.
On the old porch outside her room
she sits a'spinning on her loom,
weaving memories of times long gone,
gently singing a Native song.
Of rivers running on the plains
swollen from the mountain rains,
of the deserts endless sands,
and of toil with calloused hands.
She sang of buffalo and of bear,
of a paradise for all to share,
she also sang of the forests deep
and of where wolves go to sleep.
Her song dies away like a friend
when her spinning is at its end.
The Great Mother retires in silent gloom
and snuffs out the candles in her room.
Thus stilling the night of a Woman's Moon.



© Pagan Paul (28/01/19)

To sleep at ease
in peace ,
I release,
Phew! A War outside!

A war I try
to avoid,
keep quite,
Triggers another inside....

The pieces of the peace altercate
The war and the peace alternate
In and out, the war vacillates
Hence the peace pendulates!
*

-jugnu

.
She makes me feel vulnerable,
yet she won't hold me.



© Pagan Paul (09/12/18)

I fell in love with physique of a poem
And so we marched down aisle
Me the female all dialed up with colorful words.
He dressed to the t with punctuation grand.
We make a fine pair to gracefully dance on vellum white
We recite our vows every morning before I scribe.

For better or worse
For sun or a like
Till death do we part.

A human child,
drew a picture of a fairy
with a tail, whiskers, and
coat long and fluffy like a cat.

A fairy child,
drew a picture of a human
with a tail, whiskers, and
coat long and fluffy like a cat.

Both traveled in their own reality world.
Both believed anything was possible.