Poems and Poetry

Paul Tristram

St Malo By Morning | A Poem by Paul Tristram

British Rail strike be damned! ‘Tis the Devil’s work.
Cadged a lift from The Lizard to Plymouth,
then ‘Thumbed-It’ over to Portsmouth.
I’ll ride the ferry all night,
11 long hours until I stand before her at last.
She paces the streets of St Malo,
as I thunder across The Channel’s black, swirling sea.
Riding the invisible bond which keeps pulling me on…
towards euphoria, serenity and rhythm-touching insanity.
2 bars on board, and I keep swaggering between them.
My impatience electric, intoxicating and infectious,
I turn heads quickly wherever I appear.
The excitement keeps me sure of will and focused…
fighting a magnificent battle of screaming emotions,
I plough the waves ever forward, towards
this all conquering, consuming, now inevitable destiny.

Visit Paul at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

De-Shelving Latitudes | A Poem by Paul Tristram

The raft’s bindings were tied
with thesaurus knots.
Huddled beneath
a beer garden parasol,
she paddled oars,
made of wishbones,
with augmented plate-ends
of Welsh roof slate.
As the fray of the forest,
sludged slowly away behind,
the rains started, briskly.
Demented seagulls
the little bamboo harbour
off to the left…
and, to the right,
a volcano bellowed
a juggernaut argument
with the dismal sky.
Weaving and bobbing,
ruddering with underside
bottom of wrist…
she darted back towards land,
in between
the caves of stagnation
and the copper fields of tomorrow.
Landing, unnoticed by all
but the Switzerland kingfisher.
Frame arched like a bow,
she reed-ran, spritely,
towards the racket
tumble-spreading outwards
from the waterfall of nonsense verse.

Travelling Light | A Poem by Paul Tristram

Slender is the night
when you are tightrope walking
the ‘Straight and Narrow’
as a means of escape.
The Past is snapping
at your ankles
as you stuff your pockets deep
with items reserved strictly
for future use.
Memories, photographs,
the jaded parts of yesteryear
are cast swiftly
and (Finally) unemotionally
into the small, cleansing hearth fire.
Which you have lit
to say goodbye to that ‘Old Life’
with the last
brittle pieces of nostalgic kindling.
Then out the door…
you’re moving swiftly…
like a cat
shadow-walking the alley’d evening.
Across the border
of ‘Here’ to ‘There’
into the New Life Chapter
that’s been just waiting
for you to cast your gambling dice
in its ‘New Chance’ direction.

Visit Paul at https://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

Bow-Taut Volition | A Poem by Paul Tristram

As others chased the tail
of life’s endless circles.
Changing mental and emotional
direction and objectives
with the fickle, half-hearted winds.
She nailed that Target
down tight to a fencepost
in the imminent future…
aimed and focused, completely,
gambling everything
upon one perfect bullseye shot.
The ‘One’s’ before
had been merely playmates,
practice necessary to the cause.
There was not a ripple nor kink
of her appearance and personality
which had not been Silversmithed,
honed and crafted,
the many disciplined hours
of training spent alone.
She exhaled, deeply, slowly…
with clarity of mind
and a sureness of will and soul.
But, her Approach
bounced clumsily off the Mark
with a dull, all too human, thud…
he turned in her direction at last,
and with cold disdain, spoke the word ‘No!’

Visit Paul at https://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

Your Breadcrumbs… | A Poem by Paul Tristram

Your Breadcrumbs…
Led me nowhere nice
or pleasant…
but, there Is wisdom in this,
for I never walk down
the same dead end, twice.
Once free of your demented,
inane circles
everything levelled out
quite quickly.
You have to tear off
a strip of flesh
from the walls of your soul
every now and again,
to learn ‘Emotions’
strange and bewildering ways.
‘Humble’ is such a dodgy word,
it reeks too much of ‘Meekness’
and neither one
of these false idols
has nor deserves any place
upon Life’s haphazard road
of day to day education.

Visit Paul at https://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

A Sinking Bottle (She Explained, Softly) | A Poem by Paul Tristram

I’m all cried out, one minute,
then waterfall full the next.
The Sun still shines…
but, it’s always somewhere else… yonder.
I hate that word ‘Yonder’
for you can walk all day and night,
until your weary, battered feet
blister and bleed
and you are never any closer to it.
I have great self control,
I will not succumb to the traps
of ‘Covetousness’ nor ‘Envy’
but, ‘Yearning’ masters me truly.
The ‘Feeling’ started
like a Pebble being dropped into a Well.
A falling sensation, giddying at first,
then later… quite sickening.
The Well eventually changed,
reformed into a tumultuous Ocean.
The Pebble an uncorked Bottle,
slave to all external currents
and full up to the very brim
with the ‘Thing’ which is forever
dragging and pulling it downwards.

Visit Paul at https://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

Outside the Perimeter of Your Asking | A Poem by Paul Tristram

I sense the honeycomb of your personality,
golden and beautiful, rich in goodness
yet, worry upon worry
crowding and blocking all of that light.
I can feel the Amber inside you vibrate softly,
you have Healing to give…
but are unable to use it upon yourself.
‘Kindness’ behind the ‘Want’
compassion and passion, full to the brim
and merely waiting to be unstopped.
Your life has a jagged course,
no molehills for you, white-knuckled
and desperate fingertip-ledge clinging.
This must be a Test?
each year you are noticeably evolving,
every breakdown leads to you
knitting back together stronger.
Refusing to succumb to bitterness
or lasting anger…
you keep that radiant glow alive safely inside.
Waiting for that climb through the Mountains
to finally become a meadow walk…
and it is at last, time for you
to butterfly magnificently out of that armour.

Visit Paul at https://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.