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oh victory
vivacious as a dandelion dispersed
on wind
air flight far wide high
as wings fly as words sing as minds think
high    get high buzz like a bee
flitter free to and fro
nothing compares   to this
to thy   to my free mind
free to fly and find
soft buttercups in the field a new day a new way
once a closed academy taught to decay
now the nature of a stream flowing
let it be
let me be
I care no more about archaic truisms or static
ways of looking I open
my eyes free trip on fantasims I fear not the
new idealism where truth is peace love and holiness
under these skies I see bluer than ever and newer and more virginal
more loving peaceful a sky
that glows for all
one day I thought of it
just why the **** not love
why strife why fight lets' love all night in the day
all days every night.
I love.
I'm not afraid of love.
.
I know this place,
light stone avenues,
fig, pear, apricot and apple,
trees that line in rows,
cut paving with neat gutters
**** white granite buildings,
as ferns and creepers
cascade from roof gardens,
the green shining vivid
in appreciation of being alive.
And I connect across the aeons,
this place was my home,
from centuries long passed,
yet reaching out to be found.
The avenues mimic my mind,
long straight and narrow,
broad and winding,
leading to sedate squares
to sit and feel the sun,
to bathe in beautiful isolation.
And the trees sway
casually in a breeze so soft,
it caresses the branches,
enough to tickle the leaves
and cool the ripening fruit.
Here, the forest erupts,
circles around this sanctuary,
forming a natural hedge
to this garden of tranquility,
this oasis in the maelstrom,
this home in my heart.
Flowers of honeysuckle,
jasmine, of clovers and lily,
adorn walls and buildings,
bright in contrast
to the shadows of the trees,
bloom with the intensity of colour,
riotous in hue and arrangement,
yet, ordered to Nature's Law.
Paradise wrapped in image,
slicing through time and space,
my place a thousand years ago,
my place to claim forever,
and the wind carries me home,
I know this place,
because it lives inside of me,
because I made it.


© Pagan Paul (06/06/18)
.
His head kept bumping on my shoulder
and he was not my father
or anyone I knew

he smelled as if a bath was overdue
and slept like wasn't a place better
than the ***** briefness of my shoulder.

Breaking down was my brittle patience
needled by his bristled cheek
brushed by his shabby dress,

was for rest the man hard pressed?

Wouldn't I have been nudged by pride
if the head on my shoulder was my father
happy to have him by my side?

as he gets older
does his blurry mind miss
a place where he is not alone

one or any shoulder
for an untimely nap in peace
a quiet stranger to rest upon?
A bus ride in the heat, Mar 15, 2018, 2pm
Just keep it going
Do not ever quit
You may encounter a rough road
Hang tough and be legit
Build your character
Rise above doubt
Have that fire
Show the people what you are about
Longer I'm away from home
the more my heart hurts.
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