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Shane Leigh Mar 2
The blindness in stones.
The cold, crumbling stones.
Rugged edges,
Almost jagged,
Scratching my palms,
Meeting abruptly
With smooth,
Like river stones –
Soft, silky,
Subtle, as if they were not there at all.
They are quiet.
Unmoving –
Although, I imagine their delicacies:
The way they stood,
Their fragile motions,
The nimble-ness
in the motion of their wrists,
their ankles,
their knees,
their fingers,
the roll of their necks
and twists of their hips
as they bent, and turned, and contorted
The warmth they must have had.
I feel them.
Their faces distorted
Forever frozen

Do you not mind?
The cold stones,
Their somber and angry faces …
Their harshness?
I do not.
They were harsh,
And cruel,
Vicious to you.

You are precious,

Your hands are soft and light,

They are calming.
And your stones …
They will be forever cursed
To be truly blind,
Crazed by their own ambitions.

You ask me if I mind …
I do not.

I do not see them.
That is my curse.
I do not see them.
As I do not see you
The pain that they bring,
The one I love.

*I am blind.
I wanted to envision a softer side to the harsh myth that is Medusa. Something warm and precious - like a blind lover. I hope you enjoy (:
© Shane Leigh
  Oct 2020 Shane Leigh
Tiny feet scamper across dewy seas
Firefly eyes dart amidst blades of dark green
Moonlight shines softly on faces that tease
Tiny feet scamper across dewy seas
Bobbing and hoping between limbs of trees
Teeny folk dancing that no one has seen
Tiny feet scamper across dewy seas
Leaving no footprints to tell where they've been.
My first Triolet
I used the .pentameter (English version) where each line only has 10 syllables
Shane Leigh Sep 2020
These are the rolling hills,
the clashing tides,
the undiscovered,
the mysterious.
These are the whispering winds,
the dew drops,
the peace, and pride.
These are the fires forging
fierce peoples
inhabiting this land.
Here be the land of fierce beasts.
Here be the land of dragons.
Enjoy (:
© Shane Leigh
  Sep 2020 Shane Leigh
J-J Johnson
My grandpa
             Words he gave
                            To me once upon a full moon
“Son” he said
            “When you go into this life”
“Remember, that love is a language “
             “So find, my son, find someone”
                     “Who speaks your language “
      “So you don’t have to translate your soul”
Shane Leigh Sep 2020
It could only have happened here –
The things that I remember
And the things that I also forget.
I’d light a candle to show you the way,
But I've forgotten the way...
Behind dark clouds and arching trees
The path is hidden from me.
I creep behind bushes made of fluorescent leaves
Stalking, so closely, the Meadows.
As they dance and laugh so happily in their glee;
Prancing with their nimble bodies;
Weaving themselves in and out of the darkness.
I peak behind cracked buildings,
Lace through old staircases,
Tip toe, quietly, behind doors that can no longer open.
Into a field reclaimed by sprouting trees
I see them.
In the abandoned halls and crumbling stairways
I almost remember.
The roof here creaks and howls
And the walls, with their holes,
Intertwine with bark and vines;
Chipping concrete collides carelessly with the ground
And I pause …
Fearful of what is,
Different than what was …
But they dance on, nonetheless,
And I follow.
Oh, sweet nymph of the path I have taken –
Although I am frightened,
Although I am changed –
Show me the light that I have forgotten;
Lead me to the feeling of remembrance again.
It's a re-edit (:
  Sep 2020 Shane Leigh
Paul Butters
The summer sun soars above the sultry sands…
Sorry your computer hit a problem
We will restart it for you
Error code – Gremlins from your latest Update.

Where was I?
The beach beams with delight…
You have Urgent Email
Your Paypal Account has been hacked
We need your bank details again
To protect you from villains.

Still on a standard gas rate?
You must shop around.
Use our fantastic cheap deal tracking

Your internet provider technical department
Your computer is under attack
From Trojan Horse Maleficent-Ware.
You will lose internet connection in
Five hours unless…

We don’t provide cover for the drains
Under your house
Unless you take out
Our splendid insurance scheme.

Poetry Moderators here:
The word “Delight” is Not
Allowed here
As it has ****** Connotations
And your style breaches our
Community Rules.
Suggest instead:
The finely grained sandstone
Reflects Sol light
Making my mood
More adequate
By psychological standards.

Sorry your computer hit a problem.
I give up.

(NB No Moderators were hurt
During the typing of this poem,
As they usually act
It is posted).


Paul Butters

© PB 15\9\2020.
  Sep 2020 Shane Leigh
Pagan Paul
The vessel was empty. It was always empty.
The vessel was a body. A Nobody.
Too young to fend for itself yet abandoned to face
the onslaught of a life unprepared for.
It was a satellite, a burden, an unwanted encumbrance
upon the lives of those that spawned it.
Those that should guide, educate, encourage and love.

The emptiness had begun early
and grown into a void of isolated disfunction.
The ship of emotion sailing into a dark sunset
and the cold loneliness of night seeps easy
into the vessel already devoid and senseless.

There had been early years but forgotten
were the vessels memories and experiences.
An era of ancient history with no notations,
undocumented and lost in the ether.
No sense of belonging or conformity
were instilled by those meant to teach.
Instead the blind vessel gropes dangerously
around a world unfamiliar.
To make sense of existence.
To justify its worth.

But worth is subjective.
Of no worth to its peers it protects itself
absorbing the cloak of the worthless.
A litany harshly reinforced by cruelty
dealt out by the tongues of resentful tormentors.

And so left to its own devices
attachment becomes an arbitrary concept.
The revolving door  of brief and useless association.
Meaningful liaisons few and far between
as its walls provide protection from feeling hurt.
So the vessel was a body. A Nobody.
And the vessel was empty. It was always empty.
Always... always... empty.

© Pagan Paul (Aug 2020)
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