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Rain beats down on the window pane
As the flood gates of Heaven suddenly open
It is pouring out in torrential flow
Like a Reservoir, all at once, broken

It has come down as a welcome respite
To fan away the humid sweltering heat
It falls in drops and flows in rivulets
Washing the dust of summer drought

With a sudden burst from the weight laden clouds
It lashes down in steam and fury
Plummeting to form ripples in puddles
And filling pools and ponds in hurry

In slanting sheets, it almost pounds
Flooding roads and making puddle
Gushing through pipes and rushing down drains
Water floods, causing men to waddle

Rain has its abode in heavens so high
And hides behind clouds of mournful gloom
In silver strings, it spans the Earth
And cleanses the plants in resplendent gleam

Sudden is the wind, coming to shoo away the clouds
And the sky is once more cerulean blue
As the music stops and the humdrum stills
The water seeps, giving no evident clue.

After an angry couple’s furious fight,
As the house goes back to an uncanny calm,
The rain has vanished, leaving little trace
Cooling the Earth and causing no harm
Sorry friends....... there is a problem with my site ! My computer goes so slow when it comes to Hello poetry. So I am not in a position to post comments or respond to comments. I shall do it when my computer becomes better. Thanks for reading and commenting! After a long gap, only today I got the option... 'Add' a poem!
Nailed and ******* on hands and legs,
Maimed and marred beyond repair,
Cut and bruised out of shape,
Stripped and peeled, so bare to shock,

Lo, there lies a man! The Son of God,
On a cross erected on the summit of the Mount,
Brutally suspended between Earth and Sky,
Stationed amid thieves on either side.

He slipped and slithered under the yoke of weight,
And tottered the rugged route to Calvary,
Scourged and flogged all along,
He bore the cross with none to help.

Never complained nor cursed but suffered the pangs,
Never whined nor moaned, but drained the cup,
Through His death, mankind was to be redeemed,
By His precious blood, their infirmities to be cleansed

It was for our sins that He lay down His life,
It was our misdeeds that made Him bleed,
It was for our lust that He was painfully stripped,
It was our arrogance that bent Him low.

None could gauge the agony he endured,
No man ever performed such a daring deed,
To liberate mankind, the Lamb was slain,
To lead his Flock, He walked in front.

‘Love your enemy’ was the mantra He recited,
What He preached, He relentlessly practised,
While writhing in pain, He prayed for His foes,
Pleaded with his Father to spare the wrath.

When wrongly accused, never said He a word,
Unruffled remained He on painfully betrayed,
Hard it was to be deserted by those He loved,
Sore it was to be treated so very rude.


The Son of Man came seeking the missing sheep,
He builds from where everything is wrecked,
Rejoice in Him, for He is our Lord!
Adore and worship, He deserves to be praised.

Peace was what He promised the world,
Grace was what He gifted to all,
Look up to the Cross when trials confront,
And cast your burden at His feet!
On this Good Friday, on contemplating the agony of my Lord, I got inspired to write this!
i.
The twilight moon peeps
from behind the brazen grey cloud.
Chill air coalesces into a light fog
creeping nonchalant along the street.
Orange lamp glow cascades around
dancing with the fog in osmosis swirls.
Ice blue eyes of fire and malevolence
trace a pathway through the dirge.
Zoning out and homing in,
a huntress stalking unknowing prey.
A black kitten dashes from the hedge,
across the street, up to a front door,
leaving tiny prints scattered on the lawn,
and the ice blue eyes of fire drip pleasure,
as a primal sound emerges, guttural,
but unmistakedly … a cackle.

ii.
Feint, feint sobbing punctuates the night.
As she lays curled foetal clutching her doll.
Her other hand between her thighs,
seeking in vain to reclaim her violated body.

“ Daddy made Mummy go to sleep
with sweeties from the little brown bottle
and the drink from the grown-ups cupboard,
and then he played horsey with her.
He told me Mummy had been a good girl,
and it was my turn to be nice to Daddy.
He always scares me at night
but its his way of saying he loves me.
Daddy Loves his little girl, he always says so”.

The sobbing slowly fades into … nothing,
And she knows. She doesn't Love Daddy.
Now he is watching tv and drinking beer.
Daddy hears the doorbell and swears.
He goes to answer, opening the portal.
Too late, far too late, to stop …
… the Judderwitch.

iii.
He woke. And tried to scream,
nailed spread-eagle to a wall.
Throat, dry, unable to make a sound.
And in his head he screams.
Pierced flesh with sanguin scabs
ripping agony through his very fibre.
Ice blue eyes of fire dance hooded
before him with torture and brutality.
His face erupts in pus filled cysts
to burst and seer pain on his flesh.
And in his head he screams.
As the face in the hood morphs into
the face of his little girl as he rapes her.
And he screams, in his head he screams,
and screams and screams,
as the blade slices slowly, so slowly,
and his manhood falls flaccid floor-ways.
Eyes bulge in horror,
and in his head he screams ...
And screams … and screams,
as his ribs crack, break, in his chest.
Pushing through and up and out,
like flint sharp spears of rancid bone,
and in his head he screams …
and screams … and screams ...

iv.
“Mummy. Mummy. There's kitten on the lawn.
Can we keep her Mummy. Can we? Please?”
She walks out the front door
and smiles at her daughter, the kitten meows.
She watches her little girl play,
the cat enraptured with little plaits.
“Mummy. Why can't I remember anything about Daddy?
He only went away last night”.
“I don't know sweetie. I can't remember anything either.
Not even his face. Its very strange indeed”.

A breeze chills their skin as they look
toward the Cherry Tree on the lawn.
Its leaves whispering their sylvan symphony.
But all they heard was …
… cackling.
And the feint, feint sound
of somebody
still
screaming.

© Pagan Paul (04/04/17)
.
We don't speak often
We don't meet often
That doesn't mean that the care for one another is lost.
Testing times are the ones when
Brotherhood, neighbourhood
And most importantly Friendships
comes to the fore !!
And that is what
humanity
and neighbourhood is all about !!
There are so many times when we don't actively and actually talk to a person.
But , I believe that the telepathic conversations are always happening!!
Will be meeting a friend today , with whom I haven't chatted in months,
but she is always there on my mind and so am I on hers !!
Time to catch up and have a great chat !!
 Apr 2017 George Krokos
Rob K
Why do people feel compelled,
When days go so dark,
To talk of the hard issues,
That dwell in their heart?

We all have a voice,
Who whispers inside,
Honest words it presents,
A voice we can't hide.

"Work through your troubles..."
"Let it all out..."
Yet no one else was ever there,
When you broke with a shout.

They don't know the details.
All of that moments, nuance.
Only you... and that voice...
Can answer troubles taunts.

Talk if you need too,
Discuss if it helps.

But me and my voice?

We'll talk a while...
To no one else...
A quiet recklessness,
undone seat belts and unlocked doors,
how midnight sits in your mind like
the hands of a clock are holding it there.

It's a different music now, a change
in how the dream tastes, the way
everything feels like sandpaper.
You swore you could see
from underneath the dark of your eyelids.
Go back to sleep, I said.

Someone asked me
what faith was. I said it was an act
of surrender. We have faith
in what owns us. You asked me
what faith was, but I couldn't
look you in the eye.

I remember you liked
your socks to hug your toes.
I remember I liked how you looked
when you told me that,
bathed in a beam of refrigerator light
like a helicopter search, the corner
of your mouth twitching upwards
into a lopsided smile.

It begins like this; It ends like this.
God spit us out of his mouth.
God sent a flood to wash us clean.
God made us from dust, and we still haven't
recovered.

You can't drive me out of Eden
without driving yourself out.
You drove us out of Eden, and I
hate you for it. You drove us out of Eden,
and I love you anyway.
Figure that one out.

You don't really know who you are
until you lose it.
Spilled milk, it's sad, you know?
We forget, we do, everything
except this, the way it settles
in your chest, your heart
working overtime to pump through it.

I have regrets, but
you know that already.
The tumble of words from a
desperate mouth and the
letters still stumbling
home half-drunk, naive.
If I knew you were going to leave,
I would have kept my *******
mouth shut.

I have regrets.
The night the moon wouldn't show
its face and how a confession
felt less like a confession when
mumbled into the side of your neck.

I am still waiting for you, still
counting sheep after they are sheared,
blinking at the shrinking horizon inside you.
Maybe if I could touch you again,
I'd find the braille there that would
make me understand.
yeah
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