are we and the grass and trees
ennobled graced gifted are we
the thriving warrior's
worker ants enrichers feeding the
throng
as we strive daily along
sniffing a scent we get in
our minds a nirvana a heaven if we just
keep on
and we wax and wane in lyrical bliss
tired to the bone whipped
just to hear a song of hope or
love or perpetual peace,
and as we stay the course for
the eternity as it ticks
we are blessed to breathe to be
a part of the chorus
a melody we all make buzzing like bees
a song once did escape the numerous
that sung so rare it made a song
like a bee and an ant on a pine cone
in the forest.
For that,
I hum.
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:37 PM UTC
.
Snow drifts down
laying a lawn cold sheet
across the frozen ground,
creating art reliefs
like acid etching glass,
open space rolling and undulating,
in small hills and depressions,
bedecked in a veil of white.
The silence is deafening,
quiet having been enjoyed
and surpassed,
briefly punctuated by the call of a bird,
A sharp whistle that shrieks
and attacks the silence.
The fresh smell of snowfall wafts up
as it settles and glistens
in the light of silver moonbeams,
randomly peeping through clouds.
The taste of peace,
tranquility,
in the frigid air,
sends imagination soaring
from the desolation of isolation
to another time and place.
The snow falls,
falls,
in a relentless race for the ground,
all is still,
nothing stirs,
as the moor welcomes its quilt
and sleeps with a cold heart,
dreaming,
of being kissed by the Sun.
© Pagan Paul (28/05/18)
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 1:58 AM UTC
.
The emptiness is full of lost joys ...
The heft and fall
of a wood axe
splitting down winter logs
The sight of girls
pretty and fair
exposing flesh in the sun
The smell of flowers
scented breeze
and fresh mown grass
The pint of real ale
quenching thirst
after a long days graft
The company of friends
killing loneliness
laughing and telling stories
The piquant moments
of happy and sad
when tears flow easily
The arms of lovers
on a cold night
and raising a heartache
The taste of fruit
so ripe and lush
dribbling juice down chins
The feel of a smile
crossing lips
releasing hormonal pleasure ...
The emptiness is full of lost joys …
© Pagan Paul (03/06/18)
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC
Have you heard about them?
(felt the magic…)
They are
the essence of love
they hold
the beauty of life
they are all around us shining bright.
It's a whisper
of love
that floats
through the trees
ruffling every leaf
on
the
sweet
scent
of a breeze.
It’s a hint
of a fairy tale
a maiden
a white knight
a love
blessed by the stars
tenderly held tight.
A love that
grows stronger
as hearts became whole
for the love
between
them comes deep
from their souls.
From the very first moment
love shined
bright and warm
casting out
doubt and gloom
enchanting
even the worst of storms.
It’s a whisper
of love
that floats
through the trees
a promise of eternity
on the sweet scent
of a breeze.
~
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC
I may not be right there
every night and every day,
but I feel you here with me
in so many loving ways.
So many miles between us
yet distance can’t keep us apart,
and nothing could ever change
all the love for you in my heart.
It could be a sweet dream
or a memory we have shared,
it only takes an instance
to get from here to there.
Even though I always feel you
standing by my side,
I cherish every single memory
that lingers through my mind.
~
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:22 PM UTC
Appreciation amid glorious people
They sound speak resound
Fantastically
Ah and we are just as they say
In the grand sphere
Of poetic masterpieces just
Amateurs
When if you read much
Feel
HP poets are masterpieces
Writhing psalms odes
Songs and heartfelt
Artworks daily
As poets are defined by effort
Heart and good designs
I know no place
Other where all these
Parts exist in better people.
I am often lack in
Saying or plussing or recognizing
This very fact.
HP poets are the best.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:21 PM UTC
I want to be the alm the faithful glorier
a day in a mind that keeps center about
a truth memory a kept kiss secret
in days of pink sky seances and
the solemn remembrances that people
cry for sob
break bread for have
tea in dresses best dress
around fine china,
though I never had any,
altered states where I might find fine
the silken robes those kings adjust
as they eye me suspicious
for I aim to change away
the blood rights judiciary
and make plain
pollen eye-watering.
Some things are just better left
unsaid.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
Beauty
is the early morning
when
dew sparkles
like golden wine
as the birds
start to sing in harmony
and the air
is filled with scents of pine.
Breathe in
the fresh morning air
feel all senses
come alive
as sun rays
shine through the trees
announcing
daybreak has arrived...
A soft breeze
blowing through the trees
displaying
the beauty of this place
close your eyes
listen to the sounds
as the wind
gently kisses your face.
Sense
the flowers blooming
stand
firm on the ground
open your heart and mind
as hope
starts to zoom all around.
Look
to the clear blue sky
feel
the brightness
of the sun
as it lovingly
touches your face
let the joyful cry
of nature
fill your
soul
with beauty and grace.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
data
all arranged collimated
in neat rows columns
speading sheets all laid out
on rooftops with SOS
written in red paint calling hecilopters
help us it says
water is good unless it inundates
and is ***** with sewage and the government flies by
looking but doesn't do it
before it ends there are accountants
adding tallies costs against lost lives on
a white sheet a
gamma line
going steadily up to the right corner
of a clean paper sheet maybe a posterboard for added
emphasis
etchy red line exponentially rising up up away
in that line are lives against costs the government
sitting on markers
red crayons calculators
basing missions against costs like lives are expendable
how much can we spend for a bunch of creoles or ****** in New Orleans,
someday white folks you gonna be the minority.
I'm
red
I'll rate in the minority
no matter what.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:19 PM UTC
.
*Love from a Poets Quill,
Oh Heart, be calm be still,
flicker not as the flame,
softly sleep holding her name.*
© Pagan Paul (05/05/18)
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC