do you ever sit
quit, still
and wonder who
may be thinking about you
at that very moment

do you ever sit  hunched over in lecture
wondering
if your car is the car
someone has picked out to watch
speed by on a rainy day
passing the time

or ponder
if your car headlights are the ones
shining in through the little boys window
at midnight
singing him to sleep

have you ever thought about
who is longing for a way out or
what the person on the train
sitting next to you has to say about
polotics

do you ever smile at a raindrop
cascading down glass
at a child lauging
or being right in class

how about the wind
on a humid summer day
or the way you can change someones mood
by the little things you say

have you stopped and held the door
for the man that walks with a cane
or wondered why
others cant do the same

have you stopped to thank those
who have helped you succeed
who have clothed your back
given you everything you need

have you looked in the mirror and
said hey its okay
i like this better
than eating a salad anyway

when was the last time
you held out you hand
for someone in need
and said yes you can

have you been the best you
have you ran the extra mile
have you high fived
yourself
and finished with a smile

do you ever sit
and wonder of things to come
or imagine all the things that
you could have done

.
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

There is something pure about unhinged weirdness

Not the cult
or the killer
Or the worm hole

but

The everyday freaks
the working class freaks
The insomniac freaks
the acid freaks
The space freaks
and the artist freaks

A lack of proper structure is a fine line

It would seem society drew some of that line

but we filled in the blanks

I say

Embrace the strange

Do your best to make it highly functioning

If need be wear that practiced poker face

The one you use to navigate the little spaces

Know we are not alone

Just another human condition

My apologies

I never was a very good human

I use to know the best ways to waste silence

Climb into the sun and dive for time and place

True thoughts prevailed and distract an eager mind

Smile like slapstick and form a new foundation

I suppose we could lose ourselves in these sublime moments

Some tools left for mending
some words left for reaction
Anxiety properly positioned

Misplaced an ego
artificial in it's hold

Lost and fumbled
Temporarily found

Some creatures can't be helped

Claimed this body as your own

went to work with your indifferent sabotage

I slowly shattered with each new head space

Broke me down for spare parts

mumbling a need for mending holes self inflicted

I watch myself in shambles
patchwork for your dark corners

Suggestions are plastered
new breeds are rendered

Remember those days

shots called by sanity

Boring yet stable

safe yet


Maddening?

Lying on the bermuda grass
gazing at the stars,
we planned for our future
as if it's only a call away.

I remembered how you asked me,
"Why arent you writing anymore?"
And i sniffed, "Got no inspiration"
You kept silent, we had a fight that day.

And now Im alone,
Remembering where it went wrong
Like a strike of a lightning into a forbidden tree
I wasnt quite sure of the answer

All I know is that,
I lost the poet in me
When I found the love I am longing...
in you.

That's what love has taught me:
*YOU NEED TO LOSE YOURSELF TO FIND SOMEBODY

Night, I call you
the sanctuary of the lost
and the no-good,
like the hawk down
in my pillow case
full of forgotten dreams
that old hound time
tears apart like bones
tossed under the table,
so I pull on my new boots
and walk in the dark
with no place to go
but the road that leads
to the ferry by the river,
because unlike lost friends
and dead family, the cold
water will always take me in.

Every time I see a
McDonnell-Douglas
80,
Or MD-80,
I sweat the deadened
Drop
Of a labor
I’d wish not
Remember.

We called it,
“The Oven,”
Name and noun
For the belly,
The belly of the
Beast –
Texas high noon
And no water,
While
Tossing luggage:
*******,
Prongs
And cadavers,
Hours on end
Under Spanish howl
And deafening
Jet engines.

I soon left,
The tarmac,
The turmoil
And clamor
Of airport operations areas.
I picked up,
Walked to the
Cantina
‘Cross the way,
Grabbed a beer,
Grabbed a U-haul
And grabbed my
Girl
On the way out.
I’m here now,
North
And of no end to
Mechanism,
My commodity
Food,
My machine,
Now a car,
Though admittedly,
When I look to the
Sky
And spot an MD-80,
I remember my
Toil
And sympathize for my
Sister,
A blonde and the
Youngest of the brood
Who continues to
Stomach that very
Hell
I’d freed myself from.

There are fewer things
beautiful than ugly,
I know that stars are most
bright when they fall
from impassioned skies,
That when your skin
meets mine, I am like an
amnesiac being returned
a lifetime of memories.

I hate few things,
except, perhaps, the murky
lakes of your eyes,
The misty beaches we
explored until sunrise.
How you pressed your lips
to mine like a death wish,
that it was deplorable,
but we wanted more, more.

My body was a map
you tore apart when you
got tired of exploring it.
The ancient psalms of our
tongues cannot silence.
Ruins of ancient Rome
survive on your lips, yet
you still live, breathe.
You call yourself mortal.

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be.*" - Wuthering Heights.

beauty, is in love's eyes,
i once read that if he still makes your heart
anchor itself to your abdomen,
after three months, it's love.

well, my metaphors are wasted on you,
my words are a fancy way of
expressing myself and they contain
too much of you.

you've got a temper,
enough to rumble under these streets,
and collapse what i've been building.

i get sick of building blocks,
love is child's play, and i just want
us to be adults.

i promised to love you, and i do in
my own odd ways,
you broke my heart, i broke yours.
i still want you to know,
a mosaic wouldn't be so beautiful,
without all the cracks.

Salient pools swarmed upon
Seas
Of blackened
Amber,
Reflected
Neon gazes,
And
The love that could never be.

She knew it.

I knew it.

Hell, Even my luggage knew it.

All that remained were the footsteps
And in opposite directions.