Sunday morning lie-in,
she, ny times newspaper reading,
contentedly dress perusing-shopping,
in the bed both, but separated
by the distance of the electronic void

i am raven tapping poe poems on my diminutive IPhone,
twenty four inches distant from her lips

no notice taken of the man so overcome
writing his Sunday morn poems that are
drawn so deep from places
that make him so so so glad
good quality weeping
can be best performed silently

noticing that

- he writes best when writing of others, mostly, you

- he writes when the rented invisibility cloak covers his face
and
the wellspring offers him a choice;
write weep and tear
or
write weep and bawl
or just quit everything

whimsy laughs at his slo 'mo nonsense
his choices
this tough guy supporting a mountain of others,
the inversion of his inverted triangle,
him holding up the world

the worrisome grief that wears him down
best released in tears when writing about
you, go figger

and you notice stupid stuff
like why we use 'and' when it just ain't necesssry
how the core of 'believe' is lie
that ** ** ** rhymes with woe woe woe
and
that 24 inches is quite the distance when you are
** ** ** weeping and she don't notice

and how hard writing

only love poetry can be
even twenty four inches
from your nose

He watches; quiet, reflective.
No doubt he detected
The weight of my
Body-shaped shame.
My name similar to his,
Who now rots under sunlight,
Unabashed in his righteousness
To which I was blind.
I find myself here,
In a garden once perfect,
Now tainted with ******.
I heard the scratching,
Faint at first,
So I turned and saw him.
The raven watches;
Quiet, perceptive,
His gaze so effective.
His foot scratches the ground,
Making a sound that feels
Almost peaceful.
He unearths the freedom
That I need him to show me.
Just below me,
The earth is opening up.
I grab my brother's limp arm,
Drag him away
From the evidence of his harm.
Further away
From the judgment of God.
The raven approves;
He quietly nods.

I woke up this morning
To the sign of the times
Wondering where it all went
As none of this I recognize

Why do the best of all memories
Have to grow old
As years of tears have cleared the dust
From off my country road

Nothing's now simple
As it used to be
The world in which I once lived
Has moved to the South side of mean

Cold winds have brought a chill
To all I used to know
Blowing the dust off
Of my country road

There's no way to go back
But I still swim in the pond of my dreams
Diving into simpler times
Wading through serene scenes

It didn't happen all the sudden
So it never really showed
Until all the dust came up missing
From my country road

I sometimes catch slight glimpses
If you know what I mean
As I blink back the tears
From the space in-between

Would things have been different
If I would have been shown
What lay beneath
The dust of my country road

Time hasn't healed me of the pain
I will always remember his name

To feel close to him all I have now are his beautiful words
I imagine him saying them to me in a voice I once heard

He was all that I ever could or did want
Now lost to him my darkened eyes will forever haunt

He is still the music that plays ongoing in my heart
He awoken in me a melody before my love for him did start

I know he is lost to me but I still revisit him in my mind
I relive all the memories of us together all the time

I  try and remember our last conversation our last kiss
then wrap my arms around the air of emptiness

Time hasn't healed me of the pain
I will always remember his name

I guess its fair to say he will always remain my lethal dose
I will be forever chasing his ghost

.
There is a man
     with only one hand,
in the 3rd eye of Buddha
     he learnt about clapping.

There is a woman
     with only one heart,
in the land ruled by men
     she retained her compassion.

There is a man
     with only one eye,
in the land of the blind
     he was ostracised.

There is a mind
     with only one thought,
in the land of the banal
     it treasures imagination.


© Pagan Paul (19/10/16)

I am not me like what you want me to be
        I am here like you always wanted me to be
How could I ever be me, the me I want to be

I’m tired of you, tired of crying in the dark.
pretending at the park
                - watching people talk with voices that barks
I feared it will spark an awful reaction stark
So I build an ark -
Sailed away into far,
                      far - dream land
where prejudice & judgment is not in our hands
but in the all caring higher being's commands.

Then again reality is never like that,
So I hide, I stumble, and I fall
     into the gray solace of my patience
The higher being cares, yet you need choices
to stay strong - fight and survived
                        until blessings comes along
                                and heal the dying soulful song.

© 2013