#isle
each of us a tiny isle,
unnamed, even unmapped;
maybe a Hamlet, a village,
an unincorporated exist~ant,
but really really there
we are everywhere alone,
but must be
per force
somewhere
on the globe
the drawing of the globe,
is not metallic rigid,
metal bends, molts and twists
points, countries, cities
oceans and bays,
change
colors, names, and
infrequently, unbelievably
but why not,
new land masses
even and
so very oddly
emerge, rise up daily,
from beneath dark waters,
regurgitating secrets
from the depths unperceived
these human poems do not write themselves;
products of ever changing
fingers
but the characters of what we write,
and who we
are all tiny isles,
forming and splitting,
redrawn and spitting,
emergent, sinking, submerging
growing and shrinking
lasting and disappearing
and though we are all
fully constituted,
our changeling guises,
our constitution of atoms,
are
never
unceasingly
moving till they are
not
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 5:43 AM UTC
All sailors get drowned by the number as the sea monster devastates their journey. ''Don't ya worry, lads! It will start to rain once we get home,'' was the last sentence the captain said to his mates before the clash. Echoes of cannons and guns, cries are carried in the wind onto distant shores.
Anchors are floating in the waves, on the surface of the sea, drifting downstream. Memories of this event are sealed deep within the sea monster's conscience. Stories about these murders thrill the skin of the sailors that follow. Their wits get consumed with terror. All who dare to sail there analyze their lives. Reaching this ****** domain may be the last sight the sailor will see. And the only concern of the sea monster is-- will there be more fools to pass from here?
This legendary beast returns to the bottom of the sea. Flutes alarm the isle cities as panic arrives as an uninvited guest. Whirlpools swallow the remaining objects of the ship that remained intact after the impact with this mythical creature.
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 11:30 AM UTC
In mainland meadows, flowers tempt,
Yet spurn those animals they tease,
Except caprificating bees.
Here, whatever’s edible’s unkempt.
There is an isle more fortunate
Where nettles sow chrysanthemums,
And farming isn’t wearisome,
And where what tempts must satiate.
Sep 20, 2021
Sep 20, 2021 at 11:42 AM UTC
matin
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
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 1:10 PM UTC
.
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)
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC
.
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)
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 6:10 PM UTC
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
sounding
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
2/20/17
jbm
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
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..........
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
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.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 2:22 AM UTC
///
*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*
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
*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*
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC