I saw the sun steep
into the seascape ―
lonely as a drowning
    wave
         on still-waters

the dimming of the day
rescinding evanescent daylight                                                         ­         .
fading with the slack tide
         lost at sea ―
a gloaming moment
         let fall from
the remains of the day,
like some other passing
sea bird's molted feather
drifts away untamed

I sit silent as the driftwood
lingering at the watermark,
watching a random gust
    erase the footprints
of another recurring day, 
bearing abandoned memories
    and vacant heartbeats,
atrophied in the drifting sands

    and I see you walking
    towards the abating  
    midnight sunset ―
         but I know
    you're just a mirage;    
like the dimming afterglow
of so many waning moons
            elapsed
         
ever-changing tides grow low  
and promises made lightly  
         do ebb away
          
Scanning the distant horizon ―    
    a blindfold heart    
    mooning all at sea;
parsing a deserted shoreline,
    wondering if love
          is too late ,..
    to stem the tide ―


        harlon rivers

      30   May   2018

.
In a costume of conflicting emotion,
of crossing diamondic colour,
with regal posture in grief,
the Harlequin and the King,
a display of opposites
creating a composite being,
that eases her body
gently into the waiting water,
to float away serene,
on her journey to the nether.

Midnight blue and emerald green,
the regalia of ermine,
both ostentatious and humble,
robeing the aspects,
understated in crowning splendour,
the gentleman King bows,
and the Harlequin laughs,
the bi-polar reaction
to the tragedy of misfortune,
with a sting in the myth-tale.

With the dark hues of mourning,
a legend passes on her way,
across the streams of time,
on a voyage to discover herself,
carrying her Harlequin in a purse,
holding her King to her breast,
owning them both in her heart,
the medicine wheel spins,
knowing the grapes of wrath
yield the wine of spite.

The motley speckles of attire,
a starry parody of night skies,
lighting the decorated funeral barge,
gliding along the rivers of space,
worn with the mantle of sorrow,
and it sails into the sunset,
as the Harlequin and King observe,
the mandala turns,
the bier of the Queen departing,
bears their sadness forth.

The Harlequin laughs and laughs 'til he cries,
his heart grows cold, then withers and dies,
whilst the King, statuesque, memoirs his life,
lamenting the legend of a Queen, his wife.



© Pagan Paul (24/07/18)

.
Far and away,
above and beyond,
a lonely girl sings to herself in the dark.

Far and away,
above and beyond,
she is answered only by a black dogs bark.


© Pagan Paul (20/07/18)

i.

the sun burns the grass and the ferns,
they melt under a bright sky,
roughening, like the tongue of a cat,
the grass with its brown sandpapers.

ii.

the flowers pray for me and my
watering can, on a dirt track
the water splashes and the earth
drinks deep, the trees shiver
at the thought of water, their
branches sway, this is to dance -
leaves with patterns scattering -
leafy shade and pools of bright
sun.

iii.

drawn out of the air a drawbridge
of breeze raising its portcullis and
suddenly the heat is bearable,
shadows and sun like a patchwork
quilt.

iv.

we wait for summer, tender-eyed,
smouldering in the heat, the trees
like colossal statues of bronze
stretching branches beneath the canopy
of a green sea in a dream spun
from ebony.

v.

i kiss you, grazed by this
orient sun, my heart
seeking yours, my
legs longing for your legs,
my limbs threading
with yours
while summer
sings of her forgotten
ghosts.