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Float seeds in the wind strewn about haphazardly;
indifferent winds ask not direction to course

Change asks not permission to become ―
like a blind-folded pilot looking for a place to land

At least dandelion wishes shoulder the weight of hope
and it makes no difference to the wind whose dream
it holds or seed it bears to  randomly cast away

The color of a mustard seed of faith
that moves mountains remains unknown ―
Freedom is as weightless as a hole in empty pocket
with nothing left to lose

Who decides who's a **** and what's a flower;
such definitive power beholds responsibility—
the most visible kind of strength,
that, used to oppress others,
is itself born of weakness.

On this island earth, in an ocean of emptiness,
a grain of sand and seaweed are washed ashore,
alone together, by the strength of a tuning tide

Float seeds in the wind strewn about haphazardly;
spindrift flying on the wing of tide-change
as indifferent gales ask not direction to scatter

Terrestrial seeds lay unheeded hole up in impalpable silence,
embryos of yesterday dwelling in infrequent sighs
that enter lightly those unreckoned songs
the breathings of the heart fail to sing


              words in the wind
Notes: ****;  plant considered undesirable, unattractive, or troublesome, especially one that grows where it is not wanted and often grows or spreads fast or takes the place of desired plants.
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A whirlwind of stagnant breeze
disturbs the warmest stillness.
Solar rays shimmer and coalesce
forming images of the Summer Girl.

Fragrant scents in light colours
float gently from her hair.
Flowers laced with golden thread
adorning her head like a wreath.

Chasing the shadows of clouds
across the heat haze so strange.
Her body lithe and newly alive
darting and flitting dragonfly style.

Arriving at the painting of the dawn
and here to nurse the day.
Leaving at the doom of sunset,
wisping images of the Summer Girl.



©Pagan Paul (07/06/14).
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Old Poem
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It’s like watching a flower bloom from a bud
or a seed pushing through the soil
moving onward and upward
slowly but surely
toward the sky
to eventually arise
in its fresh green glory
into the light
right before our eyes.

They are taking that old house
into their hands and hearts
removing dust and accumulations
of two full and splendid lives
molding from the clay of the past
moving through the soil of a present
full of challenge and struggle
into a new, alive
unpredictable
future
together.

This new growth
fashioned from precious artifacts
and art of these two mature siblings
is not a shell which is a house
but a new flowering
which is a home.

What a delight to observe from afar
this new creation
taking shape
knowing
that their roots and ours
are emmeshed
and inseparable.

Watching these two
bright, precocious ones
so precious, priceless and cherished by us
is as delicious
and delightful
as sharing a meal
prepared in the ovens,
homes and hearts
of our mothers.

In this dynamic present
we are grateful
for parents who taught us what it means
to make and keep a home
to love and be loved by the children
of generations.

All these children
are present in the creators
and observers
of this new home
taking shape
being painting
into a landscape
that will one day
sparkle
with joy.
Note: Dedicated to Ginny and Richard as they journey together, sister and brother, creating a new home in an old house.
It showed on their face.

The rides were fun
but they were breathless.

From the cable car
the sky seemed not that far
and to the wind it was unfair
to have two men without much hair.

Rain had brought color to soft eyes
huddling and cuddling at free wills
but sought shelter these two guys
from the teen lovers' merry squeals.

They rushed to be in time for the first row
childishly enthralled by the 3D show
dipping the whole of their emotion
in the history of origin and evolution.

The day had been too soon done
when in the melted afternoon sun
the two forgot all the worries
in the romance of rediscoveries.
Amusement Park, June 24, 2018, 5pm
 Aug 2018 eleanor prince
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If I close my eyes
maybe you can’t see me
and I won’t have to lie
here, still and silent -
on my side
of the great divide
that’s come between us -
the quiet nights
no longer dreaming
go on and on -
living, breathing
beating hearts, forgotten
seasons lost -
in distant canyons
we once walked
our paths entwined -
companions once
leaving shadows
aligned in the sand -
in the canyons
where we left our hand
prints on a wall -
side by side
you and I.
I usually wake up very early during mondays,
Open my window and wait for the sun’s rays.
Smell the morning dew and feel the breeze,
These things calms my mind, puts my anxiety at ease.

During this cold rainy months,
All I need is your warmth.
Coming deep inside your heart,
And this day will have a good start.

You know what’s good early in the morning,
A hot coffee that smells great after brewing.
But what’s better? Drinking it with you,
I guess I need to learn to make coffee for two.

I look into the sky the sun is not up yet,
But with you beside me, and when our eyes met.
It feels like this yet dark sky that fills my day,
Suddenly becomes less gloomy, when you smile at me.

And there, and then did i truly realize,
That it’s really the simple things in life.
That matters most and we should treasure,
Since in this world these things can’t be measured.
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