Contributor: Paul Tristram
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Seek not the tempting fruit of outcast lovers.
Their eyes are alive, yes! But they are not alive with freedom and fire, oh no! They are alive with hunger, a desperate hunger to get back into the same kind of normality which they have been ostracized from. Beware the eyes can trick, easier and more
convincing than any magician's trick.
I have just opened the window and let the darkness in. It stood in the centre of my room for a few seconds, letting its
sad and weary eyes get accustomed to the light, then it wrapped itself around me like a lover angered by something that
I had suggested on a picnic in Margam Park three years previous.
We softly made up after first fighting with the ferocity of disappointed understanding, while remembering days of crimson rapture when we were perfect in our mutual appreciation of Nature’s true meaning.
The trampoline of midnight is heavy with my self doubts as I never-the-less bounce like a man possessed, trying to break free the chains which hold me to this anti-artistic society of factory bullshit.
Where are the wings, where are my wings?
I want more than thoughts, colours and rhymes of beauty, I need to enter each foreign landscape personally, with the innocence and rapture of a child but with the knowledge to approve and appreciate, as does the hooded crow look down with sober eyes upon the roadside carrion, unable to know why, yet able to know how to connect the image before itself with the shamanic bones of its Grandfather’s Tailfeathers.
I will let you lead me on, if you let me go at my own speed? Never forget where you are from. You are from yourself, not from
your mother or father or ancestry, but from yourself. Nobody has created you, for you have not yet finished being created (by
yourself and what you choose to put yourself through?) If you let people weed and trim you, you will end up merely
a plant in their garden, owning no individuality, owning nothing in fact but what they want to see (don’t Let Them!)
Just because one person seems to know more about one subject than you do, do not think that they are better than you are. No! Simply take the knowledge off them that you yourself need, then seek out someone else and do the same to them until you
eventually out-master your teachers on general knowledge and other various subject matters (you know what I mean? and
remember you fucking speak up if something is wrong. It will not be appreciated although it will be respected, even if it is only
silently!)
Clichés are crap, for I learn far more from other peoples mistakes than I do from my own, for with other peoples mistakes I have no shame or guilt to deal with, which leaves my conscience free to study the problem clearly.
Don’t reach for death at the end of a candle, reach for another candle, there’s always another day for thoughts of stupidity.
The bleak shadow which you sit looking at is only bleak because you look at it. Shake off all foundations, only buildings need
foundations, people need none, it matters not where you are from or where you are, but only where you intend on going.
If I could play the Welsh harp, I would not be sat here typing this. Oh No! I’d be out there on top of some hill somewhere
playing to this strange June rain, composing songs and leaping and dancing like I should be, intoxicated yet free.
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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. You can read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/
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Seek not the tempting fruit of outcast lovers.
Their eyes are alive, yes! But they are not alive with freedom and fire, oh no! They are alive with hunger, a desperate hunger to get back into the same kind of normality which they have been ostracized from. Beware the eyes can trick, easier and more
convincing than any magician's trick.
I have just opened the window and let the darkness in. It stood in the centre of my room for a few seconds, letting its
sad and weary eyes get accustomed to the light, then it wrapped itself around me like a lover angered by something that
I had suggested on a picnic in Margam Park three years previous.
We softly made up after first fighting with the ferocity of disappointed understanding, while remembering days of crimson rapture when we were perfect in our mutual appreciation of Nature’s true meaning.
The trampoline of midnight is heavy with my self doubts as I never-the-less bounce like a man possessed, trying to break free the chains which hold me to this anti-artistic society of factory bullshit.
Where are the wings, where are my wings?
I want more than thoughts, colours and rhymes of beauty, I need to enter each foreign landscape personally, with the innocence and rapture of a child but with the knowledge to approve and appreciate, as does the hooded crow look down with sober eyes upon the roadside carrion, unable to know why, yet able to know how to connect the image before itself with the shamanic bones of its Grandfather’s Tailfeathers.
I will let you lead me on, if you let me go at my own speed? Never forget where you are from. You are from yourself, not from
your mother or father or ancestry, but from yourself. Nobody has created you, for you have not yet finished being created (by
yourself and what you choose to put yourself through?) If you let people weed and trim you, you will end up merely
a plant in their garden, owning no individuality, owning nothing in fact but what they want to see (don’t Let Them!)
Just because one person seems to know more about one subject than you do, do not think that they are better than you are. No! Simply take the knowledge off them that you yourself need, then seek out someone else and do the same to them until you
eventually out-master your teachers on general knowledge and other various subject matters (you know what I mean? and
remember you fucking speak up if something is wrong. It will not be appreciated although it will be respected, even if it is only
silently!)
Clichés are crap, for I learn far more from other peoples mistakes than I do from my own, for with other peoples mistakes I have no shame or guilt to deal with, which leaves my conscience free to study the problem clearly.
Don’t reach for death at the end of a candle, reach for another candle, there’s always another day for thoughts of stupidity.
The bleak shadow which you sit looking at is only bleak because you look at it. Shake off all foundations, only buildings need
foundations, people need none, it matters not where you are from or where you are, but only where you intend on going.
If I could play the Welsh harp, I would not be sat here typing this. Oh No! I’d be out there on top of some hill somewhere
playing to this strange June rain, composing songs and leaping and dancing like I should be, intoxicated yet free.
- - -
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. You can read his poems and stories here! http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/
Author:
Paul Tristram
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