More Poems by Paul Tristram

 

They Like To Point Their Fingers, Don’t They!

 

Not a backbone between them

but cowards have no shame.

And that is their downfall

trying to arse kiss away the blame.

A false smile to greet you,

a knife held at your back.

Ripping holes in your reputation,

sending other people to attack.

They’re intimidated by honour,

by your dignity and pride.

It emphasizes their weakness,

reveals the fear they have inside.

I watch them as they squabble,

construct their master plan.

I check and control my temper

for I will only strike a man.

 

 

 

Negative Nucleus

 

The negative nucleus of my soul

disappoints everyone around me.

The blood curdling cry of solidarity

often times simply sickens me.

“Smile, things cannot be that bad!”

said the stupid idiot to the fool.

I have heard better philosophy

from slurring drunks upon barstools.

The negative nucleus of my soul

is not a shield to hide my pain.

The negative nucleus of my soul

was merely born out of the same.

 

 

 

Damned

 

I’ve walked down many crooked paths
I’ve spoken with an untruthful tongue.
All for some desperate entertainment
just to have crazy, soul sickening fun.
I drank from the fountain of knowledge
but spat it all back out with a curse.
Whenever a drunken idiot came along
I had to prove that I was far worse.
But now as the body starts to weaken
and the paranoid mind invents new fear.
I wish to abscond from this insanity
I want some contentment to crawl near.
I am tired of swallowing all the bait
and I am sick of rising to the fight.
I am finished with self destruction
even though I tried with all my might.
Why do I rage with an angry passion
over such trivial and stupid things?
Why do I change the warmest of people
as if rejection is a goal I must win?
I’ve always damned myself continually
in everything that I have ever tried.
Yet can I get rid of this poison now
before all the goodness in me has died?

 

 

 

Dig A Hole

 

Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
and then let me slide right on in.
Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
where I can hide my selfish grin.
Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
then don’t visit, don’t come around.
Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
just make sure it’s in Welsh ground.
Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
no need for wreaths or holy prayers.
Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
for I do not care if no one cares.
Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
it really is time that I said goodbye.
Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
without sadness or any tear in eye.
Dig a hole and make it Me-shaped
place no gravestone above my head.
Gig a hole and make it Me-shaped
it is time my soul went home to bed.

 

 

 

Disaster Comes In Many Shapes And Sizes

 

Disaster comes in many shapes and sizes
It varies each and every single time.
It can set us all shaking in earthquake.
It can set me shaking without any wine.
It can see me out homeless in the street
It can wake me in a cold police cell.
It can find me losing all of my money
Or waiting to hear a fire engine bell.
It can make me want to write poetry
It can make me want to curl up and die.
It can send me off diving into oblivion
It can make me break right down and cry.
Disaster’s not nice but its part of life
It walks with us all always, hand in hand.
Yet disaster it is like the falling rain
You must push through it out to drier land.

 

 

 

Fan The Flickering Flames Of Fancy

 

Have you ever wondered
how the world would be.
If we threw off the shackles
of this messed up society?
Have you ever wondered
how the world would be.
If commonsense took over
and set us all free?

 

When the common placed has been misplaced
the fun will really begin.
When love and hate have intertwined
to birth the perfect sin.
When the mask of leadership finally slips
to reveal the idiot grin.
We can kick down the doors of depravity
to let the true answers in.

 

Have you ever wondered
how life would be.
If we were left alone
to seek out our own destinies?
Have you ever wondered
how life would be.
If human nature intervened
to destroy this common apathy?

 

The time to decipher the day
is when the night has fallen.
When stars have pricked open the skies
and through them the moon has crawlen.
When the denizen’s of the daylight
are in bed asleep and quiet.
We’ll fan the flickering flames of fancy
and let our imaginations run riot.

 

 

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