I am from yellow houses. The ones with green shutters and vines growing along the sides. I am from rainy weather with umbrellas to big to hold in my small, weary, hands. I am what I am. I am unloveable and complex but loved and solved at the same time. I am an open book but one that remains closed until someone comes along and open me, reading each page, some colorful and others just blank. I am a story worth telling and an experience worth sharing, some good, others not so much. I am from sunflowers and freshly cut grass. I am a blank page but I can easily be marked. I am what I am. I am from linen sheets and warm laundry. I hope to be less of a burden than I am. The youngest child, the one parents hope turn out alright. I am from tears and broken hearts. But I am also from sunshine and glasses half full. I am artwork that hangs on walls and painted in murals, ones you can’t glance at just once. I am from cold winters and warm homes during them. I am what I am. I am from clothing too big to fit my tiny body and fresh apples too small to fit my empty stomach. I am what I am.
Where I’m from
sometimes, i wonder if i could just go away
i'll live in a strange land
where people speak a languange that i don't understand
i'll probably find myself a job as an applepicker
after work, i'll go home
pamper myself in my log cabin
read, write, smoke, drink wine
I stare down at the plate of toast and beans
wondering why this was never part of my dreams.
Looking for the future with an illusional pretence,
hoping good apples will fall on my side of the fence.
And as the fork dances slow
around the legumes in spirals,
the tedium of a wasting life
bears the burden and scars
of missed opportunities in paralysis
and the colour of once bright lights
shining a shadow into the void
covering the bruises
that were once achievements of worth,
now tender patches
I drop the fork ...
… pushing away the plate and leaving food uneaten,
my desire for its nutrition fought and beaten,
Looking at the apple tree with sombre regret
maybe its fruit will fall and save me yet.
is worse than anger,
it begins with the stench of loss
the nasal whiff of
what if …
And what if the little apple tree
drops all its fruit down to me?
Would I recognise fortune on my side
or fear the illusions and run to hide?
© Pagan Paul (17/02/18)
prosperity comes in…
she comes in...
shades of black and blue,
when you hit me and tug on my hair,
apples that ripen and then soften...
A half sequel to my prom “I am on my knees.” It wasn’t intended to be a sequel or even be a poem at all but reading it made me think of it. I don’t chew on my fingernails anymore. I’ve been really interested in writing that features a lot of hesitation / stuttering
my beauty is the most powerful potion on Earth,
drink it and get transformed,
growing tree of golden apples,
who dares to catch me?
who dares to climb?
My book will be released soon.
For the moment you can get a copy of my book 'The Allure Of Time' on amazon.
A little girl
has two apples in her hands.
"Can I have one, sweetie?" her mother
asked. The girl looked at the two apples
in her hands and took a bite out of both
of them. The mother tried to hide her
disappointment of what her daughter
had just done. The little girl looks
up at her mother and hands
her one of the apples.
"This one is sweeter."
Sometimes things are not the way they look. Don't judge by what you see just on the outside.
noticed the most
common thread in fairy tales?
your best wishes and desires will
all come true if you indulge in one
life-altering task. losing your voice
for legs, going to a ball for a few
hours to fine true love... it's all
a fictionally painted image.
telling us that something
if we take a bite
of the poison apple.
it's supposed to be a caramel apple? i have no idea if that came across, but the caramel apple is a reference to Enchanted.
It was fall now and something fell from the sky and atop my head it sat. I figured it be something of green leaves or the tears from a clouds uncertainty. The water lay in cracks deep underneath the piles of autumn leaves over sidewalks where children played games of hopscotch and three pile. There was something of fall when things grew old and shriveled that made me realize the meaning of old love, there was something in the crisp air that let me feel like a new beginning. The leaves told me it was time to start anew.
The best season of them all