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Pagan Paul Jun 2019
A chain of lights
lead off into the distance,
illuminating little
but so bright in their own world.
Along an old animal track
to a standing stone
ancient in peaceful repose,
a family sigil,
weather worn by time,
proud of its place
marking the passing of aeons.
The light blinks out
and darkness falls like a drape
of lightlessness,
and the Crest crackles,
miniature lightning
caressing the old frigid stone.

© Pagan Paul (16/06/19)
Paul Butters Apr 2019
Feelings of fear, anxiety and hate
Served us well
Back in ancient times
When sabre toothed tigers threatened.

Those adrenaline rushes
Meant that we survived
Through taking flight
Or standing to fight
Like demons.

But in modern times
When physical threats are rare
(Though still too many)
We must Avoid
Such negative emotions.

For Fear can make you
A rabbit in the headlights:
Chronically anxious and depressed.
Or it can turn you
Into a snarling animal,
Snapping at everyone.

On both Arrakis and Earth,
Fear is the mind-killer
And little-death,
To be faced down
And then forgotten.

For we must, I repeat, cast aside
These negative feelings
Of fear and hate.

Instead we need
To nurture
Every budding
Of Love

We must empathise,
Be compassionate
And Loving.

Above all,
We must Love.

Paul Butters

© PB 13\4\2019.
Pagan Paul Jul 2018
And quiet, a cemetery of the ancients,
fondled by the coiling mist of morning,
snuggles deep in the heart of the forest,
its quintessential stillness undisturbed.

And the sun ignites the darkened glade,
with a light that transfixes time itself,
heralding the infernally ponderous day,
when life endures the basics of survival.

And the moon shines in silver shards,
slanting beams with mystical hues,
announcing the delicious dark night,
where once again lies endless sleep.

And the shades of ageless dead relatives,
gravely sit and tell old ghost stories,
silencing the cold stone walls of tombs
with historic wisdom of times long gone.

© Pagan Paul (2017/18)
Jesse stillwater May 2018
A breathe of words ― 
a gust of thought scattered;
welling silence ruptures
bulging vault chambers
with the patience
of tongue-tied hearts

In a long deep breath
pith of soul manifests;
rich with the breathing spirit
of life that's passed

A timeworn lid spinning
on a blue glass jar
Indigenous roots
and memories tender,  
perpetuity gleaned
and garnered
on fruit cellar shelves

Segues of ancient culture ―
evolution derives
from many roots
trying to catch
time in a bottle;
a travelogue
of saved beginnings;
magic beans
in a mason jar

    Life’s native seeds gathered ―
organic building blocks
the immemorial soul
of the earth sown
and reaped;
sprouting unstilted
for which
ever fleeting time
cannot hold

Jesse e Stillwater
09  May  2018
saving native seeds
sowing continuum
fostering one love
reaping the fruits
of perpetuity
Mio Seanachaidh Jan 2017
Tremble and hail at Cthulhu's call

Who is Cthulhu?

the Ancient One, A Dark God

first recorded by H.P Lovecraft

once long ago

Now, Cthulhu has several followers

few at first but rapidly on the rise

Cthulhu is very real and soon will be revealed

He's in deep slumber

Way below in R'lyeh

far under the sea

If ever he shall awaken

The whole world will be shaken

All humanity will be lost

Only a whisper of a spell

From the Necronomican

Can seal him back to his tomb

Beware for when the stars align, R'lyeh will suddenly appear

and Cthulhu will revive his subjects

To rule this Earth once more

Cthulhu, the powerful, ancient, and he who knows all

Come and heed his call

He speaks telepathy to those who will listen

Come, Cthulhu, your child awaits

To hear your voice and spread your message

To those who don't believe
"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of the infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far." - H.P Lovecraft
Cecelia Francis Feb 2015
She tastes her tongue
-stuttering, spluttering-
and recoils -bitterness
and bile- slobber down
the side of the chin,
spitting it out.

She tapes her tongue
to the front of her
teeth -so that it
does not touch her
uttering buds going

Slurping loudly
the syrupy silence
and its sounds
her thirst grows
to frenzy

blood offering
to the ancients
within her
Assembly of the doodles that are my notes from She tries her tongue, her silence softly breaks M.Nourbese Philip
Paul Butters Jul 2014
If Mankind perished:
Exterminated cataclysmically
Like the dragon dinosaurs,
How long would our cities stand?
How long before our cars rusted
And buildings toppled,
To leave the odd dam or pyramid
Poking through the tangled jungle mass?
A few hundred years they say.
Then nothing.
All gone.

Yet have such holocausts
Blighted Man before
Back through those swirling mists of time,
Thousands of years ago?
Great civilisations built by clever men and women,
Only to be dashed to the ground
By who knows what.
Atlantis and much more.
Advancement cruelly culled.

For Man,
Like the world,
Is much older than we thought
Or think.
Some say that aliens helped us build
Those ancient wonders.
Yet maybe we should cast away this
Self – effacing view:
Acknowledge that
We did it all

Paul Butters
An "ideas" poem.

— The End —