3 Swift Kisses To Counteract A Frown
I will not be Foraging for either
Affection or Attention
… I draw down the moon
to my Magic
and (Frenetic) Energy instead.
Yo-yo… ‘Manifesting’…
both Abundance and Solitude
like a proper changeable
human being
… ebbing and flowing
like the Tides.
Compassion and Strength
are ‘Placeable’
wherever needed…
once the ‘Self’ is Mastered.
I am continuously Travelling,
not just forward
and inwards… but upwards
to newer ‘Levels’…
quick-sticks, if you’re coming?
Ta-Da!!!
The vacuum (low) beneath Euphoria
… coils a painful-silence,
ignored by the upward ruSH.
Both the ‘Long Way Around’
and the ‘Shortest Route’
lead to the same transitional Step
where possibility becomes Fact
… the moment it is breached.
How you get to where you’re going,
is sometimes just as important
as the eventual outcome/destination.
I stopped the aggression
by hissing the word “Tantric”
… completely without feeling.
We spend three hours every week
where we abandon ‘Decisions’,
‘Caution’ and ‘Defensiveness’
… we ‘Open’ and ‘Surrender’
to a mutual, inner-bathing
… words clumsy-it ridiculous.
And still, I will ‘Bend’ around
Impossibilities… whilst ‘Weaving’
through the Future… with a Flourish!
Perfect Bows & Tree-Rings
They hurt you
because you are Beautiful,
and they are not.
When they tried
to break you
the opposite happened
… and your Dignity
became Immortal.
You wear no ‘Mask’,
now,
no Walls are needed
to make you feel Strong,
it Tree-Rings
out of you Naturally.
There are no Martyrs,
nor Heroes,
within your eyes,
only returning Hope
and a Wisdom
paid for with Courage.
… and I Love You,
unselfishly,
and as Perfect
as a Bow
which God tied
all by his Lonesome.
Clasp
No-no, do not turn around
… sense the ‘colour’
of the kiss I’m blowing.
Feel Springtime within
my approaching footsteps.
Gauge my ‘emotions’
as I inch them,
through white-knuckled
hands… slowly…
but surely… towards you.
Echo the ‘depth’
growing inside our Union
… ‘feel’ without touch,
the invisible ‘clasp’
tightening between… Us.
Words Be My Toolbox, My Palette, My Life
We had climbed a strange, new mountain,
traipsed through a forest, sideways,
and ended up by some caves and a lake
… we were completely and utterly Lost.
There were four of us, no one was in charge,
but it had been my idea to explore this far,
and I was the oldest, by a few months,
8 years old… so I had to get us out of this.
“It’s that way” I stated, confidently.
“I recognize that dead, old, oak tree,
with the buzzard perched upon it, over yonder.”
Smithy squinted at me confused and curious
“How do you know that that place over there
is called ‘Yonder’, we’ve not been here before?”
I explained the meaning of the word ‘Yonder’,
how I’d heard it somewhere a month or so ago,
then had to ask three adults what it meant
(they were far too busy for such nonsense),
before I had finally understood it myself,
and then logged it away for future reference.
“Words are like Magic…
they bend and fit everywhere.” I said wisely,
as I concentrated upon the distant horizon,
and got us safely home a couple of hours later.
ABOUT THE POET
Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and flash fictiCandletreeed 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. His novel “Crazy Like Emotion”, collection of shorter fiction “Kicking Back Drunk ‘Round The Candletree Graves”, full-length poetry collections “The Dark Side Of British Poetry: Book 1 of Urban, Cinematic, Degeneration” and "It Is Big & It Is Clever: Book 1 Of A Punk Rock Hostile Takeover" are all available by Close To The Bone Publishing.
About the Author
