The Room of Dancing Shadows,
undulating across the wall,
like ****** Persian ballerinas,
making no sound at all.
Reaching, retreating, a mosaic form,
eternally shifting the dark shade.
Pictures of no light in a flux,
remain fragmented, cold, unmade.
Hypnotising, random shapes in black,
swim serenely, start to slide.
The Room of Dancing Shadows
holds its fear deep, deep inside.


© Pagan Paul (03/10/16)

.
I know this place,
light stone avenues,
fig, pear, apricot and apple,
trees that line in rows,
cut paving with neat gutters
**** white granite buildings,
as ferns and creepers
cascade from roof gardens,
the green shining vivid
in appreciation of being alive.
And I connect across the aeons,
this place was my home,
from centuries long passed,
yet reaching out to be found.
The avenues mimic my mind,
long straight and narrow,
broad and winding,
leading to sedate squares
to sit and feel the sun,
to bathe in beautiful isolation.
And the trees sway
casually in a breeze so soft,
it caresses the branches,
enough to tickle the leaves
and cool the ripening fruit.
Here, the forest erupts,
circles around this sanctuary,
forming a natural hedge
to this garden of tranquility,
this oasis in the maelstrom,
this home in my heart.
Flowers of honeysuckle,
jasmine, of clovers and lily,
adorn walls and buildings,
bright in contrast
to the shadows of the trees,
bloom with the intensity of colour,
riotous in hue and arrangement,
yet, ordered to Nature's Law.
Paradise wrapped in image,
slicing through time and space,
my place a thousand years ago,
my place to claim forever,
and the wind carries me home,
I know this place,
because it lives inside of me,
because I made it.


© Pagan Paul (06/06/18)

I am the ******* son of Nero,
the sad product of licentiousness.
A fact about my life
that I should really mention less.

My mother was a famous Queen
or so it is that I am told.
Unable to acknowledge me,
to the slavers I was sold.

But pirates attacked our galley
a few miles out to sea.
Bold, daring, fearsome men,
their life appealed to me.

Plundering, fighting on a ship,
I loved the pirates life.
Until one day I floundered
and took me a beautiful wife.

She bore me two boys and a girl,
I gave them all my affection.
Mourning the loss of my childhood,
my severed parental connection.

The children grew and flew the nest,
so leaving just two alone.
Then the plague paid a visit,
my grief weighs heavy for my home.

So now I am just a humble poet,
Withdrawn and cold, but serene.
Throwing words at a paper audience,
waiting patient for the final scene.

Well, wait there a while longer,
this ******* is not quite done.
I am not so ready to die just now,
that epilogue is yet to come.

© Pagan Paul (19/04/17)

.
Merrytree the Holly sprite
danced across the snow,
no mark did she leave in sight
wither whether she doth go.

So joyful and magickal is she,
darting in betwixt the flakes,
her wild spirit cavorting free,
laughing at mischief she makes.



© Pagan Paul (30/08/18)

.
She sits for most of the time,
in a metal chair with wheels.
Counting out the value of life
with an injury that never heals.

She waits for most of the time,
to confirm that she is really there.
But how many people notice her
sat down in her wheel-chair.

She's invisible for most of the time,
she is there but nobody spies.
So she spreads her tiny wings
and floats unnoticed to the skies.

She cried for most of the time,
always alone and lonely in a crowd.
Now flying free her spirit rises,
there's no discrimination in the clouds.


© Pagan Paul (25/12/16)

.
The sight of your femininity, beauty,
draws breath from your perfect form,
swaying, flirting, a stunning visual love,
with swoon fantasy and anticipated arousal.

The aroma of your perfume, honeysuckle,
drifts lazily from your elegant neck,
teasing, promising, a consenting floral love,
with delicate grace and scented arousal.

The tone of your voice, seductive,
velvet whispers from your deepest want,
lilting, singing, a desperate lyrical love,
with inviting sound and timbred arousal.

The taste of your mouth, sweetness,
drips honey from your delicate lips,
flowing, flooding, a desire sugared love,
with urgent passion and oral arousal.

The feel of your body, intimate,
drapes sensual from your soft skin,
clothing, wrapping, a flesh blanket love,
with spine tingles and fingertip arousal.

You fill up my senses, stunned,
conflicting feelings play with my mind,
heat, lust, a primal instinct love,
frozen in time and with frightening arousal.


© Pagan Paul (25/06/17)

.

I am the one who walks at the edge of the herd
noting and observing the crush.
The jostling and positioning, and re-positioning.
I see, I watch. As the participants dance,
desperately seeking to be sorted, boxed, stamped and labelled.
The reject of the herd, I document.
I can paint a flowery picture.
I can write an apocalypse.
But its not like that, its not black and white.
Its complex. And it is moving.
Constantly. The only true organised motion.
Infinite individual minds, racing.
Racing towards oblivion
carried by the herd.
The weak, trampled; helping elevate the strong.
The strong, elevated; trampling down the weak.
The battle for posture.
The psychology of a single entity
split, schizophrenically, amongst the countless.
The herd travels as one. Inexorably.
United and scattered, evolution incarnate.
I see the hate, the love, the conflicts within.
I see the pain and misery.
There is danger here, on the edge.
I am the one who walks apart from the herd,
finding my own path.

©Pagan Paul (20/06/16)

.
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 tip my hat to the Poetess,
the Word Witch whose spin enthralls,
with language arranged in patterns,
and verse that often calls.

Her art is to conjure images,
the Sorceress whose quill entrances,
with phrase beautiful in texture,
and a word that often dances.

Her creations are her offspring,
the High Priestess whose rhymes capture,
with stanza's keen in construction,
and meanings that evoke pure rapture.


© Pagan Paul (24/07/16)

.
Within the salty swirl of foamy loam
where depths collide with rushing tides
mystical creatures' hearts do roam
their secret desires, they so carefully hide

But one day among crystalline shadows of light
in shades of turquoise and emerald,
two beauties emerge from dark into bright,
and in their meeting a shared destiny heralds.

One with a voluptuous feminine grace,
swaying hips, fullness of ******* and velvet thighs
auburn-haired, with lips made of cherry
and her mellifluous voice her treasured prize.
The other a magical alchemy
of shapely woman and magnificent fish
her violet eyes and iridescent smile
would fulfil Poseidon's deepest wish.
With gemlike scales and long, lithe limbs
a glow lights up her mystic aura
yet behind it a sadness and longing for love
hide behind the coral reef's gentle flora.

Chancing upon each other,
at first hazy shadows
in the blue-green light
the Siren and the Mermaid
started to discover
that they shared a similar plight.

"Are my eyes really seeing what I think?"
breathed the Siren into the salt
"I've never seen a more beautiful creature,
I thought the chances would be nought"
"My name is Nerine," said the Mermaid. "For a sea Nymph I truly am
who has roamed the oceans day and night
feeling more empty the harder she swam"
"And I, am Ula," declared the Siren, in a voice like crystals , fine-tuned
"They say that my voice is as clear and smooth as a sapphire
which is why I am called a 'sea jewel.'"
The two embraced and began to talk, speaking of their pasts,
their present and future
and both realized that they wished for spiritual and ****** mates
to mend their hearts that were achingly sutured
"Oh darling," said Ula
"Let us journey to the land of the forests
for surely as they day I was born
we may find our blessing a-waiting us
in the spell of the wondrous Unicorn"

And so a sacred pact was made
as they swore unto each other
that their vigour would not fade
until they found their one-horned lover
and with knowing eyes,
pressed palm to palm
the beauties made their choice
Nerine would give up her tail for legs
and Ula her singing voice

Foreheads together, arms raised in light
their prayer was spun to sky
and suddenly, the two enchantresses
found themselves on land, quite dry

Excited, giggling like nymphets
they jumped and twirled in delight
and set off for the forest green
For their hearts they were ready to fight

I feel their presence first
a Fey being knows another Fey being.
The magic of the Otherworld,
announcing arrival long before seeing.

Into view they came walking along the forest path,
fluid movements hinting at an elemental source.
Chitter-chattering, the same way that finches laugh,
feet strong, steady, never straying from their course.
Two carefree girls, making trails through my Green,
I feel a purpose brooding, so sound out a call.
They stop, gracious, as if surprised to be seen,
whispering these words as on their knees they fall.

“We are Sea-sisters of the ocean,
we are here to follow our notion.
Searching the forest in gentle kind,
for the Unicorn we wish to find”.

Hark! Hear your wild Lord speak,
listen as your mind he frees,
leading you on a fantasy journey,
through valleys and betwixt the trees.
His stories weave a forest dreamscape,
a sylvan land of purest Green,
leading you by a cautious hand,
he'll show you things you've never seen.
Twisted hazel and the mighty oaks,
meadows and glades of sweetest light.
Streams that catch the moons cool rays
and secrets held within the night.
But the Unicorn, a law unto himself,
is one thing this Lord cannot show,
a creature to be sought for alone,
so off through the forest you must go.

Following deer tracks and mystical ways,
strange paths that turn and twist.
Deep into the woods the wanderers stray,
yearning the fabled Unicorn to exist.

Then it happened, inclement weather,
rain soaked the bracken and heather.
So Nerine and Ula, a decision made,
took to shelter in a canopied glade.
The irony was, to them, quite plain,
creatures of the sea hiding from rain.
The forest floor did start to steam,
creating an eerie warm sylvan dream.

And the girls so excited hugged and kissed
as a mighty beast emerged from the mist.
Slowly coalescing and so taking its form,
the raw masculine power of the Unicorn.

I had felt their presence as soon as they touched land,
emerging from the foaming waves, crawling hand in hand.
I heard the echoes on the ether, as they made their Sacrifice,
the resonance throughout feydom as they gladly pay the price.
I knew their wandering had led them a merry crooked dance,
and now they shivered before me, they think as if by chance.
But I am a law unto myself, the Unicorn of the trees,
roaming at will in the forest, showing myself to whom I please.
So these Maidens come from the sea where they were born,
two adventurous girls' brave quest to find the Unicorn.
Nerine and Ula looking awestruck statues in my presence,
rooted to the spot, rigid liked scared and paralysed pheasants.
Their deepest wish fulfilled, they marvel at my existence,
and I in turn marvel at their resilience and raw persistance.
But the Sacrifice means that the sea is no longer home,
tied well to the land, destined now to forever roam.
And what of love, their desires and lust to find a mate?
Well, for Nerine there is no choice, feelings came so late.
Parting from the Forest Lord, latent attraction she had felt,
and knew she would return his way, in his arms to melt.
The Siren Ula was very quiet, looking frightened and forlorn,
her greatest dream had always been to follow the Unicorn.
So now we walk together through glades beneath the Moon,
my primal urge keeps calling for her to sing a tune.

Sacrifice made, quest fulfilled, to her Lord, Nerine has gone.
Ula happily rides me, never once missing her Sirens Song.
And here, for now, is where this story sadly ends,
Nerine and Ula Sacrificed their gifts, forever sister-friends.


© Pagan Paul & Lora Lee (25/09/17)

.
The forced tangent of life
became an adventure that lost
and so this shell sits on air
reflecting a balance of the cost.

There was an instant in time
where the physical held its sway,
pushing back the dark of years
and emerging into a sunny day.

But the blush of an eye moment
rebuilds a visage of ancients.
The turbulence of discord asserts
the demise and sin of patience.


© Pagan Paul (02/02/18)

.
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)

.
She rides, a silver circlet on her brow.
Wearing the Green of the forest.
Eyes of hazel hold a proud gaze.
Child of the woods, beautiful and fey.
Her name is Leaf, Maiden of the Glades.

She sighs, a longing look in her face.
Yearning for her Lord of Green.
Heart in love with the King of Trees.
Born of the forest, body and spirit.
Maiden of the Glades, the Lady Leaf.

She waits, for Green is far away.
Watching the changes in the woods.
As seasons wax and wane cascades.
Woman entranced, by the living Trees.
Her name is Leaf, Maiden of the Glades.

She cries, a moon daisy in her hair.
Filling the lake of mystical tears.
His absence exhumes an eternal grief.
Body and spirit, beautiful and fey,
Maiden of the Glades, the Lady Leaf.


© Pagan Paul (23/06/16)