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 Jun 2018
Sjr1000
When peace finally comes
A softness in the winds
The fires are gone
The quiet has come
Except for the nightbirds
which sing their songs

The shadows get long
Children's egos disintegrate
Meltdowns fry the atmosphere

The skunks come out

Moonlight after twilight
Sometimes to linger
Call out to the coyotes

Get old but stay young.
 Jun 2018
Edmund black
It’s  
    a quarter past four
    In the middle of
    nowhere
                With  a
    full moon on the
    horizon
    I just couldn’t help
   Thinking it’s the
   Perfect time For the
   Wolves to roam wild

   With that in mind
                  I
   Tossed and turned
   No matter what I did
   I just couldn’t fall asleep

                  It’s
   one of those nights  when  
   You have too much on
   Your mind  it just wouldn’t
   Let you rest
   Until you put it
                To rest
   With no other option around  
   I felt like I needed to write
                  Just
   to let some steam out  

                   I
 looked up to the stars
 Above like a wishing Well
            And with
 Pen and notepad in hand
            Poured
 me some moonshine  
            In
 the task of rising up to the
             Stars above
            And Sit back   
Watched the moon
 Merged with my shine

                  You
  know it’s a great
  Night when you’re aiming
              for the stars

            Mind racing
   Excitement beginning
           To build
   Heart pumping
   Pen in hand
   Ready to write
                    Just
               to realized
       I had nothing in mind
                 To write
                    At all
I’ve never been a drinker, but occasionally I might have a glass of wine or two . Sometimes out of no where my body would take me from 0 to a 100 real quick without warnings , since I’m not a drinker lol ... the smallest amount of wine could potentially put me in a doozy  ;)
 Jun 2018
A Simillacrum
In the day
You find solace
Only
By biting bleeding nails
Recede
Quick as you can to night

Draw your salt circle
Disrobe and dance rising swirls
Deliver the balm to pain
You're a mystical stole

Could only the sun sprites see
What mother moon sees in me

The light below that night herself enervates
 Jun 2018
Sjr1000
I can't hear
There's a darkness
everywhere

Spinning in circles
Drawing squares in the
air

Confusion reigns
while calmness soothes

Longing for the dawn
at night
Longing for the night
at dawn

Wanting to be alone
when together
Missing you every
second we're apart

At work watching
the clock
At home restless
not knowing what to do

There is a road
that goes
There is a home
that stays
I'm sure there's a way
Never heard them say -
it was easy being
human.
 Jun 2018
Pagan Paul
.

Moonlight
     creates shadows,
          places of magick
               and realms of mystery.
Niches beyond the wildest dreams
     playing with images in colour dimensions,
          pouring their scorn on the childish imagination,
               a weakling substitute for what cannot be known.



© Pagan Paul (04/06/18)
.
1st line 1 word, 2nd line 2 words etc etc.
.
 Jun 2018
Nigel Finn
This is how you write a poem;
First; forget everything
You ever learnt about poems,

                                Such knowledge should be reserved
                                For the minds of critics, and
                                Professors in dusty halls

                                                          ­­           Of universities, where
                                                           ­          They are dissected and re-
                                                             ­        Constructed against their will.

Second; embroil yourself in
Love; it is the only thing
That poetry is born from.

                            Even the saddest songs, and
                            Most bitter lines, are fueled
                            By what we once loved. Loss is

                                                            J­­ust a love that has been lost
                                                            ­­And anger; a love scorned. All
                                                            y­­our words will be born this way.

Thirdly; find a quiet spot;
It doesn't matter much where
As long as it brings comfort,

                             Be it an old desk in a
                             Darkened room, or a field of
                             tall Sunflowers or bluebells,

                                                     ­ ­       Or the last place you saw a
                                                             Loved one, before fate swept them
                                                            ­­ Away to distant valleys.

Next you must make a promise to
Yourself to be brutally
Honest. Only the truth must

                              Be written here. There is no
                              Room for flowery words that
                              Must be thought over to much.

                                                          ­­   If it is true it will be
                                                             Beautiful, and your pen strokes
                                                         ­    Will guide you towards greatness.

Finally, you must hold your
Writing implement of choice
As if it were the most loved

                                 Of possesions, or mighty
                                 Of weapons, or a  child's hand.
                                 I cannot tell you which

                                                          ­­ But you will undoubtedly
                                                     ­      Know which when the time comes. It
                                                           Will strike you as obvious.

Upon following these steps
You will have become a
poet. From now on there

                                Is no turning back. It will
                                Consume you, and thoughts will take
                                You by surprise in lover's

                                                        ­­  Embraces, in sudden deaths,
                                                         ­ Bird songs, and the words of of those
                                                          Y­­ou once thought to be strangers.

Each word will be a gift to
The world, whilst remaining un-
doubtedly yours to own.

                                        Use your power wisely.
                                        Remember; without love
                                        Your poems will start to

                                                             ­        Fall into disrepair
                                                       ­              And, without them you will
                                                            ­­         Lose your capacity to care.

I wish you well.
                                    I wish you poetry.
                                                         ­      ­           I wish you love.
I'm planning on giving this one a rewrite, but I rarely get around to doing such things. I'm posting it mostly as a reminder to myself that I set out to do something. There's a good chance it will remain unfinished though.
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