The poor child groaned

while his mother moaned

''Ah, he's possessed,

Oh, he's been bewitched'',

Superstition bemoaned

. To the witchdoctor she sped

and was back with murky potions

such yucky stinky lotions

Those mythical concoctions

The woman obeyed the wily witchdoctor

Placed belief in that traditional healer

and the poor child still groaned

but his mama no longer moaned

After two days of tribal treatment

and no lessening of predicament

she thought he needed something more potent

When all it turned out to be was a cavity dent!

But she would hear of no dentist

Like all quacks her witchdoctor had fooled her five senses

For his spells and his chants

and his mystical dance

held her too in a trance


Quite a weird ****** is he

Beware the medicine- man!

The devious cunning shaman

Beware that vodoo magic and witchcraft

that so survive on the gullible and the daft.


Yet I was warned to be wary of pharmaceuticals too

They can be harmful chemicals in the long run for you

Lucy is not in the sky
like you were told.
Her feet or on the ground
holding a piece of coal.

The rocking horse people
took her diamond away
and smeared marshmallow pie
across her narrow face.

The marmalade sky’s
ozone has disintegrated,
from the fumes of cellophane  
the flowers created.

The tangerine trees
turned to rust,
from newspaper taxis
exhaust pipe dust.

The girl with kaleidoscope eyes,
takes Prozac every day.  
She stays comfortably numb,
keeping despondency at bay.

You had no right to talk to me the way you did. No right to take ownership over me.

No right to tell me how to dress or even how to smile,
no right babe you were so sinister and vile. You crossed the line when you told me who I could talk to or what I could say after we were done. You master manipulator and I your puppeteer.
Said you’d always be here but you were the first to run.

You pulled me by the strings of my own heart and you didn’t even care about the hurting that would cause.

Dreams
In a sleep,thoughts strike
Nurtured by life,A story arise

A boy, haunted by his mind
Tried and tried, it only went wild
Asleep or awake it kept nagging his mind
A guy in red and white


“Questioned the boy, Who are you?
He replied, who am i?
Said the boy, yes you
He smiled and replied “you”.
“what you mean”the boy whispered
As He approached and handed a note scribbled over with death
Boy took a breath as he watched the man walk back and fade to darkness
opened the note and
Screamed to his best.”

Boy awake full of sweat,heart pounding out of his chest
Swallowed some air to quench his thirst
Chipping his lips, trying to remember what he read
“Not again” he said
As he walked in a room and snuggled his dad
Time again and again
Till one day he walked in a room to his dead dad.”

With a deep breath, we open our eyes
and realise its not a real life.

We turn around
close our eyes
For another ride

Till we see a guy in red and white
Standing with a note to death in sight
And hearing a scream as we open our eyes.

As always
In the mornings
He pushed the wooden cart
Full of bananas
In torrential rains
Incomplete rain gear,
Missing footwear
Were his feet made of steel
Not to be hurt
By the pebbles and pointed stones
Laid in the holes, that the rains had dug
The man made his way
A usual day
Life
In the city of dreams


🌿🌿

.
She walked slow through Her home the forest
loving the feelings that made Her laugh,
when a strange shiny thing caught Her eye,
Her first ever sight of a photograph.

She bent to pick up the new object,
its smoothness feeling nice on Her skin,
at first She saw the reverse blank page
then She stared at a picture of Him.

What fey enchantment could well capture
an image of so handsome a man?
She stared at His face with mute wonder
as an owl hoots and the sky grows wan.

Slipping it into Her warm bodice
finely laced on Her long dress of green,
she smiles and meanders to shelter
thoughts of Him into Her mind did teem.


He and friend Tia were out walking
with Tem the dog around the big wood,
a rare visit He was paying her,
filling up the day as best they could.

A memory of that day she took
as good fortune offered her the chance,
a secret photograph she stole when
He stopped to watch a butterfly dance.

Slipping it into her skirt pocket,
a polaroid keepsake gained by farce.
But as they walked on her skirt wavered,
the picture fell to lay on the grass.

Unnoticed the wind blew it away
landing it in a glade so shady,
and the picture of Him lay face down
until found by the forest Lady.


Daughter of Nature She roamed the trees,
His image She held with growing need.
A wise face that looked kind and gentle,
enough to make Her lonely heart bleed.

She reached for Her paints and easel,
pinned His image to a wooden frame,
touching her pencil to reed paper
she sketch copied for to know His name.

The sketch layered into a drawing,
Her hands moving deftly and with skill,
to capture His form and His likeness
with every fibre of Her will.

She paints around Him filling detail,
background grass, the butterfly and trees.
Delicately Her brush touches Him,
strokes building His image by degrees.


He closed His tired eyes and heavy yawned
laying in the guest bed for to sleep,
the cry of the forest calls to Him,
the feeling to answer draws Him deep.

His mind begins to wander away
on its night journey it does embark,
sliding into the open dream world
as an owl hoots and the sky grows dark.


As an owl hoots and the sky grows dark
She completes the last stroke of the brush.
She steps back to view Her painted man,
a brief panic hits Her with a rush.

A brief panic hits Him with a rush,
he started then slow opened His eyes.
He found He was in a woodland glade
getting brighter under clearing skies.

She started then opened Her eyes,
He stood there made flesh and oh so real,
He stared at Her face with mute wonder
and watched as Her smile She did reveal.

Staring silently at each other
they stood in the glade cool and shady.
He smiled back at Her with eyes and mouth,
and He spoke soft “Greetings my Lady”.


© Pagan Paul (25/07/20)