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 Aug 2017
spysgrandson
when you left,
I heard your voice each night

days, weeks droned on, and
your words became more faint

on the anniversary of your passing,
you came to me only in murky dreams

sound, it seems, is as impotent there
as it is in deep space

will another revolution around the sun
make you vanish for good

will I be there with you, wedded to black,
listening without ears

to creation's eternal command for coughing carbon
to return to dust

will there again be an us, in that place
where nothing escapes,

save wondrous waves that whisper
the ghostly story of our demise
B-flat, 57 octaves below middle C, is the "sound" detected coming from a black hole
 Aug 2017
beth fwoah dream
"where day is.... dreams of a summer sky."

i.

the sky floats up,
gazing out with lips
of steel, a
shiny branch
surrendering
to summer’s sigh,
her iris a cats
eye, marble blue,
her pupil a dark
wand.

ii.

play with me,
draw me out of the
dark,

let me sing to
you a sea-song
where the waves
somersault and
crash to the shore,

where the wind, wild
as wild, faints to breathe
the wakening sky.

iii.

see how i write in passages,
faint-waves  of
summer’s mists where
the rain dips her pen in
the grey-ink cloud.

iv.

searching for your ghosts,
the deep whirling of the streamy sea
with its wine-red roses like
coloured glass
dance as i gather
whispers of strangeness
and sun, blossoming,
shrink-edged like an
opalescent pool, all
of it, you.

v.

days of watery rags and rubber
tyres, red snake of
summer’s ribs, the
stones of the stormy sun,
gathering the landscape
where tonight the
moon will rise for love
you will loosen my hair
and i will kiss your throat.
 Aug 2017
Pagan Paul
.
i.
The morning mist dissipated
as the ships keel ploughed a furrow
through the Great Green of the Aegean,
leaving far behind the magick isle.
Vigilantos stood at the prow,
marvelling at the accompanying dolphins,
curious and playful,
schooling with purpose to the ocean.
Ahead, waiting, a grand tour.
Of Sumer, Abyssinia and desert lands,
to glean hidden knowledge,
regain the mysteries of the ancients,
read the Necronomicon and old scripts
from a time when power crackled,
and the storms of the gods
belittled the existence of mankind.

ii.
The twilight Moon peeps
from behind the brazen grey cloud.
And she weaves hap-hazard
through the crushes of the crowd.
A high-born daughter of the desert,
a vision of beauty from the sand.
With silks and satin and perfume
richly obtained from foreign lands.
Through the colourful bazaar she threads
with occasional glances thrown at stalls,
priestess jewels sparkle in the night,
its her Name the sirocco calls.

iii.
Cobalt blue water, an illusion of light
where the sun slides through the meniscus,
and the harbour of Tyre was alive.
The bustling of boats around ships at anchor,
snatching glimpses of a turquoise sky
and the quay throbbing with the pulse of music.
It would be another 3 thousand years
before Rome was even a trading post on the Tiber,
let alone an empire conquering the east,
or building hippodromes and columned avenues.
Vigilantos drank in the atmosphere,
his magicians instincts bristling, noting all.
Meandering through the narrow streets,
loosely following direction, getting lost.
Seeking his retinue and camels, ready to start,
across the desert to Ninevah on the Tigris.
To speak to tribes, pray with the priests of Ur.
To find the secrets of mysteries, and treasure,
reaping the knowledge of the Old Gods awe,
amongst the shifting dunes of history.

iv.
Vivid colours of silks and dyes
adorn the tents of cloth and stick.
The summer sun beats down lazy,
heat as oppressive as mist is thick.
Her charms and delights are hidden,
with misery and pain, the last week spent.
The dark, the quiet, the inane chatter,
deep within the women's red tent.
Free from the curse, her moon-cycle complete,
she wanders with mood sombre and slow.
A powerful man from a western place
will arrive at the camp as the sun sinks low.
He had seen her in the main bazaar
and decided to stake his claim.
Whilst confined away, behind her back,
her father had bartered for riches and fame.

v.
His travels around those beautiful lands
had yielded books of law and scripts.
He had heard the oral traditions of elders
and gazed in wonder at the Moon's eclipse.
Then he had seen the greatest treasure
wending her way through crowded markets.
With tact and guile he discovered her Name,
and vowed to grace her father's carpets.

The desert folk live a simple life
but far from simple are they.
Sharp of tongue and quick of wit,
erudite in a most unusual way.
The father was the elected leader,
King of the tribe that he now led.
Vigilantos had bargained hard
to purchase the girl for his marital bed.

vi.
The sun sinks, falling from the sky in the eve.
Spectacular reds and orange colliding with the dunes.
The azure twilight sky lit and sprinkled with stars,
and the tribal camp fills with laughter and tunes.

vii
He walked with purpose toward the campfire,
his features silhouetted by flickering light.
The sudden hush of the assembled camp
echoed strange, deep into the desert night.
His eyes beheld her most beautiful form,
half in the shadow, half in the light.
For her families benefit he had traded,
agreed bargains, and come to claim his right.

“Princess of the desert, Daughter of the sand,
step forward gently and take me by the hand.
For my island home calls out loud to me,
so come, let us away across the sea”.

Head bowed in fake submission
she boldly makes her cold admission.

“I am a Woman of the free,
these sands are my home to me.
With all good grace; I could not face
life on an island in the sea”.

viii.
Black and red, darkness and rage
descend upon his fevered mind.
Humiliated, spurned by a maiden fair,
and pride will not be left behind.

“A curse. A curse. 'pon thy beautiful head,
prowl and creep as do the undead.
Evil deeds are now thy course,
henceforth our contract is now divorced”.

But something made Vigilantos start,
a pang of something from his dead heart.
With such feelings he could not contend,
so a caveat, for the curse to amend.

“Thy deeds and crimes maybe invested
'pon mortals only who invest the same such evil
'pon their fellow mortals”.

ix.
Leaving far behind the desert
he turns his face to the sky.
The ships keel ploughs a furrow
as the evening mist draws nigh.

And now she prowls the dark night,
her Name lost in the sands of time.
Seeking out the mortal sinners and
punishing their evil with her crimes.

... and thus it begins ...
Judderwitch.


© Pagan Paul (08/08/17)
.
Prequel to The Judderwitch poem (posted in April).
I fear this may create more questions than it answers.

My Judderwitch poems are now in a collection :)
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/28451/judderwitch/
PPx
.
I buy her cheap
can't buy expensive.

It's a gift she says
to give my spirit a lift
you buy low
it gets high on my love

don't ever think
price has a place in happiness
.

She wears the imitation
and the mirror explodes
into thousand stars
with the gift of joy
now not only hers
but inexplicably
spread all over me.
 Aug 2017
Lora Lee
knee-deep in forest,
a wellspring of
multi-colored liquid
joy, bubbling
in frothy
peaks
my inner eye open wide
at the sacred wonder
of it all
glory of divine
earth water fire
wind in my soul
sunlit scarlet on
leafveins in this
garden feast of the senses
If heaven were imprinted
upon the runes of my body
a soulmind, shimmering
crystals in heart
then this
is it
nothing less
than spirit
coursing through blood
in untamed rush
a wild creek
teeming with freshness
and trout
deer peeping in shyness
and I am all
      lit up from within
as the hues of life
run through me
pulsing energy
filling me up
in deepest
strokes
of
air,
of trees
of mountain
here
even the stars
seem to call out
my name
and, in ever-depth
in focus of heartwave,
I listen
Being in the mountains has been a wonderfully, spiritually renewing experience.
Being home, in the U.S.A., has been amazing in general, and my heart stays
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFS_nfNvD2o
 Aug 2017
L Seagull
The sun is rising
And it is yet again
Another opportunity
To do your best
At anything you partake
To give with open heart
To hear with open mind
To feel without skin
To grieve and remain connected
To be faithful to
What is trith
And hold on
To the meaning
You glimpsed through
Psychedelic haze
That all on earth is one
Therefore to give is to receive
And purpose is that where the flow
Carries you in the direction
Where all that is not you
Disintegrates into thin air
And you are left with
That which is exactly you
Where doubt is absent
Where the feeling of
Transcending something beyond
Your limited experience
Feeds you with nectar
Of that one thing
The most nurturing thing
That no crowds and cheering
Would ever replace
For it is true
Felt most deeply
That connects you to all there is
As a therapist I chose a path in life that turned out to be so much more difficult than I ever imagined. Being praised by professors for my "talent" felt rewarding and even more so seeing the lives of people I worked with change... like that one boy who I ended up writing my thesis on - abandoned by mom and raised in a dangerous neighborhood, suffering from PTSD and ADHD he was the most disruptive kid in his elementary school. In a month of working with him I uncovered that he did not believe he was lovable. I remember the feeling that this was maybe the most important moment I would ever have with him and how necessery it was to say the right thing. So I praised him for having a heart that has the most immense capacity to love which is a gift to treasure. He believed me. Next time I saw him he said he decided to change. The rest of the year I watched him trying for the first time in five years and I realized then that the gift of being so close to the innermost of another human being is the most fulfilling place I could ever have in my life. So I spend every second I have free to improve my craft so one day I can rightfully say I know enough to speak it loud and clear. But if I could I would never charge for what I do now. Because I gain more than I give. And it is a blessing that majority of people too bound to external validation would never understand. There is depth in true connection that is the most profound thing I ever experienced. Yes, it is very difficult to get started in this field because it is so subjective and so filled with conflicted insecure people who do not wish to help you if they think you might have more potential than they do. I have some real enemies who are very close to the top of my field so I have nearly no help from all those people who promised to help me get started in my career. But if I had to die today I would have a few moments to be truly proud of
P.S. I suffer from doubts so the rant above is just a way to shake them off. Not many can understand my path, particularly those who just like the majority of modern people are painfully self-centered
 Aug 2017
Pagan Paul
.
My beautiful Lady, I see your scars,
deep in your eyes, hidden in stars.
Let me hold you, please come near,
I'll give you warmth, banish your fear.

You've been taken from your mother tree,
tossed in the wind, blown to me.
Let your eyes shine, show me belief,
I'll show you love, my Lady Leaf.

© Pagan Paul (31/07/17)
.
Lord of Green series, poem 12
.
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