Lisa Knight's Blog, page 5

POETRY: SOMEONE CARES AT LAST BY PAUL TRISTRAM

Someone cares at last

And it’s me.

Not because of the cunt beneath you

Or the beautiful eyes within your head

Or all the things that you have done wrong

For they mean nothing to me.

It’s the heart within your soul

Is all I fucking see.

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu

DIG THE NEW BREED: TUESDAY 5TH JANUARY 2016

I have met and hope to recruit all of the following artists for Camden Radio!

Acantha Lang – Santa Baby.

Urban City Beats (Feat Julian Burdock) – Urban City Blues.

Alice Pisano – Waiting for Winter.

SixNationState (feat Gerardo Del Guercio) – Why Don’t You Love Me

POETRY: LOOK AT YOU REVEALING YOUR ANGRY INSECURITIES TO THE WORLD LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT BY PAUL TRISTRAM

Grinding hate and spite together

inside your straining mind

instead of sleeping,

like a neurotic hamster upon a wheel.

Focused and obsessed

upon the Target

of vindictiveness and negativity

raging like Hellfire

within your tortured soul.

I smile cutely and serenely

whilst wanking softly

across the pathetic contours

of your pitiful, slave-like scowl

and stop myself just in time

from saying a little prayer for you.

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu

POETRY: LOOK AT ME MAKING A PIG’S EAR OF YOUR FEELINGS BY PAUL TRISTRAM

“So, tell Me again how much you’ve missed Me?

Did it really hurt to see Me out with him

on all ten occasions over last weekend?

Did it get progressively easier?

Remain equally unpleasant?

Or maybe even get gradually worse?

There is a lot to think and worry about, isn’t there?

Oh, stop frowning, I’ve forgiven you, almost,

for upsetting Me just before it, you know I like My way.

Besides, it was all just sex and shallow smiling,

no ‘Heart to Heart’s’ like we’re having now

…and I barely sucked his cock…much,

but you needn’t dwell on that.

No one loves Me like you do, yet.

Anyway, back to business and that sneaky little whore!

I know that you claim that she’s your sister’s best friend

and that you merely bumped into her whilst looking for Me.

But if you ever walk so close to her through town

on a Saturday afternoon again,

embarrassing Me in front of everyone we know,

I will never, I repeat, never ever talk to you again.

Believe it or not, I can be just as cruel as you, you know!”

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu

POETRY: TURN-AROUND BY PAUL TRISTRAM

Sometimes standing on factory assembly lines

or up against public bars can feel the very same.

When trying to kick away the Black Dog

that’s been hounding you since morning

just gets you stuck deeper into its Grind.

So you find a brief respite in a bitter cigarette

and a random thought of Sasha Grey

painting her toenails pink,

all ‘fur coat and no knickers’

in an hotel room in Copenhagen.

And laugh because the spell is suddenly broken,

the darkness ridiculously melts from view.

Unconscious distraction is the very key,

you’ve un-ruined a perfectly miserable day,

without meaning too, and before early afternoon.

Now it’s time for some ‘Lovable Rogue Mischief’

to chandelier-swing you through the Brilliant evening.

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu

POETRY: COGNAC, CUNT AND COCAINE BY PAUL TRISTRAM

She had those words tattooed

upon her right arse cheek,

it made me stop dead in my tracks.

“It’s a line from Aleister Crowley’s

Leah Sublime poem.”

“Yes, I’m aware of its origin.”

I climbed backwards off the bed,

my perfect hard-on disappearing

as quickly as an ignored ghost.

“It’s supposed to be horny…

why are you putting reading glasses on?”

“It’s got me all contemplative,

I’m going into the library for an hour or two.

You can finish by yourself, think nice things.”

“Are you seriously dumping my pussy for a book?

Well, fuck you pal, that’s the last time

I try fucking a Writer, you’re abnormal.

You’re supposed to let the little head

outthink the big head, not the other way around!”

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu

POETRY: TOUCHING CLOTH BY PAUL TRISTRAM

“I know what it must look like

but I am not a prowler,

burglar or other such villain.

I was coming home

from playing whist

and happened to get caught short

and my little flat

is still a good 10 minutes away.

I saw the outside light on

and the side door was open,

I was wandering these corridors

looking for a toilet, is all.

But, it’s too late now,

I may as well have carried on home

when I felt it brewing in importance

in the first sodding place.

At least I wouldn’t have so far

to walk to clean myself up.

Thank you for not hitting me

with that metal flashlight.

I swear, If I hadn’t have been

‘Touching Cloth’

I never would have ventured in here!”

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu

POETRY: THE BIRTH OF TROJAN IN MY MIND BY PAUL TRISTRAM

The first time I heard a Trojan song

I was laying on my bunk in a prison cell.

My head started buzzing instantly,

I’d been a Rude Boy and a Ska Skinhead

back in school just like everyone else

with sense and style in our 80’s neighbourhood.

But this was the Roots of it all,

Dancehall, Old School Reggae.

I felt the joy run through my veins,

the energy exploding in my brain.

It made me feel proud to be working class again,

being born on the wrong side of the tracks…flipped.

I was up and bouncing like a good ’un

around the small space of my confinement.

The guy in the cell under me started kicking

his wardrobe in rhythm to the catchy beat.

The bloke next door to the left shouted

“Oi! Oi! Tristram, Turn It Up, Mate!”

I yelled Barbarian and for three perfect minutes

I was free again and grinning with enthusiasm.

We may not be ‘Young, Gifted And Black’

but we can sure as hell Moonstomp

with the best of them ‘And That’s A Fact’.

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu

POETRY: HOBGOBLIN SMILE BY PAUL TRISTRAM

She stood at the living room window

watching the street like a hawk.

Could feel his electrical energy

before he even turned the corner.

Studied his nearing gait and face

with concern and growing precision.

He was swaggering which was nice

but by itself is not always a good sign

yet he had a slight spring in his step

to match it which made her relax

her tight grip upon herself slightly.

“It’s a shame he’s not whistling

…I do miss him whistling!”

she mused thoughtfully to herself.

He called “Hiya!” to Mary at No. 33

with a courteous, musical snap

instead of a monotone ‘Hello’

and she trembled with anticipation

as he approached their garden gate.

He clocked her as he came up the path

and a twinkle sparkled in his eyes.

Relieved, she turned to the children

and gushed “It’s Ok, your Father’s home

from the hospital with a Hobgoblin smile

instead of a Jägermeister frown,

run get him a cold one from the fridge

and get ready for some good news, at last!”

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu

POETRY: BECAUSE YOUR LOVE IS JUST SPAM (SORRY BUT THERE’S NO OTHER WAY OF EXPLAINING IT TO YOU!) BY PAUL TRISTRAM

I was sitting one seat before the back of the bus,

there was a girl behind me who’s phone kept ringing

but she ignored it until the other passengers started

to mutter, fidget and shake their heads disapprovingly.

So she finally answered with a force and displeasure

to her voice so severe that it made a dear old lady

sitting three seats away get up and move six seats away.

“Look, I told you last night…it’s over, finished, kaput,

shot in the head and as dead as my strained patience.

Get a life, have some pride, go and find someone else,

only stop bothering me, I’ve got nothing nice for you.

No, it wasn’t the Best, not even remotely…it was SPAM

and I was bored, Yes, just like the tinned meat, exactly.

Now, I’m on a bus into Town to find some Rump Steak ,

leave me alone, you’re a dish I won’t be coming back to!”

Written by Paul Tristram

Available to buy via Lulu