Clingy-less
…
as a child I would always
let…
go… of… the… balloon
…
and watch it drift… away.
As
the other kids screamed
“No,
you fool, whatcha doing?”
…
it always moved sideways,
and
upwards… at a slope
…
a delicate, wonderful glide.
Soon
after, they’d pop theirs,
sometimes
on purpose,
oftentimes
just playing too rough,
or
occasionally each others.
There
would be tears and upset,
youthful
anger and resentment
…
except off me, I’d be calm,
I
was busy learning to untangle
…
ready
for the clingy Adult World.
And
the dirty waters of the Seine
…
refused his [Final] offering.
One
must go on…
and
a Creator must Create
Pathways…
if not ‘Out’ of…
then
‘Through’ his own Misery.
Inner
Strength is rifle-notches
clocked-up
against Adversity
…
Diamonds form
from
Intense Heat and Pressure
…
and the Straining of the Soul
will
Make or Break an Artist…
separating
wheat from the chaff
…
dime-a-dozens from the Gold.
“Do
you remember that time,
back
last Autumn…
you
were stood staring
intently
out of the window.
I
approached, and asked
if
you were busy with work
(thinking
up Poetry)…
you
replied ‘Speak away’
…
and I completely froze?”
“Ah,
the ‘Augury’, yes…
I
recall your Crossroads.”
“You
said ‘Ask the Universe’
and
all those birds appeared
out
of nowhere, like seconds
after
you smiled and nodded
out
towards the back garden.”
“A
decision needed making
…
and, I advised you
(If
memory serves correct)
to
take the easier Pathway
because
I like you so much.”
“But,
you also said that
the
more difficult Road
would
end up being far more
Rewarding
in the long run…
that
I would be Tested,
and
if I Braved through it all
…
I would be Gifted a
gentle,
uncomplicated Pride.”
“…mMm…
”
“You
already know, doncha?”
That
(Unasked For) ‘Compassion’
feels
‘Cheese-Grater’
…
there are Windows and Masks
Inside
as well as Outside…
even
when Discarded they Remain.
She
spent the entire day
(Before
The Nervous Breakdown)
…
peering Within…
and
everyone there let her, tsk tsk.
“5
More Minutes” drove him Crazy
…
I’ve connected to a Closed Book
which
is making me ANGRY
with
‘THEM’… Walk Away?
I
feel there’s no more Song to Sing
…
in this part of the Map…
Runaways
Die or just Come Back.
This
‘Happy Ever After’ is Broken
…
and it must be all my Fault…
I
planted Seeds that grew Weeds
in
a Garden that turned Wasteland.
I
Bramble-Up
…
‘Durable’
as
shifting
ENERGY…
shedding
tales
and tails
like
a wall
-acrobatic
lizard…
scampering
the
Shadows
…
towards…
the
‘Sunlight’.
‘The
Streets’
gave
Celia
syphilis…
I
merely
sent
a taxi
for
her Escape.
“3-Fold”
and
Forward
-Looking…
nice
‘Noose’
you’re
myxomatosis
weaving
there.
The
Horizon
beckons
my
‘Focus’…
as
both Killers
and
Clowns…
BACKFIRE!!!
“I’m
Done!”
stick
a fork
and
a (Rather
Large)
Knife
in
you…
a
Skull and
Cross
Bones
pillow…
you’ll
never
‘Recover’…
we’ve
got
‘Money’
on It.
Paul Tristram - is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres. He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since.
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