From Winamop.com

New poems by Paul Tristram.


 

The Pub Window

 

Through the pub window

I see a Celtic Cross.

Bearing names of the dead

Cold testament to the loss.

I see dogs and their owners,

Wet and sandy from the beach.

But it may aswell be on TV

It all seems so out of reach.

 

Just another day drinking.

Just another day thinking.

Wondering if I should

Venture out into the sun?

Wondering if a reason

Will finally come?

 

The light bounces off church windows,

Lands perfect in the street.

I watch the dresses of women

Casually pass and meet.

A young boy kicking a can

As his sister tells him off.

The pub erupts in conversation

While I add an unheard cough.

 

Just another day drinking.

Just another day thinking.

Wondering if I should

Venture out into the sun?

Wondering if a reason

Will finally come?

 

 

a short black line

 

Bar Bitch You Hate!

 

Standing the other side of the bar

arrogantly a-glow with your power.

To ban this woman, to ban this man

you rule the pub between open hours.

Smug in all your self importance

your stupid morals act as the law.

All drinkers must obey or amuse you

or with disgust they’re out the door.

You amaze all with your ignorance

which you’re ignorant of, of course.

Centre of attention seeking disorder

is your work satisfaction source.

Your personality as flat as a wall

the toilet wall which has your name.

Your looks like watered down beer

are un-refreshingly just the same.

How very sad your little life is

when you smile all humour does frown.

For like a handful of barbiturates

all you really do is bring us down.

 

 

a short black line

 

Porcupine Logic

 

Why am I not instead a porcupine?

with spikes as sharp as pins.

For then I would be invincible

the enemy would never ever win.

I’d prick the pricks savagely

people would respect my defence.

They’d all move away from me

yes, physical armour makes sense.

I would roam around naturally

if confronted I’d make a stance.

I’d stab them all collectively

I’d make those fuckers dance.

Maybe then I’d be left alone

to wander on my sweet merry way?

Over hill, mountain and valley

and in and out of each new day.

Why am I not instead a porcupine?

with spikes as sharp as pins.

For then I’d not be messed up

I would not have felt their sins.

 

 

a short black line

 

Feeding Frenzy

 

They are on a feeding frenzy

they are chewing upon my brain.

They are on a feeding frenzy

eating at my contentment again.

They’ve taken most of my heart

now they’re looking for my soul.

But they will not ever find it

for it is hiding in a dark hole.

And so they all keep on feeding

while inch by inch they search.

They all scream away inside me

like Devil’s trapped within a church.

 


a black line

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