Like a Flame to a Moth
They say the love flame that burns
brightest
chars darker or is hotter or something
than a mediocre love
I ought to know
my love for the model
who how it happened I don’t know
fell for me
my love for her
the sex experienced model
burned hot
when our wave of love crested and
our relationship washed ashore
the aftermath of that Bunsen burner
left me a smoking ruin.
Prerequisite Conditions
Peace on earth
is a pipe dream
so long as
Pied Pipers and predators
still roam freely,
so long as
poison still gets pumped
into the children,
so long as
propaganda
still gets spewed
from corporate channels,
so long as
progression
still gets thwarted
by a Satanic system.
Peace on earth
is a possibility
if and when
the criminals
get taken to the cleaners,
if and when
the cancer
gets flushed from the body politic,
if and when
the calcified glands
get purified
through natural detoxification,
if and when
the call to arms
is finally heeded
by enough people to make a difference.
Immortality
I don’t need
pink panties
sent in the mail
by an adoring fan
to verify my
writing potential
I’ve had
hot women
fuck me for less
A phony ass
Facebook
support group
of superficial
sycophants is a
recipe for delusion
I’ll settle for apathy
Other poets
offering me
digital high fives
thumbs up
and accolades
will receive no
reciprocation
I was never keen
on befriending
the competition
All you
indigenous
assholes of
Pittsburgh
need to do
me a favor
fuck off
Word’s out that
I’m published
but that doesn’t
mean you get
to give me grief
in the hopes that
I’ll write about it
Keep dreaming
you iron city beer
drinking assholes
It’s not gonna
happen
Time Running Out
Because
We protest
The silent majority
Squirms
Not that they don’t
Agree
They’re just hanging on
To what use to be
Knowing
Their days of silence
Are numbered
Before they have to
Make a stand
Joining us
Hopefully
Before it’s too late.
Fading Fast
There has never been
True freedom uncompromised
But America of the present
Is our last chance.
Undaunted
Down
The street
Clubbing
Us like dogs
Bloodied
And still
Kicking a little
Fuss
Dragging me
By the collar
Pulling her
By her long hair
They believe
We’re done
When out of sight
Of the crowds
Heaving us
Into a pile
Of others
Inside a used van
The city
Festering
With words
And mistrust
The crowds feel
Defeated
Seeing our blood
Wet on the sidewalk
But we’ll be back
When the sun comes
Up again and again
Shining the blaze of change!
Leaving The Shadows Behind Awhile
You can feel the energy three streets away
punching explosions
all around his swaggering, electric frame.
Leaving the shadows behind awhile,
it’s time to slam-dance to mayhem.
Switching grooves into the fast lane,
amphetamine bombs and Special Brew shotguns.
Smoking neon thunder, oblivion hunting
and smiling un-serenely at the cumming wreckage.
‘It’s all gravy’ and no one’s innocent tonight
Queues, patience and waiting are foreign words
spoken by those beige ordinary… enough already!
There’s an anarchy symbol full moon hovering
just above the wave after wave after wave
of metallic tasting fanfuckingfasticness.
And this side street’s really the hidden back entrance
to ‘Madam Ruby’s Love Boutique’
where his Bar Tab and Credit’s
unlimited, obnoxious and twice Everest sized…C’mon!
© Paul Tristram 2016
Going Equipped
“For fuck sake! It’s a bottle opener,
you know, for opening bottles?
It doesn’t double as a screwdriver
or a poxy jimmy bar.
It’s never been near a crime scene,
I bought it brand new 3 or 4 years ago.
What? Jesus Christ, No!
Of course I don’t still have the receipt
and if I have then definitely not on me.
It’s not an offensive weapon neither,
that’s not a sharpened edge
it’s an amalgamation of the full moon
and your police torchlight.
I never waved it in a threatening manner,
you took it out of my coat pocket yourself.
Look, here’s my taxi, a witness finally
and he can see that I’m not drunk at all.
I’ll leave you as I found you this evening,
petty, miserable and pathetic to the bone.”
© Paul Tristram 2016
Chainmail & Chivalry Belong In The Past
(Here It’s All Backstabbing, Broken Promises & Bullshit)
I am going to get one over on you, sunshine.
I don’t care if you’ve done nothing wrong
that just makes it all the sweeter.
Whilst you’re spinning in circles confused,
all upset, hurting and asking Heaven why?
It means you’re not plotting revenge,
retaliating in the slightest or yet even a threat.
I’m going to make good use of this advantage,
crucify you publically then stamp you underfoot.
Ruin, humiliation, ostracism, disgrace…
my sharp and efficient weapons number many.
But you’re innocent and goodhearted, Ha!
those are the very qualities that first attracted me,
it’s your good points which have sealed your fate.
There’s no pity or mercy in my filthy blackheart
but your begging for it is simply adorable.
The last person I did this to hung themselves,
I’m a conviction-free serial killer in the making
and I’ll be back with you, poor little puppy dog,
just as soon as I’ve inhumanely restrung my bow.
© Paul Tristram 2016
Gutter Junky
i saw you last in cabaret afternoon
doing your lingerie strut before
the has-beens and the never-weres.
you were only passing through,
on your way to L.A.,
Vegas,
Avalon,
no regard for tomorrow,
as long as the money spent
I feened for you
jonesing in midnight tears
gutter junky looking for a fix.
to mainline you and feel the warmth
spread like h
e
a
v
e
n
you had your own angels to chase
and now im leaving new york
on a west bound train
carrying you like a disease
looking for you
in every face,
and laugh.
conversations
our lonely afternoons
branded in my memory
haunt me
worse than a slow death.
Total Annihilation
At this
critical juncture
what we have
to understand is
the truth
not clever evasions
of it
to prove the theoretical
benefit
of a more
enlightened way
for
to die full of
yourself
believing
the enemy
worth dying for
is always wrong
for in spite
of
conflicting
validity claims
and no one
way only being
best
some ways are better
than others
and all ways are
still
not equal.
And can never be
made equal
without
total annihilation.
The Best of The Beatnik Cowboy #1 has been released from its frail and fragile bars. Please refer to our “About” page for information concerning subscriptions or purchases of our annual print issues. We are gracious for all of the support and brilliant words that has pierced our eyes and mind, and welcome you onto the open plains.
Photo courtesy of Spin Magazine, 2004, Kurt Cobain on the set of the music video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit”.
The Beatnik Cowboy 