a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night
when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream
down eager avenues of lifelessness
consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought
is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—
on such a night the sea through her blind miles
of crumbling silence seriously smiles
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 5:04 AM UTC
.
I travelled the lands out to the West,
of all the cities I am most impressed,
with Melk, by mountains and sea it rests,
ruled by the Queen, Lyenna of Cressed.
Her beauty is famed throughout the land,
with many suitors for her vacant hand,
none of whom will ever understand,
she will marry only her own hearts plan.
I met Lyenna in her Palace of Green,
and my eyes saw beauty they had never seen,
so mysterious and delicate this foreign Queen,
seductive and distant with charms unseen.
Invited to an audience within the walls,
how could I not reply to this royal call,
these affairs tend towards a chaotic squall,
a chance to meet a Queen in her Great Hall.
“Lord Pagan of Poetica, I'm pleased to meet you,
its so nice for me to personally greet you”.
Her soft voice designed just to defeat you,
her ravishing beauty on show to unseat you.
With reddened cheeks I was able to say
“Its my pleasure indeed to meet you this day,
though the ground is cold and the sky is grey,
your presence brings the warm sun my way”.
My charm raised a blush and a smile,
she was happy to tarry with me awhile,
in the gardens we must have walked a mile,
her suitors barely concealing jealousy and bile.
Then Queen Lyenna whispered a secret to me,
she was waiting for a man from across the sea,
until he came she would hold on with assurity,
to her chastity, her love and her purity.
Her confidence in me was by no means assuaged,
but her secret I keep dear like an animal caged,
as deep within a raw and primal fire still raged,
I felt this moment could not have been better staged.
Her shy request to become my lover,
gifting to me what she would give no other,
my desire and lust I could no longer cover,
my heart was hers, no longer for another.
Disillusioned with the men in her land,
refusing them all she had made her stand,
not acquiescing to what her father planned,
the smile in her eyes said “I've got my man”.
From 'Selected Works'
by Lord Pagan of Poetica
© Pagan Paul (08/02/18)
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
i don’t like what i see in the mirror
because i am nothing more than an ugly mess.
tired eyes
flabby tummy and big thighs
self harm scars
and layers of skins enough to hide my confidence.
i don’t like my reflection.
i don’t like them at all.
i was told that i was perfect the way i am
but then they would tell me
“maybe if you lose weight a little bit more
you could get rid of that chubby cheeks and double chin”.
so i skipped breakfast,
and lunch,
and dinner,
and sometimes i lose control and puke all the way out.
my throat would burn but i felt victorious.
and just like that i spend days and weeks and months and every moments counting calories that will flow down inside this mouth
one hundred
two hundred
not more than three
or else their terrifying gazes will speak to me and say
“ew, disgusting.”
i hate my reflection and i dislike my being
because who would have loved a person like me,
a person with self love the size of a teardrop?
and then they told me again that i don’t have to go on diet because i’ve got the body of Victoria’s Secret’s models
but again,
why would he left me for a girl
well,
she has smaller wrist, bigger chest and she’s always alive
i don’t blame him though
i am really not enough, right?
because anyone can say those three words
and anyone can say you’re perfect
as long as you fit their idea of perfection
i am no goddess and i know my place
but maybe
just maybe
someday,
i will finally be enough.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
.
For some it is a poetic crime
to ever use an imperfect rhyme.
As the Emperor of enunciation
I embrace differing pronunciation.
So chain not words up in a prison
let them go with their own rhythm.
.
© Pagan Paul (Sept 2015)
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 8:30 AM UTC
As the sun still rise from the east
Sets in the palm trees of the west
As the waves still crashes
back and⚊
A cold breeze and pure white sand
As the bright rainbow still appear
After a rain with a sky so clear
As the storm always end
And a help is always send
As the north never experience summer
And deserted land will never face winter
As rooster still crows in the morning
While they are muted during evening
As long as the Earth maintains gravity
While there's a newborn star in the galaxy
As long as the battle always ceased
And inosent civilians were released
As long as broken always mend
While a hands is there to lend
As long as an orphan keeps a smile
Never loses hope, prays after awhile
As long as the ink never runs out
And my hands are able to write out
As long as my mind speak loud
While phrases are coming out
As long as you are staying right there
I will always be your poetess here
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
Dear Universe,
Bless the poet's and their pearls of pain,
Steel them, so they may return to write again.
Bless thier jewel encrusted crowns of thought.
that every delicate word of verse is caught.
Let them pour out their soulful words
to transfuse our bleeding hearts.
Scrolling pages to guide us
through our darkest dark.
Lighting our highest joys
and deepest passions,
May we always preserve
these sacred bastions
May the poets never truly heal or break,
nor stop thier cries;
lest their flowing rivers of verse run dry.
That we may ever bathe ourselves
in rivers of consolation and joy
sending empathy through thoughts
of comfort and care,
to knit us closer in understanding
through words
in universal prayer.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 12:29 AM UTC
Gusto ko ng panibagong balat.
Iyong maputi at makinis.
Mala porselana,
Na halos kuminang tuwing masisinagan ng araw.
Kabisado ko ang bilang ng araw,
Na ginugugol sa ilalim ng araw kakabanat.
Ngunit,
Ang panibagong balat,
Hindi nito ako kayang protektahan, alam ko.
Lilimitahan lamang nito ang mga nalalaman ko.
Ngunit,
Sa panibagong balat, nais ko magsimula.
Kilalanin at kalimutan ng halos magkasabay,
Ang imahe ng nakakadiri kong balat.
Bilang ang peklat.
Sukat ko kung gaano kalalim ito,
Noong sugat pa lamang.
Kaya ko gusto ng bagong balat para pagtakpan ito.
Baka sakaling iwasto ng bago kong balat,
Ang mga naimali ko.
Makikilala kaya ako ng ibang tao,
Sa bagong balat na suot ko?
Marahil hindi,
sana hindi,
panigurado hindi.
Nais kong magtago,
Sa paraan kung paano ako lulutang ng hubo't hubad.
Nang hindi ko na itatakip,
Ang aking palad sa aking dibdib,
Dahon sa ibaba ng puson.
Isisigaw ko ang salitang "PUTA!" ng napakalakas,
Halos magsisilabas
Ang mga putang mismong makakarinig,
At yayakapin ko sila.
Dahil bago ang balat ko, ito'y mainit.
Kumpara sa nahamugan kong balat kagabi.
Malinis,
Kumpara sa balat kong may dampi ng mabahong laway.
Mabango,
Kumpara sa mumurahing aficionado na nahaluan
Ng pawis ni Ricardo kagabi.
Bagong balat.
Ibebenta ko ang luma kong balat,
Sa gabing ito.
Bilhin mo ang aking balat.
May panibago bukas,
Pag-asa, hamon,
Mantikilya sa loob ng pandesal.
Gamit ang luma kong balat,
Makakabili pa ba ako ng bago?
Magkaiba ang bagong uri sa bagong palit.
Ang balat ko, nalaspag na.
Tulad ng puti kong damit,
Hindi na ito puti.
Marumi ang titig ko.
Marumihin ang aking naisuot.
Ang balat ko ay puno ng mantsa,
Ngunit bago ang aking suot ngayon, bagamat,
Iisa parin ng uri.
Balat na nakalaan para ulitin ang pagrumi at
Yurak sa puti kong suot.
Bagong balat, kulay puti.
Wala na akong maisuot.
Hubad na ang aking puri.
Hindi ko masuot ang salapi.
Magkano pera mo? Tara?
Nais mo bang makita ang aking balat?
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
Hello,
To the person who suffers from heartache
Never ever harm yourself or live at stake
You are bolder dear, it’s just a piece of cake
Show them that it’s worth that ******* break
Bonjour,
To whoever pressured thyself to be belonged
Never ever do things that they’ll summoned
You don’t need to adjust yourself in common
That is neither a provision or an act of canon
Namaste,
To the person who solemnly reckons
To be recognized by his mighty idols
Day dreaming of certain fancies
Someday you’ll soon be noticed
Aloha,
To that someone who slowly loses hope
Never ever prepare a swaying rope
For God is with us; believe in this prose
There’s a lit lurking; everything has its caused
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 10:38 PM UTC
A person asked me, “What keeps you living?”
I stared through his eyes as I said, “Oxygen.”
I am that one out of a million sarcastic teen
But my answer nearly seems right, am I right?
He just looked into my hazel eyes, waiting
I can read it, he wants a philosophical answer
Yet I’m only a mere, neither Socrates or Plato
Then I started reading between those lines
I have lived because of the presence of air
Because of a girl fighting her breast cancer
Because of an orphan striving for success
A blind old woman who still find happiness
The mighty soldiers who fought in the battle
Unbreakable love of a long distance couple
If I tell you all my reason of me being alive
This piece might be the world’s longest prose
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
Ross⚊ a girl who talks ‘bout verse
She neither speak ***** nor curse
She help, assess, aid like a nurse
Known to be the purest of universe
Little did you know she’s a reverse
She can turn to a demon or worse
When nobody’s out to watch for her
She called daddy that was once her sire
Liberated, **** and such name it
She possessed all, an acknowledgment
Dared to do things you could ever think
A demure to savage within a blink
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 6:57 AM UTC