#stag
#*A lone kingfisher
Meditates on lotus bud
Fish in the pond springs
Tigress walks her cubs
Ferocious, in her ways
Grooms with love, to prey
A stag in the woods
Flies with swiftness of the wind
Sacred its antlers*#
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC
Out of the dark forest I stumbled
onto the pebbles of a moonlit lake
my languid eyes bumbled
swallowing down philter mistakes
a pale goddess in the flesh
how my stupefied eyes stared
at the beauty of her nakedness
something in me flared
flared and turned and burned
my flesh no longer mine
stag in form standing taciturn
she calls out for my canines
I run and try to yell
nothing escapes my lungs
pattering of legs hungry to quell
come to rip flesh with teeth and tongues
stumbling and tripping over
stones, limbs, roots and mud
left to a new life a stag rover
I hear the ******* and the studs
faster and faster I try to move
from this typhoon wave of carnivorous hounds
but curse these feeble hooves
the claws and teeth came crashing around
flesh stabbed with a thousand teeth
a pack of mouths tear and pull
a stag corpse I bequeath
to the hunger of my own wolves
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
.
*Boiling clouds approach the dawn,
a profusion of sinister foreboding,
banking up to obscure the day,
a menacing storm just reloading.
A figure runs across the moor,
panic and purpose in hostile flight,
pursued relentless across the heather,
desperately chasing the receding night.
A treeline beckons promising safety,
a disguise from the hunters view,
open ground slips passed slowly,
the forests sanctuary calls anew.*
I wake startled, heart hammering in my chest,
fight or flight images seek my mind to infest.
The pounding in my head, hooves on a forest floor,
provoke shivers, as rivulets upon a dampened moor.
My breathing slows and sweat dries upon my skin,
a sense of belonging starts to grow from within.
Dazed I slip sideways out of my comfort bed,
and stare into the mirror at the antlers on my head.
I return to the bed and casually slide back in,
wondering where my fantasy dreams had been,
but all I discovered was another fitful sleep
as the images form of a treasure I keep.
**Memory bubbles up and I am in a glade,
sun shining bright and sat in the shade.
Billhook and bow saw propped by a tree,
the life in the forest feeling good to me.
Peace and tranquility, I counted my luck,
when out of the trees sprang a young buck.
So fragile but already magnificent and proud,
stomping his hooves, snorting out loud.
Brave and insolent he looked at my eyes,
staring me down, holding caution so wise.
A look passed between us, a mute reflection,
an instant mind meld of atavistic connection.
I was He and He was me,
my spirit guide for eternity.
And the sun shone upon us in that glade,
the forest spirits celebrating that bond made.**
*With failing energy, tired from the chase,
a thought of doom and my senses race.
Taking rest in the heart of a clearing,
a quick twang and the pain is searing.
Surrounded in a trap the hunters prepared,
there is no way of escape, I am ensnared.
The loosed arrows point is sharply felt,
as a crimson flood stains my pelt.
Mind is swooning and my legs bend.
This is not how the Old Tales end ...*
The scythe of Death merrily reaps,
lightening strikes, thunder rolls.
The frigid grave waits so silent,
empty, for he whom the bell tolls.
*Boiling clouds obscure Dawns pale skies,
as the hunters horn in triumph it cries.
This is the End, when the dream dies.
My heart is still and I gently close my eyes.*
© Pagan Paul (11/11/17)
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 3:11 PM UTC
the mighty stag wanders nightly
fireflies lighting his forest path
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC
How can any words I sing with speak louder than the melody within your own soul?
If you hear one note think back on this,
Let you remember that in silence living is recognized.
It is a giver, teacher. Stag.
How can me words speak louder than any thought u might have?
A well of fortune, confidence and poise it mounts the plains.
If u become satisfied with your needs, even if they go unfulfilled, let it rest your nerves.
Let the quiet be your support, it's tranquility heals, it's company can be a friend thru the season of greif, winter.
If you speak with no thought, you mind is unbalanced, and the fire of your hell is fueled by the fear for solitude you hold.
Sing a song, don't just be a witness. Then smile during the pauses between melodies.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
i haven't dreamt in a while
and i never dreamed that would happen
i fear falling asleep
because i hate waking up or
at least i hate the outside
that my open eyes reveal
i'm losing my imagination
because all i think of is better
and better is pretty mundane
the more you think about it
i was running down the street today
then saw a bus pull up at the perfect time
i got on the bus disappointed
logic subverts the unique
i stopped at a door today
for 5 or so minutes
thinking about coffee
then strange footsteps unfroze me
i woke up early today
but the more time i have
the more i get done
the more never enough it is
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:37 AM UTC
I'm walking through the trees of an old wood.
A stick snaps behind me and I freeze.
Slowly I turn to see what is there.
Standing tall and proud is a great stag.
The stag runs at me as I turn to run.
I trip on a branch and fall.
As I stand to face the stag, it runs at me.
It runs into me and disappears into my body.
I realize the stag is me.
I was running from myself.
But no more will I run.
I'm ready to face my demons.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:24 AM UTC
first the crow came often
with a clump of hair in its beak
its glassy eyes would soften
as its wings weakened and waned
now the crow doesn't come
to my tree anymore
but i still hear wings hum
past the crack of the door
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
Fissures cut through thick mocha fur, saturating
The forest floor with stark crimson. The deer flails,
Broken, knees buckled, breath shallow and emerging
As vanishing steam in frosty November air.
He falls on a bed of sugar maple leaves, illuminated
In dappled sunlight and fulvous hues.
“Must’ve been the coyotes,” my brother whispers,
As my pocketknife meets the stag’s throat. Gentle
Auburn clouds and freezes time, the body falls still.
My father says, “Sacrifice is a form of worship, but it is only through
Mercy that we may show passion for what we believe.”
Coyote bites prevent carvings from going to Buxton’s General Store,
But what nature produces it also receives.
Ants forage along the split underbelly,
And a red-tailed hawk carries away the entrails.
History defines the antlers of deer as symbols of the Gods,
And men would wear them atop their heads.
I collect only them, still draped with threads of velvet,
Knowing that years from now, nestled inside the perimeter
Of wind-beaten fences around the family farm, beyond
Moss-covered slopes and the Wishing Rock,
Will be the bones of a solitary stag.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
Perhaps it's time
For the stag to stalk the gun
For the driver to be blinded
For the killer to panic.
Perhaps it's time
For my porcelain mask to crack
For the sweet smile to twist itself
For the pain to be revealed.
I have wasted the days.
Only now
As I dwell on the years old
Does my future end.
Only now
Does the stag stalk the gun.
Only now.
I have wasted the days.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC