(Note: This concludes our run of poetry by Paul Tristram. We hope to see more from him soon!–LA)

… when those mental Gallows shade the morning

greyer than the factory smoke of unfulfilled lives.

I saw an old man, shaking and sobbing

at the side of the street, one wrinkled hand

outstretched, downwards, at a Guillotine angle

… at the fresh, emotional roadkill there

“I told you that your ‘Heart’ would lead you here.”

Having a ‘Hole In Your Bucket’ is bad luck,

but, what’s more important is the… ‘Timing’.

“There’s only the ‘Cold Side’ of the Bed left!”

she screamed hysterically, again and again…

until everyone present ‘Frowned’ far too much,

and left her, to go and Learn how to better Manage

how to face their own internal Winter months alone.

You’re never selfish for Suffering,

unless you’re sharing it, trading ‘Ice’ for ‘Heat’

and draining the ‘Colour’ from another’s Welcome.

I never ‘Accept’ anything ‘Unpleasant’

… instead, I ‘Tolerate’ … like a Convict,

biding-his-time for the very first chance of Escape.

© Paul Tristram 2026

It was that ‘Wobble’

in her cagey voice

which first attracted

my attention…

then, I noticed

the depth of her

brilliant green eyes.

“The ‘Streets’ take

more than they give

… but, you’ve

retained a fraction

back beyond Reach,”

I smiled, connecting.

She focus-studied

my friendly face…

“You’re Switzerland,

no Judgement Gavel

… Shelly told me

about your ‘Gifts’…

and, I’ve come

here to Barter some

Empathy for Stories.”

© Paul Tristram 2026

I was not (Purposefully) ignoring you

… merely contemplating

Delacroix’s movement of colour.

That ‘Tree’, over to the left,

reminds me of the Grief

that elderly people keep to themselves.

I want an entire day without questions

… to breathe poetic music,

instead of spleen, out of my pores.

You’re lucky we can’t connect fully

… I’d destroy you with a gear-change,

before I’d even realised what I’d done.

We’ve lost the Red Telephone Boxes

… and the Urban Seagulls

have ‘Gang-Territoried’

the Sunday afternoon Park Duck Pond.

I can taste the word ‘Change’

… and it’s not like ‘old pennies’…

more uncomfortable like tiny ‘springs’.

Remember the last time we parted?

… the road got clumsy and heavier…

until the Rains of Fate

brought you back around into my Life.

© Paul Tristram 2026

Do not join the hordes

of those Dead

long before

they actually Die.

Even when Life

boxes you in stationary

keep moving forward

with your Mind.

And when Hope

seems Pointless

or Evasive…

that’s when, in fact,

you need it Most.

Although Today

is dark and sinking…

drowning-man Cling

onto the Magic

possible in Tomorrow.

© Paul Tristram 2026