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Pagan Paul Dec 2017
.

The special speculative speculum
examined an orifice one day.
Upon its initial inspections
it was clearly heard to say

'I've been in some holes before
but this one takes the biscuit.
I should go in a little deeper
but don't know if I should risk it.
For there is a blockage here,
one I would rather not disturb.
I should really try to describe it
but I am struggling to find a verb.
It was always going to happen,
one day it would come to pass,
when in would walk a patient
with his head stuck up his ****'.


© Pagan Paul (14/12/17)
.
  Dec 2017 Pagan Paul
Lora Lee
in the icy swirl
          of deep-inhale
            I reach down inside
                      to darkest
       heated flesh-fabric
removing the clothing
of my soul,
feeling the layers
                slowly  undone
                      the flay
                        of my own fleece
                          the peeling
                    of my own pelt
            penetrating
                through tissue,
                     a journey to the
                          deep heart of me,
                         cut in one clean move
                         and yet, like a miracle
                  there is
             no pain
                   just magnet-connect
                     beyond the cusp
                            of words
                              that curl from our
                                             tongues
                                      rising up in
                      latticed affirmations
                    a cleansing in frost
a constant, aquamarine renewal
and there is no past
no future
      just this prism
           of crystal liquid jewels
      flowing in
gentle,
         cellular music
             straight into the strands        
                    of our veins
and I miss you
like you have gone
on the long winter hunt
my longing splayed out
like an animal skin on
                    four poles
its tendons stretched
beyond measure
yet holding fast
with a roof over my head,
                    I acknowledge
             my restlessness
I am my own
       hunter-forager,
         both searching and found,
                     gathering up bits  
               of velocity
stroking the ribbons
of passion
stoking the fires of my
              heart and hearth
protecting what is us
like a lioness
for we are overflowing
with both strength
         and tenderness
              our own bones
ingredients of the wild soup              
of our feral union
of our constant rebirth
our very dna
          weaving itself
like heartstrings
               in the rush      
of
       time
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPMEufMuyks
Pagan Paul Dec 2017
.
.      .
     .   .         .  .      .     
.   .     .        .
Snow kisses the sleepy mountains,
draping them with sheets of white.
Flakes drift down into the vales,
jewels sparkling in the full moon light.
A simple crystallised drop of water
delightfully whirls on a gentle breeze,
alighting softer than an eyelash kiss,
to find a home upon the trees.



© Pagan Paul (04/12/17)
.
Pagan Paul Dec 2017
.
Wine, enchilada and pickle sauce,
corks and safeties,
just like The Penguin In *******
in Ronnie and Kenny's shed.

The Idiot ******* Son
sits eating the deadly Yellow Snow,
whilst Joe hums Zombie Woof
at the Poodle in his Garage.

Dinah-Moe Humm finally gets off;
in the Dangerous Kitchen,
with the Muffin Man's ***** Love,
and the Illinois Enema Bandit.

The Fine Girl and the Latex Solar Beef
bathed in The Blue Light,
shout 'Pick Me, I'm Clean',
along Inca Roads, to Find Her Finer.

Cosmik Debris exclaims Zoot Allures!
From the fat, floating, maroonish Sofa
because the Bow Tie Daddy
sings Nasal Retentive Calliope Music.

Yo Mama! there's the Disco Boy
who gets in More Trouble Every Day,
so The Torture Never Stops,
with Damp Ankles, Peaches & Regalia.

Sam With The Showing Scalp Flat Top
dances with Camarillo Brillo upstairs,
catching Stink-Foot once again,
like In France from the Valley Girl.

And so the Watermelon In Easter Hay
rides off with the Duke Of Prunes
to the Carolina ******* Ecstasy,
visiting Billy The Mountain, and Montana.


© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)


Frank Zappa
(21st December 1940 - 4th December 1993).
Musician, Diplomat and Lyricist.
.
A tribute to a genius for the anniversary
of his death, and birthday (both in December).

There are a lot of Zappa song titles
and references in this write.
.
Pagan Paul Nov 2017
.
Glistening droplets
form soft liquid spheres that spill
moon rain down wet cheeks.


© Pagan Paul (29/11/17)
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Pagan Paul Nov 2017
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I saw thee dancing betwixt the trees,
wearing the greenest of velvet dresses,
hair bouncing in a flow of wild wind,
cascading down in tight curled tresses.
Joyously giggling at Natures comfort,
her love surrounding thee in a cloak,
'Tis then thy truest feminine snares
caught the heart of this mighty Oak.



© Pagan Paul (25/11/17)
.
Lord of Green series, poem 14
.
Pagan Paul Nov 2017
.
He lays in peaceful repose upon a sheet of satin,
she moves up to his body and curls into him,
placing her head upon his unmoving chest,
unconditional grief shown in mute sadness.
She recalls his voice filled with love and affection,
his familiar scent now gone, cold and musty,
as deaths sweet perfume hangs heavy
like a drape of choking intoxicant trance.
Moments stretch blandly into minutes of ache,
the minutes career into hours of silent vigil.
And with her head upon his unmoving chest
she exhales and whimpers her final sigh,
a last breath and she submissively slips away.
Hoping, perchance, once more to hear
her masters voice.



© Pagan Paul (25/11/17)
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