Dear Universe,

Bless the poet's and their pearls of pain,
Steel them, so they may return to write again.
Bless thier jewel encrusted crowns of thought.
that every delicate word of verse is caught.
Let them pour out their soulful words
to transfuse our bleeding hearts.
Scrolling pages to guide us
through our darkest dark.
Lighting our highest joys
and deepest passions,
May we always preserve
these sacred bastions
May the poets never truly heal or break,
nor stop thier cries;
lest their flowing rivers of verse run dry.
That we may ever bathe ourselves
in rivers of consolation and joy
sending empathy through thoughts
of comfort and care,
to knit us closer in understanding
through words
in universal prayer.

.
I want my poems to scream of ***,
of lust and of carnal fuckery.
To ******* the seeds of words,
****-splashed on a page of muckery.

And teasing those clitoral synapses,
along nerve lines of innuendo.
Lapping verses in the valley below,
raising fantasy to literal crescendo.

I want my words to make you ***,
and ache over and over again.
To shriek my name and fall in love
with my purple tipped pen.

And with my seminal inky spillage
'pon your creamy sheets of vellum,
remember now those ***** stanzas
****** deep into your cerebellum.

© Pagan Paul (24/07/17)

The Navigator stands
at the top of the hill,
a spotlight illuminating the fog,
looking for a direction.

The stars are gone,
another moonless night,
all he has is his intuition
and questionable insight.

And so the dance of change begins

Moving outward
while moving in

Like a blind man at a drive through atm,
wondering how he got there,
listening for a sparkle
looking for an animal spirit in the dark.

There are cliffs and caverns
sinkholes and canyons
along the way

He's been known to fall
and rise again -
while heading towards the river

The Navigator, he is an expert
on moving in the darkness
looking for that one flash
our lives on display

The Navigator, he knows the signs,
sometimes right sometimes wrong

The paths have many directions to follow
But with the first step
all other paths
fade away.

Decisions are made

The Navigator, he has his day,
his way.

I've got many things
on my mind
I might as well
talk to you.

I'm twisted
I'm disturbed
I'm vice ridden
I'm desperate too.

You look okay
I might as well
talk to you.

My life has been spent in shadows
trying to emerge
I've swept the floor
washed the windows
did the dishes too
I guess that is what they call this life.

I've seen the tunnel on one too many codeine
Grandma sent me away

I've gone astray
I blew up my future
behind *******
My children say
I gambled it all away.

One mellows in their old age
No time for anger
No time for drama too.

I've learned to accept myself
Accept you

That testerone
it blows up
it calms down

Sleep it goes way too fast
I wake up to another day.

I've rubbed myself raw
I know what it means to be deranged
I know what it means to long for it too.

You understand.
Don't nod off now
I'm coming to the most interesting part

But I woke up
in another horizon
Woke up on another plain
Another dimension has called my name
This life I now savor.

As you have said
I know it is predictable moves
A complicated game
I never learned to play.

Another opportunity
to prove I'm never
what I'm supposed to be.

I've done the best I could
with what I've got
With that I am at peace

I apologize for everything
I have ever been,
But I am alive
I'm still breathing
have another day to
prove it all again

I've got things on my mind
I might as well talk to you.

In the foxholes
Of my childhood plight
I prayed and prayed
With all my might
Praying to be forgiven
For the imperfections
Of life
Yet these were merely
The symptoms
Of an ideology
Of either black
Or definitely white

With the rudimentary
Truths concealed
Those miracles
Seem so **** real
I could never lose
My faith
In that childhood
Holding place

When the years pass
In deep thought
Ultimate conclusions
Result

Each of us
An eye
From different views
Allegiance forged
In the comfort of norm
Evolutionary rules
Oh how I miss you
Invisible spirit being
Oh my contemporary
Youth...

In a world where trust
Is all but lost
In resentful wasted years
I count the cost

Where do dreams go
When I wake up broken and alone
I find no comfort in a smiling face
Or the rat infested allies
Of the human race

A kind word has no substance
For my sour belly
The sounds of the city streets
Are a constant nag
A cold, cold wind
Seeps through
My reclusive life of rags

Yet I have no *******
No riches to wed
Just the essential
Bags of resentments
Where I lay my head
And dream of things
I should have done or said

Too many years
And too much wine
Too many issues
To unwind
Cardboard shelters
With magazine mats
Is where I lay
My quitter's hat...