as we
loom
our hands

tethered
like a
cat's
cradle to
the sky,

a slight shift
of foot and
the landscape
scatters
drunk
as the blue
seas of the
cloud,

the tide
strides to
the open shore,
wind in her
arms,
salt on her
breath,

every step
decadent and
rebellious,

every sip of the
wind an icy
storm,

and the sky
hangs like
a pendulum
in an old
grandfather
clock,

calling out
crazy minutes,
breathful
seconds,

i stand next to you,
knock on the door
of the airy sea
stare out,

curve like
an echo in a
cave,

a handwritten
poem, carved
out of air

while you,
boy of dream,
kiss me like
a wild sea,
restring the
broken violin
of my heart.

Eroding brick wall
all that remains
refracted, fading
fishermen shadow
red dawn’s early light

brackish still water
shocked violent green
seeps from the desert
to be subsumed
by an unrelenting sea

restless dreamers rise
muscle sturdy pangas
into the churning tide
seeking quicksilver
at the continental edges

returning boats ride low
the shrinking horizon
race to safe harbor
cold beer on ice
under palm palapas

in the restaurant
a young man
shows off tuna
half as tall as he is
to admiring tourists

like me, seeking
the deep, slow burn
salt, jalapeno, lime
a fitting end to this
unraveling dream

Pueblo Mágico
of “no bad days”
walls of contention
in a fractured land
will never separate us

one margarita, two
another raised in defiance
of those who would try
to confine and define
free-range spirits

the Pacific touches
this contiguous shore
from equator to pole
we could catch
a clockwise current

follow Polaris up North
arrive transformed
magnetically charged
disparate souls fused
together bound

.
How I wish I could lay my head
down gently on your thighs,
to make you moan and sigh aloud
and slowly close your eyes.

How I wish I could use my tongue
and give you more than rhyme,
to bring a flush up to your cheek,
of feelings beyond space and time.

How I wish that I could speak
in words of feathered certainty
and so entice your curious mind
to lay down with me for eternity.
.
.
© Pagan Paul (2017)

When your footsteps falter and slip
Hold on to me
If your eyes fill with tears
And the future seems blurred and distant
I'll be there to take your hand
You may not see me
But you'll feel me there
Right beside you
Always
So hold on to me

                        By Phil Roberts

You hear about the sleepless nights
The crying, the suicidal thoughts.
The cloudy days when it's sunny
And the thunderstorms in the cool breeze

You hear about the support groups
The suicide hotlines, the public outcry.
#westandwith__, #alwayskeepfighing,
The sad poems and the sad playlists.

But you never hear about the reality

The way depression looms over your head,
Not as a cloud, but as a faceless mass
Of pure darkness, that paints a smile on your face
So people don't notice you're hurting

It's the feeling of complete and utter nothingness,
When you sit in class and stare at the teacher
But don't hear a thing he's saying because you're too sad, too upset to move or think.

It's the paranoia that you feel
When your friends leave you for a split second
That feels like minutes, then feels like hours.
It's the loneliness that sets in
While numbers and friends are within arm's reach.

It's the messy room, the scraps of chocolate wrappers on the floor.
The piles of laundry you haven't touched in weeks.
The homework you've been putting off because you were too ******* sad to do it
The pain on your lover's face when he realised he can't do anything
And the pain on yours when you hate seeing him in pain
And the cycle goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on

...

It's the constant apologising.

The constant self-hatred.

The self-medication with good things and movies but nothing seems to work.





I just want to be okay.