.
An Echo* asks “where have you been?”
and my reply is heart and truth.

I have thought of you for centuries,
I have conceived of you for millennia,
Patiently building you for aeons,
and I have died for you every second.

For I sit frozen in my cave of sorrow,
wrapped in a blanket of burning ice.
Constructing you in my waiting dreams,
a raging fire in the coldest of prisons.

That is where I have always been,
where I am, and will forever be.
Until the hour you step beyond fear
and the moment you look at me.


© Pagan Paul (16/12/16)

.
Therapists will tell you
good mental health
is like a coffee table.

A hard uniform surface
supported by four pillars.

Family Life
Work Life
Love Life
Social Life

Seems my
coffee table
is just

a tray.



© Pagan Paul (2017)

.
So you snuggle in to your bed
as you hear mid-winter calling.
The cold north wind is blowing
as the last of Autumns leaves are falling.
Did you ever stop to think
as you pull up your blankets tight?
That out in the doorways of the city
desperate figures shiver in the night.
Crowding around the soup van
blue hands grasping for the heat.
Hallowed eyes and frightened expressions
as the rain turns to stinging sleet.
The concrete pavements are hard and cold
the bridges provide scant protection.
The hot food and volunteers words
stir memories into recollection.
Once they were people of society
with homes and jobs and cars and love.
Now they fight behind the charity shops
for clothes and coats and hats and gloves.
So as you snuggle deep in your bed
and your fire starts to burn low.
Remember the people of the streets
as the sleet begins to turn to snow.

Pagan Paul (Dec 2008) ©2016

.
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)

.
Wrapping the sky
      around shoulders of grief,
prepared shuffles of aimless motion
in time,
     a hood of moons
transpire to illuminate,
          conveying the dissolution
of reason and rhyme,
as logic takes a bullet and bites the dust
resplendent in a cloak
     of transparent darkness swirling,
          a veil drops
like the final curtain,
with the august play about to commence,
     the actors, forward,
          taking a bow of silence,
to an absent audience who do not care,
the arrival at platform zero,
     of nowhere,
          travelling to nothing on a vacant train,
an instant express to the heart
     of the void,
carrying hallucinations
          in a purse
                    of stars,
Promise rides a chariot of blessing,
yielding a gift
     sugar coated in
          images and
                    words.


© Pagan Paul (11/04/18)

.
Tears like raindrops roll down my face
as I start awake from another dream.
The stark isolation set in another place
reflecting the here by subconscious means.

The wind whistles a gale of fury
whilst I squat on the mountains summit.
Bracing my heart from an angry jury,
whose purpose is to find me unfit.

Not worthy, by proxy, a foregone verdict
delivered eloquently from myself to me.
Scything confidence away, I've heard it.
Raindrops taste like tears to the lonely.

Shutters and barricades drop, my armour,
holding back the bad, and the good.
Protected, the gale blows much calmer,
the stark isolation accepted and understood.

But the dream persists, always the same,
a looping litany whilst I lay asleep.
The withdrawal is but temporary in name
until I locate that which I humbly seek.


© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)

.
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)

.
I nfinite
S tars
I nfinite
S pace

Her lithe and arched body
protecting her child. Earth.
Holding hands with her sister,
the twin Goddesses of Truth.
Her name stolen by the liars,
Her glory tarnished with the blood
of the innocent and brave.
So, who's voice will be Her hero?
Her modern lover. Champion.
Her contemporary pharaoh?

© Pagan Paul (13/06/16)

.
When you go I will do this,
grace your brow with a kiss.
Upon your breast I will leave
a white rose, to show I grieve.
Please forgive me when I weep
as I see you in eternal sleep.
And when I see another rose,
I'll remember well the path you chose.
My fingernails will carve the stone
as I work my fingers to the bone
to prepare with love your resting grave,
because you are the friend I could not save.


© Pagan Paul (02/11/16)

.
She bestowed upon me her lacy favour,
     tying it about my lance,
     so my fortitude should not waver,
     and doubt lead me a merry dance.

She crowned me with a kiss as blessing,
     sealing it to my lips,
     with grace so soft and caressing,
     like a breeze touches sailing ships.

She gave to me her most cherished gift,
     surrendering up her chastity,
     with joy I feel my spirits lift,
     at the thought of her next to me.

She anointed her wish on my beating heart,
     so gently as to sleep,
     her private desires locked deep within,
     and secrets for me to keep.


© Pagan Paul (01/08/16)

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)

.
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)

1.
Nervous, her senses open and ready,
sitting in the shadows on full alert.
Her cubs are playing at hunting
and the ***** is seriously being mother.
They tumble and roll in the dust,
career and jump through the grass.
And she just waits for danger,
any sign that all is not well.
There is a crash and noisome grinding
as two cars collide on the main road.
She cannot see through the wooden panels
but the sound has her really spooked,
so she issues out a short bark
calling her cubs to run and hide.
They are soon away and gone
and a rat darts across the waste land.


2.
I bet you all know cone man.
He is the focused possessive  type.
He makes sure that his cones are straight
and in the correct position to work.
You see cone man is the obsessive fool
that puts out cones on the street.
He forgets that his property stops at his gate,
that the road belongs to everyone.
But he must have his own parking space,
his self-righteous right to park outside his home.
I wonder if he is aware?
Aware that he is breaking the law.
Private individuals are not licensed
to place cones out on the public highway.
Of course he is not aware.
He is to wrapped up in his ownership delusion.

3.
Kink. There is a kink in the hose.
That is what she should be told.
No! Don't point the nozzle at your face.
How can anyone be so stupid?
She eventually sees the kink and twists it.
The freed water erupts forcefully,
it soaks her slippered foot.
Seemingly uncaring or unaware
she starts on the climbing rose
and the cultivated bluebells beneath.
Slowly she waters the borders
then turns to look at the pots of flowers,
arranged with planters and an old sink
on the ancient cracked paving slabs.
Again the water subsides to a dribble.
Kink. There is a kink in the hose.

4.
He was running down the street.
Panic and fear on his face.
He was about to learn a hard lesson.
That selling drugs on the street
is a prison sentence waiting to happen.
The chasing blue light and siren
screeches up and stops with a bang.
He hops over a low wall
and realises that he is now cornered.
He makes a bold effort to run
so gets firmly pinned down on the grass.
The men in blue arrest him
and he is led back to the pavement.
The police car cannot move
its tyre had hit the kerb and punctured.
The suspect is taken away by another car
and disappears off into the justice system.
A lone officer is left and taps at his phone
casually leaning on the crippled cars bonnet.

.
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)

.
He is just another notch
     on her sterile bed of love.
He is just another victim
     of conquest for her thighs.
She is just another link
     in his daisy chain of woe.
She is just another span
     on his long bridge of sighs.


© Pagan Paul (21/05/17)