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Girard Tournesol Oct 2018
A sea of white
Favors hallowed ground
Where dotted lines track snow angels
And souls are lost to release
A druid spell conjures delirious bliss
Tasting the snowflakes
Kissing the cold air
Hugging the entire sky
A great and simple magick stirs
Holding mitten hands
Warming nuzzle noses
And the smell of her hair in winter
As published in my book, Time Travelers, psalms of fern, v.2.
Pagan Paul Oct 2018
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i.
And it grips her submissive mind,
sweeping her along unbidden,
through timelines inducing nausea,
passed worlds previously hidden.
Tumbling stones rumble unheard,
a slide that sends gravity shifting,
starting a new path through time,
the butterfly effect begins shifting.

ii.
The images stop swirling,
a vision fades slow into sight,
a row of glowing Seers Spheres
racked in the pale moon light.
Eleven cradles for resting orbs,
four relieved of their weight,
claimed by other time travellers
already gone through the Gate.

iii.
And she sees Grimly approach,
picking a Sphere from the rack,
carrying careful in clean hands,
then through the door turns back.
She sees herself seated rigid,
watches Grimly hand her the Sphere,
a bolt of understanding hits and
her mind becomes crystal clear.

iv.
She realises these are tests
for the next vision is of her,
as a child in a camel train
leaving the great city of Ur.
Crossing the desert once again
with oils and perfumes so pure,
amidst the most luxurious goods
of gold, silver, silks and furs.

v.
And the images diffuse, refocus, Judderwitch by a grave,
of an unfortunate sacrifice, the girl she could not save,
a flame handled dagger marks a headstone epitaph,
and her weeping grief slowly turns into a manic laugh,
as in the grave paces away, a woman screams out loud,
buried alive with a nest of spiders, no forgiveness is allowed.

vi.
And the scenes change, redefine, Judderwitch on a street,
with a mutilated corpse, an horrific sight for her to meet,
as a black rat starts to happily nibble at the naked feet,
and she shivers. She shivers? The Empress of Evil cold,
an anger courses through her at this alien feeling untold,
whilst her body stiffens at the answer she beholds.

vii.
Grimly sees her body stiffen,
a knowing smile graces his lips.
His eyes move to a vacant cradle,
as Time plays out one of its tricks.

viii.
And she knows.
She understands.
The Seers Sphere is Time itself.
Exactly one eleventh of
All Time.

ix.
The race through Time gently slows,
the globe feels warm as it brightly glows,
and deep inside she already knows
she is accepted and with Time she flows.
Connection with the Seers Sphere grows,
as the Ritual comes to its joyous close,
and the Seers Sphere hummed as it chose,
Judderwitch, and on its journey goes.



© Pagan Paul (05/10/18)
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Poem 5 in Judderwitch series.
(Part 1 was posted a few days ago).

My Judderwitch poems are now in a collection :)
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/28451/judderwitch/
PPx
Standing upon a hill, I.
Under black & purple sunwheel.
Standing with sword in right hand, representing morality and righteousness.
Standing with mine own decapitated head in left hand, represting violent and sudden removal of Ego &&& it's prompt reclaimation.
Standing soaked in the blood of the wound as my sacramental rebirth offering and cleansing.
My own next level of Apotheosis.
Kept alive by sheer will & & & magicks.

Headless mystic standing akin to an Autosacrifical Kali Ma.

Standing as Ego.

Standing as Godhead.

I.A.O.

Standing as Headless Warrior.

Omnia et Nihil.

I am become The Other, the Ritual Evolution.
Hail.
This is a poem I wrote back in Dec. '17, saved to my phone, and never published.

I liked the ritualistic meditations it sired so I decided to send it out into the 《《《☆》》》.
CLARYT Sep 2018
"There she is, the freak" they say,
Their constant judgement, every day,
The taunts and fear with equal measure,
They'd burn me out for sure, with pleasure.

Children pointing in the street,
Adults never want to meet,
Fairytales of warts and bats,
Do not help me, that's a fact.

Love and kindness is my game,
Casting spells without the fame,
Those who make their bad views felt,
Are also those who ask for help.

With all my good intentions I,
Will ask the earth, the moon the sky,
These people's lives to be enhanced,
I say the words, and sway the dance.

I never ask for me or mine,
I leave it up to the divine,
I never spite, or grudge or hate,
As Karma couples hands with fate.

So all I ask from everyone,
Is stop your kin from poking fun,
But my belief is to forgive,
And always live, and let live....
It's unpleasant when I can't walk down the street without children pointing at the "Witch". Fuelled by the adults who plant such ******* in their heads....
Pagan Paul Aug 2018
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Merrytree the Holly sprite
danced across the snow,
no mark did she leave in sight
wither whether she doth go.

So joyful and magickal is she,
darting in betwixt the flakes,
her wild spirit cavorting free,
laughing at mischief she makes.



© Pagan Paul (30/08/18)
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Skye Aug 2018
I am stained with your colour;
Royal purple and blinding white.
I am smothered by your scent;
Marlboro cigarettes and cheap alcohol.
I am lost in your words;
Mellifluous syllables and sage proverbs.

You must be a sorcerer, for I have been bewitched.
You roam through my mind, casting hexes as you go;
I see you walk with that charming little gait of yours.
The memory of your face is hypnotising, infatuating;
Perhaps I have been cursed, but I hope this necromancy lasts forever.
Did I make the right choice?
VC Jul 2018
In this day and age if you are different

If you have longer hair and brighter eyes

If you have learned the math of the universe and understand the way nature works

If you have mastered ways to make life bend to your will

If you know how to listen to the vibration of the earth and march to the beat of a different drummer

You are called a witch

And you are judged and persecuted not physically but emotionally

Women hate you and men fear you

Had you been alive centuries ago you would have been burned at the stake

The memory, the anger lives on

But there is no prouder legacy
Pagan Paul Jun 2018
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Moonlight
     creates shadows,
          places of magick
               and realms of mystery.
Niches beyond the wildest dreams
     playing with images in colour dimensions,
          pouring their scorn on the childish imagination,
               a weakling substitute for what cannot be known.



© Pagan Paul (04/06/18)
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1st line 1 word, 2nd line 2 words etc etc.
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Pagan Paul Mar 2018
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The blink of an eye would have missed it,
a brief glimpse of pure beauty
and then it was gone.
The passing of a gloriously sublime moment.
Darkness drew its curtain around
and it was forever vanished.
Folded away and filed eternal
into the vaults of history passed.
Catalogued and captured in an instant
from within the blink of an eye.

The afternoon sun lights the mountains,
reflecting the sheen of the forest
in a riot of greens and yellows.
Bathing the vista of sight in a scene of serenity.
The air, still and warm, echoes a kind of magick,
seeking to manifest.
An event approaching with certainty
yet waiting for the correct second in time.
And the day hangs
like a cloak on a winters morn,
unmoving and timeless.
Anticipation drips from the instant,
taking its ease at the imminent
moment of intensity.
A brief glimpse of pure beauty,
and the blink of an eye would have missed it.


© Pagan Paul (21/03/18)
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SoZaka Mar 2018
color coded for your convenience
every known shade of
red blood red
bobble head babies with serpent tongues
buyer beware they'll make you come undone

paper hearts with the pins pushed in
it hurts like hell without respite
you've got that good voodoo that
one can't just pray away
and I got a bad feeling
it's going to stay that way
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