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shout out
****** a brush right straight down
the elemental throat
take all the things that make white
and paint the suburbs the city streets
the acres of corn fields variously
neon naked ladies
the truck stop babes
the pimps in black
the red and green lights yellow
caution
what is this canvas
if not the stew brewed now unfrozen
a big silver spoon
slid into
a commotion
a shotgun blast in a robbery
a bank
making false accounts for profit
the last ounce of street cred
blood leaking on the pavements black
they have power
those archangels those who preach
make America great again
I wanna go to a rally for
four years
have a maniac
speak dichotomies
like a psychotic
schizophrenic
one day sane the next neurotic
I take the brush and whitewash all of us and maybe
the nazis and imbeciles might pass  us by
.
A grieving woman stands alone
by the grave of a friend departed.
In the relentless blistering cold
of a day that should never have started.

As tears roll down her ruddy cheeks
mourning the loss of a friend released,
the memories of her life are sad,
the pain has gone, the pain has ceased.

So all that's left for the grieving woman
are a grave and memories to recall.
As she turns to face the world once more
she sees a leaf from an Oak tree fall.


© Pagan Paul (2017)
.
Look up, what shape do you see me tonight?
- Said the lovely moon


A solar eclipse
What a lovely sight
Seen by the lucky eyes
how fascinating it is to know that at one point of your life, you will be able to overcast a powerful sun.
Captured by a fence,
carried by the wind.
Helpless yet steadfast.
Strong yet graceful.

Almost billowing like a flag.
Celebrating triumph
amidst a sea of losses and destruction.

A stark reminder of what used to belong.
Of better times where colours were abundant.
And people loved better...

This crimson red...
Now only flails,
hard as it can afford.
Entangled by a lone barb.

Caught firmly in place but
forever fighting the oppressor that holds.
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