#tournament
.
*Two Knights out and two Knights in,
two Knights in the tourney ring.
With a lance and sword and shield,
no quarter must either Knight yield.
With each muscle and each breath
they must fight on until death.
With mace chain and insult calls,
two Knights stand 'til one of them falls.
The white Knight is a charmer,
black Knight in polished armour,
to win a fair Princess to wed.
The white Knight is a chancer,
the black Knight is a dancer,
who will die on a grassy bed?*
© Pagan Paul (25/05/19)
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 6:25 AM UTC
come to me,
my beloveds
with long nails
and squinting eyes,
spare neither
claw or hook,
delve and devolve,
critique and solve
the words of this prophet
scribbled on plastic
bus seats
give me
my due,
my comeuppance,
my downfalls
will me
to be better
or worse
if that be betterment
so eagerly
will embrace,
grasp, insert
your benailing fingers,
soften, grasp,
repoint thy claws
taking thy earnest joy
at pain inflicted
as my own
as long as you dare
just say something!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A bus poem
in honor of my invitation
my digital birthing
April 8th, 2015
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 6:31 PM UTC
A gob of squash
in a saucer with a hub
let a carrefour marque
with an apple ding
in swirls of romance heading there
a crowd of superfluousness as a hip is king
and a patch through the field
that roll lushly on green for this round mesh
while exquisitness hit so sweet
in a shade of sky
where ablaze in silky attire
with her brazen desire again.
Jun 30, 2017
Jun 30, 2017 at 9:07 AM UTC
There's always that one girl
with the astonishing smile
and the little sly gap
between her front teeth-
charming because it screams of mischief.
There's always that one girl
with the literature voice
and the Zimbabwe speech
sneaking in through her
points, arguments, metaphors. Identity.
That one, inexplicable, eccentric
girl
who somehow teaches you
how take to take a selfie in the dark
nighttime balcony of an African university.
And somehow by the end of it,
as you are carried away to tomorrow
by the sound of her new sim-card voice,
you wonder why some victories
cannot be gold medals you can take
back home to your parents,
as she bus-drifts away back to that
spirited mother land
that hatched her onto a podium.
Then that new sim-card is discarded.
And some smiles you cannot forget.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC