.
Now, fuck off and take ‘em
bag of puckering arsehole mates with ya
before I let the new dog out, ya useless cunt!”

© Paul Tristram 2016

 


Street Art Sweetheart

Under a blood red vandalized moon
she spray-painted our street names
together inside a love heart.
At the side of the subway entrance
where we were hiding from Security Guards
after customizing a train
with war paint and gang colours.
We shared a cheeky little finger dab
of something to keep the edge on
then headed urban fox like back into the city
via the back lanes and canal banks.
She had first asked me out a week ago
under a ‘Banksy’ of two Policemen necking.
And now here I was, her sidekick,
shadow, the eyes in the back of her head.
As she set about artistically turning
the Magistrates Court entrance way
into a pig in suspenders with wide open legs.

© Paul Tristram 2016