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 Feb 2018 A A
Pagan Paul
For some it is a poetic crime
to ever use an imperfect rhyme.
As the Emperor of enunciation
I embrace differing pronunciation.
So chain not words up in a prison
let them go with their own rhythm.

© Pagan Paul (Sept 2015)
Old poem I found in a notebook, previously unpublished.
I think I wrote it for another site where there were
a lot of snobbish 'academic' poets.
 Feb 2018 A A
the fountain (I)
 Feb 2018 A A
Mere existence is a wondrous thing. To think of complicated and simple ideas that expand the horizons of your mind. To feel each rainstorm and emotion. To see sunrises and imaginary worlds. To touch your love ones and their understanding. To taste the tears rising from your throat and each meal you eat. To hear laughter and words unspoken. To smell every rose and petrichor.
 Feb 2018 A A
Mark Bell
Recorded my life on a postage stamp
I used a five inch brush
Once cycled up Mount Everest
Who cares
The Sherpa didn't know
How to change a wheel
So I retired and lived in Kent.
Frankly my dear I don't give a ****
David Bowie to the laughing gnome
Sit there on your uneaten mushroom
And i weave you a song on the loom
Album me up I'm just a lost sticker
Lights going twenty watts
I don't like cricket I love it
Head lock holiday
 Feb 2018 A A
women are not beautiful.
they are magnetic, majestic, magnificent,
they are more than doll bodies and ****** eyes,
they are more than what they were born with.

women are not beautiful.
they are effervescent, enigmatic and evergreen,
they are more than paper-thin waistlines and cherry lips,
they are more than what the eyes can look upon.

women are not beautiful.
they are powerful, passionate, and puissant,
they are more than barbie figures and pink hemlines,
they are not beautiful simply because they are more than that.
feminist as hell.

— The End —