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Nameless Mar 23
Here's to a fresh start
Without the existence of my heart
Some sunsets will calm my soul
While some will tear me apart

Here's a toast to your shining days
To take you out from this painful phase
Some nights will be tough to pass
But I'll be in the air by your side always

Here's a broken boy from miles away
And a beautiful girl trying to make him stay
He fell in love by being greatly numb
But she couldn't trace his shadow in the light of day

Here's to a fresh a start
Without the existence of my heart
Sometime you'll just hate me fine
Someday I'll be a piece of your art

mini boon
got you
so soon
this lit'l
boo to
suit and
end the
blues with
petunias that
bloom with
smoke in
their room
and nocturn
with owl
matin was
in the
red house
Pagan Paul Dec 2018
Kalypso sports within the waves
luring sailors to watery graves
but if they make it to her isle
there they may tarry for a while.

Food and wine are given a'plenty,
they are rocked into lust so gently,
Nymph, Maidens, Bacchanalian revelry
lead the sailors into darkest devilry.

*** and sin are openly displayed,
a salacious procession, ***** parade,
And all men their vices expressed
seek the comfort of Kalypso's breast,
her hospitality soothes, allays their fears
as she slowly steals away their years.

© Pagan Paul (05/12/18)
Pagan Paul Jul 2017
Let us linger for a while
upon this sacred mid-stream Isle.

Between the banks of this woodland river,
the flanking tree-scape murmurs peace.
Tinkling drops over pebbles tumble,
eager and away to the sea, its home.
The easy flow of destiny contained
in a dashing continual race.
Birds chatter until the big one shrieks,
its flashing form
diving through the canopy
in search of a mammal to feed its young.
The chorus resumes.
A nervous Doe peeks from dense undergrowth,
constant alertness as she moves,
body trembling in anticipation of attack,
but conquering fear, bends to drink.
Lazy grass and moss so soft
lies underfoot in this magikal place,
the feel and the pull of the earth
brings comfort and peace to the tired body,
tranquility evoked with sight and sound,
soothing the mind with touch and smell,
a sensual cuddle from the Natural world.

© Pagan Paul (2016/2017)
A peaceful place to hang out :)
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing

a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards

The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”

on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet

Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone

I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement

“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask

“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.

“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five.  The ******
******* took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”

She went back to
tilling the sand.

Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf

standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands  grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche

the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting  
seaside symphony

the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes

grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary

Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo

Grand Isle
Grand Isle, Cajun, Deepwater Horizon, ecological distress, Gulf of Mexico
Julie Grenness Jan 2017
Yes, today I travel to an isle,
I'll linger on here a while,
It's a magical isle for poets,
We're all misfits, and we know it,
Our muse shrouded in mists and fogs,
One  isle for our mystical blogs,
I'll linger here a while,
Our misfit poets' fair isle..........
Feedback welcome.
Light House Jan 2017
He did neither raised his weapon ...nor, even, his hand: he fell silent.
He retired to an island -- hidden afar -- carrying paper & pen.
He was still the villaiN,
only now he would functioN
behind the scenes, instead.

...He rode atop ...birds.  Prior, they had merely ..circled him,
but now... they carried him, & soon they would carry his letters & words...
They would soon spread his fire; for, he is diseased, & has no morale do.. anything, other...
than take over this world.

The screams & moans, which if close ...enough can be heard
...are not of hells or other worlds.  They are of his thoughts & gulls,
as they mate, readying themselves... to do his work.
Sun is complaining,
Rain gathers scent,
Wetness remaining,
In a town after lent,

Fog rises above the hills,
Smoking cottages dreaming now,
Stars wait in puddles of sill,
Fish in the seas are teeming, tow,

The moon waves in a hurry,
To hide from the dawn neat,
Crows fly and scurry,
Birds are spry, sleepy,

Wading on lawns,
Like worms in garden,
Or grasses moor tawny,
My heart is drowned,

In the breadth of a snail,
Is a lustrous ocean town,
By the ocean that sails,
In my place which I renown.

*Songs tempt me very
Poetry makes me crazy
As if, the drugs I have taken
As if, I have lost and found you again
May be it's an illusion,
And it has grown me as a Rock,
Rocking all those to be rocked
Even my strength has grown as if,
I can make your pain,
That to be torn,
Turn to be a stone
And I can crack your cry
Again those yells have made me
An empty isle -


@ Musfiq us shaleheen
tears to be torn,turn to be a rock as if my life runs and I grew as a rock
Amitav Radiance Aug 2014
Among the sea of discontentment
There is always a green isle
Have to swim against the tide
Land of hope waiting for weary swimmer
Who has paddled the rough seas
Finally finding a paradise

— The End —