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 Sep 2017
Solaces
Endless white..  As far as the eye could see.  We had to travel far and wide in search of food.  My bones were as cold as the wind..  But we had to go on.. We were the strongest in the tribe and chosen for its survival..  The snow begin to fall again..  Could not see 3 ft in front of us.. This would make it more difficult to follow tracks and such.  But forward we went, together for the hunt!  

It was getting colder.. The winds were picking up again.  Then all of a sudden a warm gust of air hit us all..  For a moment we were all warm inside and out..  We continued to feel these gust of warm winds from time to time.. It got to the point where the winds stayed warm.. So warm in fact we started to remove pelts off of our backs..

We traversed over a hill and saw the most amazing thing I have ever seen.. Green... so much green! The grass was beautiful here!  And at the center stood a being, a person waring strange glowing armor! He was floating above the grass sleeping..  He was the source of all the warm air we felt..  It was as if he was emitting life itself..  The grass felt so beautiful to the touch.. The green was making love to our eyes..  My body felt as warm as ever.. All my pain was gone..  My cracked cold skin was warm and full of color..

We all fell into a slumber in the grass..  I had beautiful dreams of green.. When we all awoke the strange armored being was gone..  Just being in his presence kept us warm for weeks.. It was as if his power somehow soaked into us.. All of our wounds were healed.. We came back to the tribe with plenty of food and one hell of a story!         S.DIVERS
Just resting on a planet of snow
 Sep 2017
Solaces
I flew over endless oceans..
Under endless storms..
It rained forever here..
No land at all..
But why was it raining so much..
Why did it never end..
I decide to fly over the storms..
And above the clouds the source of endless storms was there..
Leviathans...
Thousands and thousands of them..
Turns out they flooded the planet to make a new home for themselves.
The ocean below was a nest..
I was a traveller..
I was sent here to witness the end of a world and the beginning of a new one..
it ends and begins..
 Sep 2017
Pagan Paul
i.
The twilight moon peeps
from behind the brazen grey cloud.
Chill air coalesces into a light fog
creeping nonchalant along the street.
Orange lamp glow cascades around
dancing with the fog in osmosis swirls.
Ice blue eyes of fire and malevolence
trace a pathway through the dirge.
Zoning out and homing in,
a huntress stalking unknowing prey.
A black kitten dashes from the hedge,
across the street, up to a front door,
leaving tiny prints scattered on the lawn,
and the ice blue eyes of fire drip pleasure,
as a primal sound emerges, guttural,
but unmistakedly … a cackle.

ii.
Feint, feint sobbing punctuates the night.
As she lays curled foetal clutching her doll.
Her other hand between her thighs,
seeking in vain to reclaim her violated body.

“ Daddy made Mummy go to sleep
with sweeties from the little brown bottle
and the drink from the grown-ups cupboard,
and then he played horsey with her.
He told me Mummy had been a good girl,
and it was my turn to be nice to Daddy.
He always scares me at night
but its his way of saying he loves me.
Daddy Loves his little girl, he always says so”.

The sobbing slowly fades into … nothing,
And she knows. She doesn't Love Daddy.
Now he is watching tv and drinking beer.
Daddy hears the doorbell and swears.
He goes to answer, opening the portal.
Too late, far too late, to stop …
… the Judderwitch.

iii.
He woke. And tried to scream,
nailed spread-eagle to a wall.
Throat, dry, unable to make a sound.
And in his head he screams.
Pierced flesh with sanguin scabs
ripping agony through his very fibre.
Ice blue eyes of fire dance hooded
before him with torture and brutality.
His face erupts in pus filled cysts
to burst and seer pain on his flesh.
And in his head he screams.
As the face in the hood morphs into
the face of his little girl as he rapes her.
And he screams, in his head he screams,
and screams and screams,
as the blade slices slowly, so slowly,
and his manhood falls flaccid floor-ways.
Eyes bulge in horror,
and in his head he screams ...
And screams … and screams,
as his ribs crack, break, in his chest.
Pushing through and up and out,
like flint sharp spears of rancid bone,
and in his head he screams …
and screams … and screams ...

iv.
“Mummy. Mummy. There's kitten on the lawn.
Can we keep her Mummy. Can we? Please?”
She walks out the front door
and smiles at her daughter, the kitten meows.
She watches her little girl play,
the cat enraptured with little plaits.
“Mummy. Why can't I remember anything about Daddy?
He only went away last night”.
“I don't know sweetie. I can't remember anything either.
Not even his face. Its very strange indeed”.

A breeze chills their skin as they look
toward the Cherry Tree on the lawn.
Its leaves whispering their sylvan symphony.
But all they heard was …
… cackling.
And the feint, feint sound
of somebody
still
screaming.

© Pagan Paul (04/04/17)
.
 Sep 2017
Laurel Leaves
I don't even know how to tread water anymore.
I casually wait for the riptide to grab me by my ankles
**** me in until I'm just marrow. I sit in the passenger's seat and let it all pass
Cascade faults
ritualistic, it's described so often like a taste in my mouth
Metal, sharp, pungent
I retract, let it flow down my throat
Fill my chest with yearning
while someone else holds onto the wheel
Biting my lip at the fantasy of getting out of the car, throwing my shoes behind me and swan diving

I don't even want the end.
I don't fantasize the beauty of complete silence.
I linger on the milliseconds before the crack
The stringing pull
Of a visceral heart attack
 Sep 2017
Ian Lewis Copestick
Cheap cans of beer and crap T.V.
Seem to stretch in front of me
My wife's been gone for just six days
With her mother on holiday
I'm already flagging under the pressure
Sinking down into depression
Having nobody to look after
Is making me sink that much faster
Having no money isn't helping me
Beans on toast every night for tea
But it's having no one to talk to
That is really tightening the screws
The shop does 4 cans of beer for two pounds
And I keep on going down
Yes, cheap cans of beer and crap T.V.
Is all that is in front of me
 Sep 2017
David Lewis Paget
The storm had unleashed its fury,
In gales, on the night before,
Had scribbled its bitter story
All over a battered shore,
For there lay the yacht ‘Imagine’,
Cast up on the outer reef,
Its sails and its stays were sagging,
And shredded beyond belief.

I scrambled over the rocks out there
When the tide left it high and dry,
In hopes that I’d find my friend, Jo Bère,
Unhurt, though I don’t know why.
Jo Bère was such a mountainous man
And so much larger than life,
He’d sailed through many a perfect storm
On board, with his restless wife.

So when I clambered aboard that day
I heard her calling my name,
And something about her pitiful cry
Said nothing would be the same.
I found her down on the cabin floor
All bruised, and somewhat distressed,
The storm had shattered the cabin door
And left the cabin a wreck.

I said to Dawn, ‘you outlived the storm,
But where is my friend, Jo Bère?’
She said, ‘He fell overboard last night,
I looked for him everywhere.’
Though she was bruised, there wasn’t a cut,
Just thrown around in the flood,
So what was the smear on the locker there,
The ominous sign of blood?

‘He must have fallen and hit his head,
I can’t remember, I swear,
The yacht was tossed and my husband lost,
He must be floating out there.’
I knew that she was a restless wife
She’d often give me the eye,
I knew their marriage had been in strife,
Could never figure out why.

But now she reached and she held my hand
And gave it a gentle squeeze,
‘My husband’s gone, but my life goes on,
I’ll always be here to please.
You must know, I’ve always cared for you,’
I said, ‘Don’t ever go there,
Because, to me, you will always be
The wife of my friend, Jo Bère.’

Her face grew dark, and I saw the spark
Of an anger, much like a storm,
She didn’t take to rejection well,
And I should have been forewarned.
I turned to leave so that I could grieve
The loss of my friend, Jo Bère,
Then saw on the floor the bloodstained axe,
With clumps of my old friend’s hair.

She leapt for it, but I got there first,
And I stamped it, down on the floor,
Then Dawn was wild, like a crazy child,
She came at me, tooth and claw.
‘I never thought you would ****** him,’
I cried, while beating her off,
She screamed, ‘You’re not going to put me in,’
And then she started to laugh.

A high pitched laugh that was like a scream
As I clambered over the side,
Just as the sea was flooding in,
Right at the turn of the tide.
She must have known that she’d have to pay
When I told them, creed and rote,
For I heard them say, the following day,
‘That woman has cut her throat.’

David Lewis Paget
 Sep 2017
eleanor prince
do you think
cloaks of normalcy

societal smiles
wash away reality -

that screens pulled close
pious veils drawn

means all is well -

that children next door
from 'respectable' homes

aren't used like so much spoil
displayed with polish

to the highest bidder -

what tales do you keep
to sleep at night

in perfumed air -

'it's far away
some hapless child

not where I drive
with tinted glass

they're lower class
don't know the Lord

mere runts down town
where father drinks

can't pay their rent
make decent wage

so sell the kid
for sordid nights -

- n - o -
it happens

to tender buds
in wealthy
suites

and poorer shacks
in any
place

and every age
from dot to
grown

they stay unseen
stare at their
sums

are ***** this night
sob off to
sleep

as mother too
walks right on
by

deaf to the screams
he wants his
due

so he will take
her brother
too

'now be a man'
says worm to
prince

he lies to all
most to his
face

and no one sees
and no one
hears

the silent screams
with veil drawn
close

they look askance
and walk on
by
I welcome responses to this poem which is aimed at revealing the culture of silence in 'polite society' - this outpouring of outrage at abuse has been boiling for some time but this poem was sparked off in response to PaganPaul's important and raw poems on this topic  
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1923972/the-judderwitch/
 Aug 2017
Solaces
I could see the blue glow all around me..
I felt pressure in every part of my body..
Almost as if I was deep under water..
But I was in darkness..
A darkness so dense it almost seem to have weight..
The blue glow became shine..
And the weight of darkness was getting lighter..
I was now able to walk in the heavy darkness toward anywhere..
The lines in my hands had blue lightning running through them..
My shine now tunred into rays of light..
Cutting and burning through this wicked heavy darkness..
Everywhere I stepped, everywhere I had been was being replaced with light..
I became a blue star in the end..
It took me 222 years to walk the planet and fill it with light..
Along the way I found out that I had died with my race very long ago..
All that was left was a small splinter of light..
A light I had always belived in..
Turns out it belived in me..
My planet lives again..
Without us in it..
Only me..
At the end of my light travel I come to the final splinter of darkness..
And wonder, what believed in this so much that it killed everything on my planet..  
Whatever it was I knew it was still out there..
And I needed to find it!

S-DIVERS
iN THE HEAVY SHADOW WAS A BLUE GLOW..
 Aug 2017
Pagan Paul
.
A grieving woman stands alone
by the grave of a friend departed.
In the relentless blistering cold
of a day that should never have started.

As tears roll down her ruddy cheeks
mourning the loss of a friend released,
the memories of her life are sad,
the pain has gone, the pain has ceased.

So all that's left for the grieving woman
are a grave and memories to recall.
As she turns to face the world once more
she sees a leaf from an Oak tree fall.


© Pagan Paul (2017)
.
When at the peak voltage
streetlights **** the stars
and behind closed doors
rumbling slumbers
down the cries of the nocturne
awakes a world of opened windows.

Home from the last show
eyes colored with screen idols
shadows huddling over supper
talk of the length and worth
the plot intrigues and intricacies
the creator's whims and fantasies
while unbeknownst the night lengthens
tiring the shadows
that excavate the trash bin's bottom
for living through the morrow.

The filaments feel lonelier
as those last windows shut down
starlight wasted
on an enveloped town.
From a time long long ago
 Aug 2017
Terry Jordan
At a gypsy’s stall in Soria, Spain
It was a beautiful market day
His tables were filled with French made shoes
Recommended by our friend Renaye

A cute pair of shoes caught Bernadette’s eye
They were ******* with 2 brocade bows
All covered with pink and orange flowers
With low heels and gold-tipped pointed toes

“No mas”, said he, there was no size forty
Only Bern found those shoes in her size
Then we happily tried on so many
Buying 6 pair we thought were great buys

Counting our shoes 2 by 2 into bags
The gypsy’s crooked smile seemed funny
We both grinned, too, with all our swell new shoes
Purchased with sixty euros of our money

Strolling we stopped at the York seeking churros
Too late, we had fresh croissants instead
I decided to try on my new sandals there
That led right to the trouble, Bern said

While awaiting the bus to the village
We both carefully held all our shoes
And watched a man with a rose in his teeth
I asked why, but not given a clue

Once arriving back home to the village
Feeling quite tired from walking around
Bern showed her shoes to Jose at the bar
Sad to learn one shoe couldn’t be found!

Yes, we retraced our steps in search of it
And twice-to check at the York- someone ran
Jose searched the bus, but right from the start
She thought she’d been scammed by the gypsy man

We had to go back, only on Thursday
A leisurely pace, eating churros
Yes we did get the shoe but discovered
We were over-charged by 20 euros
Lighter, happier times visiting my best friend in a little village, LosRabanos, not far from Soria, Spain many years ago
 Aug 2017
Gidgette
Please, read this with the thickest southern accent you've ever heard. It's my language. It's my home...


Hee Haws on the TV
Chicken's fryin' in cast iron skillets
Taters and maters scent mama's clothes
no AC
Papaws in the bacca field
Granny's sippin' on sweet tea
The law stopped comin' here they say,
Back in '23
The fruit's ripe for pickin
daddy did that last week
He said the Apple brandy
Tasted perfect,
bitter sweet
The moonshine makers meet
When the crickets sing at night
they pass around mason jars
'neath the moon
and southern stars
The wine stays burried till fall
muskadine,
other than strawberry
the very best kind
The yanks
buy it up
Its funny to watch 'em
they can't handle their stuff
The Demory Mart stays busy
oh Lord it's so much fun!
When the moonshiners play pool,
till the rising of the sun
Momma don't like it,
Lord she gets so mad!
But she puts my church shoes on me
and I know she still loves dad
But now the still's turned green
as copper always does
There are no moonshiners left
Time has passed, just 'cause
Papaw's gone
the fields have grown up
there are no moonshiners left
it's all store bought, mason jars
have turned to cups
Demory Mart is Yankee owned
the church has indoor plumbing
But late at night, I hear the banjo's
and the stills, copper humming....
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