Pagan Paul

Jul 2017

Lora Lee

applying his
              lingual buds
   to the smooth
lush of her
thighs she rippled
         as a lava lake,
          no stone skipped
                          just
melting milk, lapped up
in hungry pulses
cream of silk
   pounding thunder
        in consonants of
             taut skin drum
                nuances in vowels
         uttered in
animal dissonance
his bristled breath
all over her
              fingers
salivary intentions
over rim of lip
feeding the emptiness,
a holy vessel
more ancient than
        before time
              now ready
              to be filled by the
           essence of feminine
pineapple juice drizzling
firebud glistening
in fuchsia exposure
open gateway
      to divine outpour
a sacrificial altar
of unmasked psyche
completely stripped of
                     any pellicle
his palms firmly
planted in hot muscle
thumbs parting
            glory's hole
deer at the saltlick
lost in the velvet
just pour it in
thick molasses
not stifling,
only honeyed bark
multi-hued like
      eucalyptus deglupta
in buttery tips
dripping love,
all over her lips
and just like that, in
slick-painted dabs
of their own
acrylic-drip art
just like that
in the wild
            and thick
explodes the ache
of her
ripped
         apart
   heart

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zuuObGsB0No

#love #healing #***

Pagan Paul Jul 2017

Sun and Moon

.
Sun rises
in misty dawn,
early rays
light brings warm.

Sun sets
in hazy dusk,
late rays
to darkness brusque.

Moon rises
in quiet night,
early beams
throw out light.

Moon sets
in peaceful morn,
late beams
are ragged torn.

© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)

.
Originally called Vivasvan and Chandra Indu.
(4 x 10 Word)
.

#poetry #sun #moon #light #10w

Pagan Paul Jul 2017

The Seeker

.
The sky hangs heavy, still and sore,
sad, it doesn't change any more.
Maybe the answers are right here,
Not up there with uncertainty and fear.

A voice cries out desperate and loud,
'every silver lining has a cloud'.
Perhaps there are no answers now,
but the future may reveal somehow.

Unmasked and uncloaked, the weary mind,
through the imagery the thoughts unwind.
A storm rages and a light bursts through,
a path, years lost, there, in full view.

Where this leads is mystery unclear,
but not up there with all the fear.
A whole new vista, could be uncertain,
the arduous task of raising the curtain.

© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)

.
A poem about the mood swings inherent in BPD,
the struggle to understand them and to manage them.
.

#poetry #seeking #answers #bpd #bipolar #clarity #metaphors

Pagan Paul Jul 2017

Mid-Stream Isle

.
Let us linger for a while
upon this sacred mid-stream Isle.

Between the banks of this woodland river,
the flanking tree-scape murmurs peace.
Tinkling drops over pebbles tumble,
eager and away to the sea, its home.
The easy flow of destiny contained
in a dashing continual race.
Birds chatter until the big one shrieks,
its flashing form
diving through the canopy
in search of a mammal to feed its young.
The chorus resumes.
A nervous Doe peeks from dense undergrowth,
constant alertness as she moves,
body trembling in anticipation of attack,
but conquering fear, bends to drink.
Lazy grass and moss so soft
lies underfoot in this magikal place,
the feel and the pull of the earth
brings comfort and peace to the tired body,
tranquility evoked with sight and sound,
soothing the mind with touch and smell,
a sensual cuddle from the Natural world.

© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)

.
A peaceful place to hang out :)
.

#poetry #serenity #isle #peace #dream #beauty #tranquility

Pagan Paul Jul 2017

Hidden

.
As I walk this lonely path
the music plays for me.
Picking at the neat stitches,
the seams of my inner universe.
Somewhere a dam bursts,
a levee breaks, floodgates open.
And vision is impaired by drops
like boulders of rain on a windscreen,
but I have no wiper blades,
just the rims of my wraparounds.
And the music plays on regardless,
ripping through the fabric,
the cushion of my existence.
Control lets go, an illogical absentee.
Millennia creep by as minutes tick.
Sliding through black curtains sight returns,
the shakes pass slowly, rubbernecking shame.
And as the music plays in my head,
I walk the path and treasure the gift
of tears for souvenirs.

© Pagan Paul (2017)

.
When nobody sees you cry ...
.

#poetry #walking #tears #crying #emotions #music #mp3 #secrettears

Pagan Paul Jun 2017

Marooned

.
'No man is an Island'
Maybe not true my Dear friends.
Perchance in general, contact is good.
But take a good look.
There are many Islands in the emotional ocean
with closed harbours and sealed ports.
Refugees of romance; Tortured traumas;
Insane individuals; Mental mercenaries;
Each one a lonely star,
a pinprick of light, disconnected,
on a girdle of the sky,
protected by a carapace of experience,
cold, distant, drifting further from the source,
in a race for consolidation and annihilation.
Islands of safety become Isles of danger.
Selfishness; Self-hate;
Self-perpetuating; Self Destruct;
The inward circle and downward spiral
cloaking the Island, shielding its existence,
shunning the continents of integration.
So can it be true my Dear friends,
no man is an Island?

© Pagan Paul (28/06/17)

.
I wish I could remember how to swim! PPx
.

#poetry #poem #marooned #island #isolation #feelings #safety