Leaves' dancing shadows on the piece of sun
missing the keen eyes
rebound on the vacant space.

The man played with shadows
weaving them into whimsy shapes
before most of them were pulps of paper
gone into the bin of night.

If not for light
would be no shadows
he was always churning in his mind
probing dark holes of moon
going into shady nooks
seeking playfully alive shadows.

The dead casts no shadows
he brooded
on the space he would leave

but he wished
they had
when he wasn't around.

When the moon hovers hallucinated
on the post canal
breaking in bubbles of fish breath
the white widow of the night
revives her long dead tongue
to lick the scales of your skin
pulling you into her bed of nails
making love with you the whole night
leaving you bruised and insatiate
when they find your shadow
scouring the edge of the canal
with her name on its lip.

The  early  Azaleaus    are  blooming
in  the  garden.

A  rich  deep  purple  color.

Quite early in  late  February

But  we  have  had  a  very  mild  winter
here  in  the  Lake  District.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere. UK. 2017.

.
I go by the name of Rook.
Lord of all that you can see.
I cradle and nurture my forest home,
my throne sits in the Poetree.

The canopy stretches before me,
tree tops licked in morning dew.
A finch catches my eye and winks,
greeting his Lord, then off he flew.

The sounds of Dawn, the forest awakes,
shedding sleep dust to the rising sun.
An owl calls her goodnight hoot,
disappears, rejecting the day to come.

Otters sport, play chase, by a stream
that flashes silver as light rays dance.
A Ladybird, yellow with black spots,
lands surprised, to crawl along a branch.

Clean crisp air, caressing nostrils,
invigorating life through cool beauty.
The vista of sunrise across the woods,
the source of inspiration for the Poetree.

© Pagan Paul (24/01/17)

On gloomy overcast , Driving down the Texas road.. Destination airstrip, to fly above the gray sad day, And see the sun from my Cessna that I pilot today..  No matter what I can always see the sun when I fly above the gray..  

No matter how the day looks.. I can always see the sun in my Cessna..

The moon has turned his dark on me.
But I still beg to use his pale eyes
fetching the last glimpses of desire.
And even if you no longer care for
my morning kisses on your thighs
and my moonlight caresses in the night.
I still need to feel
the thrumming harmony
of you slipping inside my shields.
How deeply you’ve plunged into
the inner core of me.
Perfect fit and yet
a distant hologram of
a lover held in my dreams alone.

I’ll never be fulfilled.
unless I forget your splendor.
You shine, like no other.
Your bright was my ultimate high.
And within all my incapable
and impotent denial.
I did try to rub away
the golden fingerprints of you.
But now I’ve come to despair
that they will ever disappear.

I roam from here to there
Until i’m everywhere
And everything
Dancing in the graveyard of my past,
cracking the bones of our memories
Beneath my nimble feet.

I dance until my soul is dust in the wind
And travels across bodies of blues,
And greens,
As purple women swim ****
Before my eyes.

Their energy morphs into beams of light,
Until all that’s left are fantastic flames,
That illuminate
The voids of spaces,
Purple faces,
Blue auras,
Green eyes,
Red flames
That burn beneath me
As I descend into the evening,
Falling to my knees and praying for beautiful Death,
For we are familiar friends.

The reaper’s boney fingers grasp the curves of my waist.
The silence is our music
As we waltz for centuries in one moment,
as I watch history unfold
before my purest lense of perception;
A kaleidoscope of fear and love,
Like two opposing warriors holding hands
And sharing secrets.

I wake up from a dream in a cold sweat,
Spat out by the portal of sleep.
I celebrate nirvana,
And thank Death, as I swim in it's dark nebulous.
I await the universe to kiss my eyes
And ask it to release me from this endless wander
in this human form