Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Ten Outlaw Poems By Paul Tristram

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.

No One’s Listening

That’s the third time that ‘Love Spell’ hasn’t worked,
she’s pretty certain she’s doing it right
and they’re £10 a shot and all.
She’s prayed and begged both God and the Devil
but either no one’s home or no one’s listening to her?

It Isn’t Remotely Clever… Any Old Trout Can Do It

She calls it ‘Needling The Answers’.
Re-shaping promises
until they resemble the opposite.
Gossip is a blanket term
for children’s tittle-tattling
and garden fence confidence chatter.
This is something completely different
… or so she tells herself.
It’s an art form
when honed and executed
with such devastating brilliance.
Playing God with other peoples lives
is what she was born to do.
(Although in The Scriptures
it was someone else completely
who helped ruin and destroy folk!)
There is no cleverness
in being secretly dishonourable…
lies are easier to live with than the truth.
She was born without
a good bone in her entire body.
No ‘Talent’, ‘Shine’ 
or ‘Specialness’ to speak of
from ugly tip right down to rotten root.

Running Out Of Boomerang

I just woke up one day 
and thought
‘Enough is Enough, 
God Damn it!’
I simply felt different,
it’s hard to explain,
something had snapped.
The tension 
and mixed emotions
were settled somewhat. 
But of course 
it wasn’t reciprocated,
she was just as angry 
and nuts as ever.
I threw my phone 
and wedding ring
off Penryn Harbour.
Walked into Falmouth
and filed for divorce.
The very last thing 
she screamed at me was
“I’ll never forgive you for this!”
‘Fine’, I thought
as I walked away at last 
from that narcissistic mess
‘That’ll give you something
nice to remember me by, loser!’

Forehead Stretchmarks

There is nothing bigger
than a yawning frown,
it clouds over everything.
Eclipsing moods and physicalities
in a long drawn out
blinking of an apathetic eye.
There are now deserts
were your innovation just was
and crumpet crumbs
upon twisting bedsheets of forever.
The day’s turned inside out
and drying upon
the unkempt garden’s
washing line
in the drizzling rain.
There’s an annoying frog croaking
in a corner of your soul
just out of shoo-ing away reach.
Good news and Sunshine 
are a-coming but not today.
No, today’s for burying ourselves
up to the neck in junk mail. 

A Couple O’ Bitchin’ Spaniels

“I don’t know who she bloody well 
thinks she is anymore?
She’s from the same cowing 
council estate I grew up on.
Walking ‘round the place
with a stick up her arse like Lady Muck.
I remember when she had a snotty nose
and shit in her knickers like everyone else.
I’ve got 2 more GCSE’s than her!
Now she’s being chauffeured 
‘round the place like Royalty.
Tesco’s and Sainsbury’s 
ain’t good enough for her now
(Might run into the likes of us riff-raff!)
She’s always getting her scran 
up that Waitrose where all the snobs go.
She won’t set foot in a pub anymore
she’s always in them wine bars.
With a smug grin on her face,
a dirty fanny between her legs
and a couple o’ bitchin’ spaniels
‘round her good for nothing fucking feet!”

Here She Comes With Her Put-Downs

Almost tripping over 
her own feet
in her excitement 
and enthusiasm.
Vile, mean-spirited, 
hag of a creature
out to butcher 
and maim a reputation.
Gets her jollies 
by verbal stone throwing.
Armed with half-truths 
and speculation,
she runs the feared 
‘Gossip Gang’ in town.
Talking to her 
is about as safe
as juggling 
brown paper bags
full of razorblades, 
scissors, skewers
and pins & needles 
in the rain.
If there’s a time 
and a place to be rude?
then trust me… this is it.
Don’t stop 
to look her in the eyes
or explain 
whilst walking away.
Show her only 
the silent backs 
of your heels
as you escape 
the vicious net 
she’s forever casting.
You shouldn’t 
play with fire,
dangerous toys
or The Devil…
and with that witch
you’ve got all three
wrapped up 
in a Hangman’s noose.
She has a rancid 
quagmire for a soul
and her mind 
is a dusty, old attic
full of scrapbooks
filled with 
newspaper cuttings
of Prison Announcements
and Obituary Sections.

All Is Selfishness… Shut Up It’s My Turn To Talk!

What did you say?... oh, you are cute.
I did not invite you here
to talk about your problems.
I’m in the middle of a crisis
with one of my lovers.
Your homelessness thingy
will sort itself out, you’ll manage,
I mean, people like you always do.
You are not much of a friend are you?
Trying to belittle my troubles
with your silly accommodation worries.
It’s not my fault you’re Oliver Twist,
I can’t magic you up a family can I?
Don’t cry… truth hurts though doesn’t it.
See, you’ve upset us both now.
Never mind, forget it, wipe your face
… no, not on that, it’s special.
There, come closer… do my nails for me,
you know it always makes you feel better.
Make them sparkle 
just like my eyes and personality. 
So, as I was saying, before you went weird
… he’s stopped reacting 
whenever I’m ignoring him
and I just don’t know what to do about it?


Where were you on the night of… ?

How many have you had already?

When are you going to grow up?

Why would you do that, it’s crazy?

What the fuck are you doing with her?

How the fuck does that make sense?

What’s wrong with you?

If your friends jumped off a cliff… ?

Are you ever going to calm down?

Did you think that through at all?

And what the hell am I going to do with you?

Look At Him Talking All Intelligent Like,
He Thinks He’s Better Than Us
(Because Stupid Is Clever, Mate, Innit?)

It’s like being in between worlds sometimes.
The more I self educate instead of just self medicating
the more separated I become from my roots.
It’s not ostracism on either part
just a headshaking frustration.
All I said was “I glanced in that direction”
and it started
“Glanced? What the fuck is ‘glanced’? … Direction? 
‘You looked over there’ is what you’re trying to say, innit?”
We ended up laughing and drinking beer,
we grew up together and know each other inside out.
Yet, there’s a strange gulf widening between us,
this is just a small yet significant example of it,
and they are just as worried about it all as I am.

People Are Funny (And I Don’t Mean Funny Ha, Ha!)

They caught her on CCTV.
A normal looking 45 year old woman
walking down a suburban street
around lunchtime.
Stopped by a wheelie bin,
grabbed a cat from a garden wall,
lifted the lid of the bin and threw it in,
then walked off as if nothing had happened?
Anyway, they nabbed her for it later,
after the cat spending 15 hours
in a hard plastic solitary confinement.
She said sorry and called it a 
split second of misjudgement.
They fined her £250.
There was a Facebook page set up
calling for her death 
(The woman not the cat, obviously!)
and the police had to escort her home
through groups of angry animal lovers.
She’s a bank worker,
no former criminal record to speak of.
The kind of person who sits on Jury Duty.
No mental health issues
and no drug or alcohol problems.
It was an unfamiliar cat
not belonging to anyone she didn’t like.
Just a spontaneous act of cruelty.
My first thought was
that I’d have cut one of her feet off.
But then I calmed down
and realized that I’m not as cruel as her.
Be careful how you go about your business
out there in that big old world
for you are surrounded by these people.
You can see the ones with gang colours
and prison tattoos coming easily
and normally avoid them without bother.
It’s the other kind that worry me,
until one steps out of line 
they all blend and merge far to easily.

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