.
The scent of your love,
sweeter than Arabian jasmine
wafting on soft sirocco
through an orchid oasis
in the sun-kissed desert.

The scent of your love,
purer than Mysore sandal
drifting on cool breeze
through a fresh glade
in the rain-soaked forest.

The scent of your love,
more than aroma therapy
carried on astral light
through a frozen waste
to my tear-stained heart.

© Pagan Paul (31/01/17)

.
With this tarnished love I do
paint the world with darker hue,
and rise 'pon no light restraint
with shadow clouds for me to taint.

So ride black mood and flee away
torture me not for another day.
Begone! Be banished, leave no trace
release my heart to a better place.

Fate may bring wither she will
a new adventure, my love to thrill,
so permit this curtain call be seen
as my epitaph to a broken dream.


© Pagan Paul (2017)

.
Once a little boy woke up scared,
crying and calling for his mother.
Once an adult man woke up scared,
crying and calling for his lover.

For the boy there is no answer,
his mother is just never there.
For the man there is no answer,
his lover being just thin air.

You see the little boy is now a man,
who only ever wanted to be loved.
The adult man was the little boy,
who only ever needs to be loved.

So put your arms around the child,
show him love and teach him joy.
And put your arms around the man,
remember, he really is just a little boy.


© Pagan Paul (28/01/17)

.
I go by the name of Rook.
Lord of all that you can see.
I cradle and nurture my forest home,
my throne sits in the Poetree.

The canopy stretches before me,
tree tops licked in morning dew.
A finch catches my eye and winks,
greeting his Lord, then off he flew.

The sounds of Dawn, the forest awakes,
shedding sleep dust to the rising sun.
An owl calls her goodnight hoot,
disappears, rejecting the day to come.

Otters sport, play chase, by a stream
that flashes silver as light rays dance.
A Ladybird, yellow with black spots,
lands surprised, to crawl along a branch.

Clean crisp air, caressing nostrils,
invigorating life through cool beauty.
The vista of sunrise across the woods,
the source of inspiration for the Poetree.

© Pagan Paul (24/01/17)

.
I would write a poem
of bigotry, hatred and contempt.
Using every politically incorrect
name, word, phrase and insult.
A poem of vileness and villainy
of coldness, anger and disgust.
I would bear the onslaught tide
of derision, bile and utter rage.
To show, that beside you my friend,
there are 7 billion ***** in the toilet.

© Pagan Paul (16/01/17)