Tristan's Blog

  What Death Caused Her   by Derek Ellwood   Her mouth was like a vase Accepting anything that was put into it The similarities ending there as none Of the things that entered her were Ever beautiful The hair between her legs was Meticulously trimmed Likely the only thing about herself  She ever took care of Tattoo on the inside of her bruised  Wrist read “I heart Mom” A love that had been there a Long time Now both faded with time I imagined her phoning home from An old dilapidated phone booth like The one her crumpled body was Found in A mother’s hello going unanswered A lost child just wanting to hear Her voice before placing the Receiver gently back into its Cradle The same way her mother Probably placed her when she Was a infant Investigating for an identity I found none The only possession a well Worn journal belonging to an  Older brother perhaps The last two entries reading:   I think I’ve been on  This shit too long Drooling into my bedro...

                                                                By Derek Ellwood   The introduction of everyday The sun rises with extraordinary radiance Yet in its infancy my days never Really started without seeing my Mother’s face In absence something just seemed off, Unbalanced. She reminded me of a natural kind Of elegance Like the uniquely mysterious composition Of a gem in an oyster shell. I often wondered where it came from How she held it with an opulent Depth of color, despite countless Unannounced storms that would shake us. Those seas would always calm, retreat With resilience she would remain  Like a blanket of comfort to Shelter, warm, love. Like a soft whisper ac...

                                                                            Summer has an indubitable cruelty about itself while erecting insolently upon winter --- Encroaching foliage, choking with vibrant vitality, constricting the last drops of breath from skeletons with names like cottonwood, elm birch, Their bones moaning from the heft trespassed against them.   Where some might see beauty, I am intrigued by the selfishness as summer greeds what nourishment remains in brittle appendages for it is not the fruit that sweetens the marrow, that delicacy is designed for the adornment of summer that hangs from burdened limbs like an incapable curtain rod.   Summer invades like locusts, devouring everything it needs, leaving winter trees ...

                              Eyes out my back window             Lost in thought             Ankle fog             Low rumbling tide             Shifting sand Precarious anchored sea grass   Winds whistle on salted weather             Vacant deck             Adirondack chairs             Gray scabbed             Two empty glasses         ...

                                                                            By Tristan   Prison does not suit me but I wear a prison suit that fits me. The neck-tie tightening each day, asphyxiation attempting to determine me.   My heart’s shattering desires attention, yet is appropriated by moments of vulnerability guarded in fleeting shadows.   I am alone here but never alone. The proximity of bodies that are confined with me, tide like a dense fog moving in on me.    Traveling on a stranger’s eyes flowing like lava through blackened skies, I wait for an hour where I am not so alone. I am always waitin...

                                                            Stolen                                                                  My lover, a fire crying in the sun. Affliction that cannot be distinguished beyond the mask of passion. In the far distance the gentle river. I am yet to feel its cool, tender flow.   Evening’s relentless perspective bears lava skies, warning my sailor soul, still I voyage. I split my heart in two and gave away half. With reckless greed, you took the other half as well and left me shivering under...

Teasing flame to glass, spinning the stem between dirty tips of fingers. Selfish again, to those with expectations. Barely above the skin, as cold bones etch their structure through the surface. Alone in preference. Exhausted by stepping on hearts stepping through hearts. Yesterday, I saw my reflection in a glass bowl, the distortion studied me. Today, I saw a reflection in the mirror, a figure with hollow eyes. Who is this? Fear briefly appeared. Without permission, the wind bullied its way through a crack in the window. The intrusion carelessly blew a post-it note to the floor. Have a nice day! A sweet yet bitter reminder of someone I once cared about. I let it where it settled, understanding it would be too heavy to lift. A photo of my father and I posing with a couple Chinook salmon, remained magneted to the face of the refrigerator.  My eyes burned in sadness in shame. The pain was aggressive. I did not want to e attached to any of it. I retreated t...

I do not see any rain. I'm not sure I understand the condensation on my window. I  am broken and I know it.                        Tristan, Fall 2019

A girl brought me kiwi and a T shirt from Hawaii My first taste          I liked it. At the park we kissed and other things               My first taste             I liked it. I lost the T shirt and  the girl            I did not look hard for either. I wish I knew where they both were now                                I miss it.             Tristan  Fall 2019

Early my eyes to a day just fawning where the tide has encroached high and the fogs hang low. Where the cries of gulls intrude upon the gentle bellow of the sea and a suggestion of salt last on my tongue. ---- a swollen sadness is here as well --- I am numb in thought to what has been lost.  Now that spring has come, do the tender sprouts of my conscience show? ---I feel a bit empty ---- Attempting to gather myself, I scouted the shorelines once pathed in perfect spring.  Foolishly I looked to see if they were still there, foolishly. ---Am I tormenting myself? Her words were well liter formidable opponent to any resistance I may have had; I had none. She blew into me like a summer breeze, like she was summer tea, sweet and effortless.  She left even easier. ---lies burn seconds into the truth. Her heart was as big as a castle and twice as empty.  I misjudged her luxuries, thinking they would be enough to sustain happiness. ---Deceived by false-h...

You can't catch a fish with your back to the river, so we face our challenges and obstacles head on. it is at this moment where a kindred spirit is born, a spirit between mankind and the Chinook salmon. All existence gather here, beginning our Journey in the river of life. The Journey is not easy and is full of snags and boulders. Sometimes the way is so treacherous, fear overwhelms our navigation. We, like the Chinook salmon, rely upon our spirit, a spirit always pushing, always driving, achieving our pursuits and never giving up. When we arrive at our Final destination,  We shudder in our last breath But there is life in death. Some say we give all in our passing, but a spirit is carried with us and is only shared, and is continuous in its giving. Where we began, we will end. We will not stop giving, and the River Spirit will always be giving, too.

Where will you place it this time There isn't much space on my skin that hasn't been marked by your fury Eve less room remains on my heart for another scar Your eyes are wild with hate Unprovoked anger spins from your tongue My eyes are blank and tearless They've run themselves dry I feel unworthy so I stay Expecting, accepting another blow Your soul is black For some unknown reason Something has hurt you So hurt me Hurt hung onto too long manifests itself into anger You try to transfer it to me but it still resides in you So where will you place it this time When my skin has turned to ash....               ---Tristan, Summer, 2017

Under my tears I lay in wait again To be torn apart From illusionary friends. The heaviness of this Has dropped me on scuffed knees The rawness burns. I'd lift my head to see a way But the blows have left me shrinking. The pain drips constantly But not enough to drown Just enough to push the salt deeper. Under my tears I want to scream to extinguish the noises Why so many unfamiliar voices. Oh the sea of torment Is on me now Pulling me further from tranquility. Servility has manacled my ankles No utterance away from this absolution Close my breath Then close my eyes.                --Tristan, February, 2013

Eyes out my back window      Lost in thought      Ankle fog      Low rumbling tide      Shifting sand Precarious anchored sea grass. Winds whistle on salted weather      Vacant deck       Adirondack chairs       Grey scabbed       Two empty glasses       Prone wine bottle Grape stained pool from drips. Busy myself with the start of the day       Grinding beans       Pressed coffee       Aroma filled air       Startling noise       Ahah coffee for two perhaps. Holding my breath before turning around       Mussed hair       Sleepy cuteness       My old tee shirt       Eyes downcast       Coffee good mornings What did we do smiles exchanged. Out the w...

Stirring in conversation over a cup of coffee he has a way of leaving even while he is still there. He smiles and nods in accommodating fashion but the thousand-mile stare says he is gone once again. Then the rain falls between them to her, suddenly, things don't seem so clear. Confusion and hurt overwhelm her Panic hardens around confidence There is no strategy for departure Only twisted ramblings of salvation. Attempting to retrieve his heart she awakens before the sun to whisper in his ear. Her eyes relay a truth that is too heavy in stealth silence the emotional has led the physical in disappearance. Instantly broken a wholeness shattered into pieces a tailor of the heart with steady hand is urgently needed. She does not look for one Nothing is beneath her now.     -Tristan, 2013

Tristan is the pen name of a young writer from the Oregon Coast.  A fisherman and a poet, he writes from the perspective of a new deeply involved wordsmith, in expressing himself through the written word, and enriching his soul.  He wants to share his journey with you, and to share his creativity and his words with you. In Tristan's life, there have been crises, struggles, and challenges.  His courage and his character to deal with life's obstacles is reflected in his writing. "I want my work to flow like a wild river, carving its own path.  The river is sometimes inhibited by dams that suspend the natural flow of something. I want people to feel something, feel uncomfortable, feel sad, hurt, broken, happy, but just feel." Tristan's poems have been published in "The Echo" newsletter and Honoring Our Rivers  (2018), an anthology of writing by inmates of the Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution, in Pendleton, Oregon.

The cottonwood and the hemlock trees mingle in the lower pastures Standing high by riverside eyeing the flood of love's disasters. To where I follow a raven's fate who scouts in pallid skies for mate designed for only he if knowest tears he'd cry. Toward western skies in askance flies the raven with dirge on his heart His sorry I borrow like it's my tomorrow A burden of grief in cart. The river a path that has come to a crash with vastness so large evokes shivers With nothing to follow his heart has been swallowed How will he spot a lost love's quivers? When darkness falls his longing still calls and body implores him rest But sleep won't come Until he's undone Bound to an eternal quest. Just before the dawn awakes I set for bountied seas The raven perched upon the stern of my ocean faring steed. Beyond the port between the jetties across the bar we flee New mates akin by broken hearts He with I and I with he. Briskly...