Paul Tristram

by Horror Sleaze Trash on August 26, 2012

 

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who now lives on the Southern coast of Britain, has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world. His favourite colour is burgundy, he can only dance on one foot, clarity confuses him, the word ‘Bruise’ fascinates him, he doesn’t do mellow, Sundays or cheques and he fucking hates seagulls.

 

Kawasaki Thighs

All alone here tonight.
I need you, oh my, I need you.
You’re fucking miles away again.
I’m on fire, tisssh, on fire.
My hands have minds of their own.
Buttons, zips and solitude.
Who’d have thought it would cum
to this?

Desire fades for awhile.
Mmmm, time for a cigarette.
I need a pee but know
that I can’t urinate properly
for at least 10 more minutes.
This is the 3rd time today.
I’ll go fucking blind.
You’re miles away, miles away,
I have no way of getting to you.

I wish I had Kawasaki thighs.
My kingdom for Kawasaki thighs.
I’d run to you at 120 mph.
Dripping with sweat, I’d arrive
knocking neurotically at your door.
You’d answer smiling in surprise,
invite me in by my hair
and I’d collapse prematurely
3 strides into your hall.

© Paul Tristram 2008

It Only Stays Septic Until Severed

“And that’s why I let him do it!” she cried
“God help him but they’ll kill him
when they catch him.
He’s not human for Christ sake,
what kind of animal does this?
Just look at the state of me.
I am beyond raped,
I am nothing
until you catch the bastard
and let me claw myself
back out of his face!”

© Paul Tristram 2006

I Was Drunk Again

They caught me at Malpas,
I’d rowed down the river from Tesco’s
in para boots and a baby bath,
taking directions
from the moon
whilst antagonising
everything else
around it.
If I was sober
I would have told them
that I just wanted
to see the heron’s nesting.
But I wasn’t sober
and I’m proud
of my piracy,
bollocks to it all,
Raise the Bones!

© Paul Tristram 2006

Hidden From View

Deep inside she keeps it
her secret, her weapon.
Like lightning
hidden from view
but at her command.
She feeds it
always careful
that others
should not see
her weapon, her secret.
The thing that makes
her cleverer than
everybody else.
The thing with an
appetite like cancer.
Let this rose
hide her thorn,
let her bleed
from within.
As I watch and listen,
hidden from view,
for the inevitable
justice of it all.

© Paul Tristram 2006

Her Forehead Was A Tabletop

I’d staple her ears to the rug
but that would be cruel
and after all
she’s only a temporary work surface.
Her restless eyes annoy.
Her twitching lips
exasperate.
I unsteadily
move about her
seeking through narcotics
the calm and comfort
which evades me,
whilst springing
out of her
fountain
like.

© Paul Tristram 2008

Horrible Little Answers

The memory of an elephant
is my punishment for a life of shame.
So be it, there is no real exit
but I can inject the present
with light and laughter
so that the coming past
will not be so unbearable.

Jealousy: I know nothing of, luckily.

Anger: is a dangerous pre-occupation,
it can lead to darker things
than violence.

Apathy and Depression: are merely symptoms
they can be treated, if the patient
does not talk themselves out of recovery.

Drugs and Alcohol: create a false reality,
whilst breaking your personality
like a jack-hammer until the pieces
reform into a darker order.

Perversion: is a bind that thickens,
it enlarges at each thought
and triples with each action.

Spite: is a cancer which I need
not tell anybody about.
The next time you hear or see
someone you do not like crying,
find a mirror and look deep into your eyes,
will you like what you see, I think not.

To be too Brave: one must give in,
to a certain degree, to a form
of Idiocy.
To be too Timid: is to go too far
the other way.

Sadly Stupidity and Naivety:
cannot always be removed
by experience, sometimes experience
can frighten more than enlighten.

Desire: has many different levels,
it starts as an instinct but can
and often does, develop into a need.

Fear: is an unpleasant, unattractive
necessity.

Lust: is a gluttony of the senses.

Love: of any serious depth,
is self abandonment.
Once given, you are at the mercy
of the object that you love,
this can lead to self treason,
be careful who you choose.

Hatred: is simply the other side of love.

Hope: is almost our salvation,
yet hope alone is not enough.

So my answer to you is this,
Find your own fucking answers!

© Paul Tristram 2008

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