The Deacons by Paul Tristram

Cathedral high importance.
Ice-blue ethereal,
stern as Judge’s hammers,
solemn as a sober Sunday.
To Freddie Kruger
the in between world
of your sleeping hours.
Pointed fingers loaded
with accusation and condemnation.
Cracking, earthquake voices
boom and rip
through your defenceless mind
like January hurricanes.
Vindictive, purposeful,
self righteous to a fault
and arrow sure of target.
Within a circle of three
they corner your experience.
Child-slapping and browbeating
Belphegor’s April
from your Slothful bones.

Scribblings Of A Madman

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published 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. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at You can also read his poems and stories here!


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