Paul Tristram

Poetry

 

 

Your Butchered Epilogue

 

Why are you rushing

your way towards

a butchered epilogue?

Throwing fuel

upon the fires of fate

whilst smoking

someone else’s

celebratory cigar

between scheming,

crooked teeth.

You need not

be clairvoyant

to see that

dark cloud forming.

The vultures

grinning fondly

through eyes of hate.

Self destruction

is fascinating,

suicide even more so.

No one’s quite sure

whether to applaud

or look away?

What a strange experiment

you’ve set yourself up for

…and as the mangle

closes its jaws

tighter around you.

Every single one of us

is hoping and praying

that you don’t

change your mind

before it’s too late.

 

 

 

Arguing Over Pizza

 

“Yeah Sarge, the ambulance is zooming him

to A&E as we speak, they’re gonna ‘copter

him over to Chepstow Burns Unit, it’s really bad.

Yes, I know it’s a racket, it’s her in the back

of the van, gone mental and deranged,

nearly had my eye out trying to restrain her.

You’d better call a Shrink to the station,

gonna need sedating, sectioning or both,

she’s like a wild animal, all teeth and claws.

Well, so far, all we’ve got is it’s a domestic

over Hawaiian pizza (Which is her favourite!)

and he had a bit more pineapple on his half.

I’ve had a similar problem with my wife

over a tuna & sweetcorn pizza once,

the only difference being that I didn’t then walk

out into the kitchen, turn the chip pan on full

for 5 minutes on the pretence of smoking a fag,

then come running back in and throw it all over

the back of her head, did I? (Rhetorical question)

I mean, that’s premeditated for Christ sake,

he’s lucky he didn’t turn ‘round and catch all

of that in the face, Jesus, I’ve got the horrors.

Anyway, we’re two and a half streets away,

get that Detention Room door open sharpish,

we’ll book her in properly after she’s calmed down!”

 

 

 

Out Tha Back [Film Scene]

 

He came up to our private table,

placed his big gorilla hands

knuckle down

upon its beer soaked surface.

Leaned in menacingly

and hissed through stinking breath

“Out Tha Back!”

(Two mistakes in one:

he’d warned me of his intention

and put his weapons in clear view.

Outside of the ring fighting

has nothing gentlemanly about it!)

I hit him a stunning blow

upon the right side of the head

with the flat underneath of an ashtray.

Sending him sideways over a stool

disorientated and kicking ceiling ward.

I grabbed his shins,

pulling them in opposite directions

and slammed my Winter boot

straight down in between them.

Then twisted and spun his ankles together

until his face warped with the floor.

I sat myself back down

slightly stirred but not shaken

as the laughing Hyenas

from the surrounding shadows

dragged him backwards

somewhere away from my concern.

 

 

 

With His Own Truncheon

 

“They were only nicking a few quid’s worth

of scrap metal from a garden.

Anyway, the Police come

and they all scarpered

but they had their Old Man with ‘em

and he was drunk as usual.

So they nabbed him straight away

and he went back playing the good son like,

the Copper’s only got his bloody truncheon out.

Well, four and half year they gave him, see,

shipped him all the way down to Dartmoor.

He tried throttling someone,

in his own Cell,

two days before coming home,

put back his release date by three months,

but you don’t know see… maybe he had too?

Anyway, he was never the same after it all,

they say it brought out his schizophrenia.

That was back when he were in his early twenties,

Christ, nearly thirty odd year ago,

aye, well, you’ve seen the state of him

walking ‘round the town these days, I don’t know!”

 

 

 

It Was Your Cupidity Which First Aroused

My Interest And Affection

 

I watched the way you walked through life

out manoeuvring everyone in your way.

Coldly leaving the oppositions

marriages and families in ruin.

With cold, determined, peregrine falcon eyes

you took exactly what you wanted,

each conquest a ladder wrung upwards and forwards.

No remorse in your predator nature…

there are no victims only Winners and losers.

Meekness is weakness and humbleness is no virtue…

I’ve seen you curl your lip in disgust

at such trophies of patheticness

then grin as you sledgehammered home the finishing blow.

Our Union will be mighty and magnificent,

we will own, control and dictate

each social circle that we enter into,

our mutual ruthlessness and ambition will keep us warm.

We will want for nothing in our household

except love and caring…

But I say Fuck compassion and Valentine cards,

I’d rather nightly lick the servants and sycophants

off your narcissistic bone… that’s what I’m talking about!

 

 

 

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 ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1943170096