The forest floor soft and glowing
sun-rays shining through the trees,
light orbs sparkling through the shadows
like fairies dancing on the breeze.

Sitting beneath the pine trees
where the ferns grow thick and green,
some growing sharp and tall like swords
others like wide green screens.

There’s a little stream running through
bubbling over rocks worn round and smooth,
getting lost within the music of the sounds
relaxing my soul, it caresses and soothes.

Lost in these tranquil moments
such precious times spent,
remembering, hoping and dreaming
surrounded by sweet and spicy forest scents.
~

© 2017 Brianna Love/SA/DBMA

.
Far away across the sea
an island cloaked in mystery.
Where nothing is as it appears
because it exists between the spheres.

Poetica speaks as she spins
flying high within the winds.
Words flow in rivers deep
climbing mountains to fall asleep.

Resting fair on velvet green
in secret valleys so serene.
Shady glades in woodlands snore,
comforted beyond misty shores.

It is there verse and rhyme are born,
upon Poetica's burgeoning dawn,
floating away and out of sight,
into Poetica's beautiful night.

from 'Selected Works'
by Lord Pagan of Poetica


© Pagan Paul (10/09/17)

.
Fulfilled, satisfied, a gentle kiss,
and a promise to return ...


© Pagan Paul (12/09/17)

.
Your name burns acid on my tongue,
a visceral hydrochloric distaste,
drool, despised, forms on my lips,
grey, venomous from your serpents kiss.

Your fingernails, biting knives in my skin,
slicing open old scars to bleed anew.
The crimson trickle, like dripping honey,
drying rotten about hairs, to scab.

Your body consumes my passion,
regurgitating it thrice seven-fold.
Vomiting lust over the dining table
designed by Nature to make you gorge.

Your intentions, elusive, wild and fey,
twist-**** my mind like knotted stars.
Secrets on the tail of a comet, lightness,
darkness, spitting from a moon girls lips.


© Pagan Paul (23/03/17)

.
Threading dainty upon eggshells
a free spirit dances lightly.
Passing through and in between
to mesmerise the casual ******.
Her smile, with soft collision,
scatters colour on dim memory.
Her presence, autumn made flesh,
stirs the stones of ancient thought.
Shining gems of mute understanding
sparkle for her tapestry mind.
Casual silver lines of wisdom
weave her playful astral patterns.
Reaching coyly beyond old walls,
lips silent, holding unspoken secrets.
Her eyes framed with amusement
taking shy pleasure from grace.

© Pagan Paul  (2017)

.
Silver charms on an anklet ******
as her foot stamps down once,
crossed dainty in front of the other,
and her hands start a slow ascent.
From hips up into the air
in the nonchalant action of the flame,
arcing a half circle about her waist
she turns to face the assembled crowd.

A tabla starts a sleepy beat
and the sitar player awakens,
or returns from a meditation,
readying himself for his introduction,
to blend a melody of the Moon
with the woven movements of dance.
The beat increases and four taps
signal a change in the rhythm.
The following note is punctuated
by the tinkling of the charms
and the first strum of the sitar,
sending music to the starry sky.

And her hips sway in gentle waves
as her hands mimic the lotus flower
in cups of dreams above her head,
and the anklets jangle a soothing sound.
The wrists twist and move graceful,
delightfully twinned with the neck of a swan,
and her body sways like a leaf in the wind
to the melody from ages past.

The tabla starts a frantic beat
as the sitar player lets fly,
his new unrestrained chords
dilute the night with ecstasy.
And she dances in her trance,
skin shining with the dew of reflected joy,
her lithe body telling the story
that began before the dawn of time.
A crescendo summons the dance to end
and silence fills the void,
but far into the deep dark night
silver charms on an anklet ******.

© Pagan Paul (01/09/17)