I'm caught up and being kept
Inside poetry's spider web
One strand of rhyme at a time
Cobwebs the corners of my mind

Drawing deep from my life's blood
It can't seem to get enough
In this web of poetry
The spider keeps an eye on me

Through the struggles and the strife
Tangled in its web of rhyme
The more I fight the less I'm free
As poetry has a hold on me

Black man, realize this?
You threatening to a white man.
Even they comprehend and realize this.

Just our image intimidate them.
Their strength lies behind weapons.
Only a small percent can fight with their fist.

All more so because of them do racism exist.

And you affected more.
Maybe it's this "Mandingo" theory that bothers them.
We are very aware they get heated if you date a white woman.
Then we also aware many offended called a black female.

Maybe because we stand out and stand alone.
And speak our opinions when they been afraid for so long to speak.

Why?
Do you think more than any group?
They think athletes with righteous opinions shouldn't speak.
Obviously, they don't fight for right until they are wronged.
Then they want all races to go along.

Powerful black men intimidate many.
Malcolm, to them, was a problem they couldn't handle.

King, to them, rattles them more.
Anytime political forces brand you one way.
It's mainly because of you standing in their way.

We a microscope that see the wrongs they have done.
And continuously do.
Notice when it comes to justice being fair.
The one group of guys upset the more.

Using tricks of the trade to face-less days.
And their crimes are much worse.

Powerful black man stays the course.
After all, we have no choice.

In the end, all is made right.
The page, so pristine, so vulnerable,
Awaiting my every error?
It's all set right, wiped away, and nothing.
Nothing remains of what I've wrought.

Perfection comes at the tip of the scalpel,
Carving away and down into jumbled
Words, each its own perilous
Non sequitur. They fall away in tatters.

The only peace is in purging them
From the mind to the page,
Then from being to unbeing.

This is no way to get published.
There's no fulfillment in the empty book,
And even less in an empty hand.

if father time lent me the power
to rewind the minutes and hours
if seconds were mine
I’d run backwards in time
to be forever with you

if your kisses were everlasting
if desires and dreams became real
I’d keep every kiss, pressed on my lips
once more, to be forever with you

seems we spend our lives to search to find
the one true love of our lifetime
hard to find one
I’ve searched the world high and low
I'm one of the lucky ones I know
I found you

if falling stars granted my wishes
and all I long for became true
all the stars in the sky
would fall by your side
granting all wishes, wished only by you

seems we spend our lives to search to find
the one true love of our lifetime
hard to find one
I’ve searched the world high and low
I'm one of the lucky ones I know
I found you

.
… and the look of fear
co-existing with pain
     on a contorted face
that knows
it is in mortal difficulty,
as ragged fingers

     clutch,

          clutch,

at a fire they cannot reach,
ripping agonies react,
     to an enforced cardiac episode,
as blackness closes in
gravity heaves its hardest,
but the fall is fake,
a red herring in the event,
     and the weight of the world

presses down, searching,
retracts
waiting,
presses down, searching,
retracts
waiting,

as breath is given freedom
in exhalation to the light,
     that slowly rolls back
the pitch hue of the void,
returning back images,
feeling,
a new belief,

          and the fire inside quietens,

                    and the fire inside quietens,

to the intense glow
     of a burnt aching heart.



© Pagan Paul (2018)

I am leaving the masculine
side to join the feminine
kingdom where the great
rhythms beat upon the
landscape, luminous vowels
rising and flying in reverberating
mazes, towering nouns
soaring into crystal stars,
each dancing diction a vibrant
existence elevating me into deeper
dimensions beyond reality.  
I am a gay man strutting down
the runway decked in stylish finery,
brown eyes bright like city lights,
glossy lips, engine cranking hips,
plump chests made for good loving
and rubbing, thick thighs in rhyme
with the shining skies, amazing
ankles and fascinating feet, a soft
voice rising in the riveting wind,
moving in poetic motion across the
iridescent land.

Rolling down St. John's Heritage Highway
after Sean, my grandson's birthday party
I belt out my pioneer song with vigor
echoing across the vast beauty,
wide open, sacred spaces
pristine vistas

Norman Rockwell cows grazing
in bygone pastures happily
moo along

Driving past the yellow deer crossing sign
Florida woodlands giddyap near the edge of the road
long brown antlers prancing to
a timeless rhythm

I hope and pray that I can somehow
kindle a spark of appreciation
in my niece and grandsons
so that they may behold
the baffling greatness
and mystery that is our universe

These young'uns are mighty attached to the
virtual reality, world and landscape
of computer technology

A sprinkling of cowboy stars flash
an omnipresent wink
Sunset bonfire explodes across
the frontier horizon

Turning the corner onto Emerson Drive
smoldering scarlet orange embers
reflecting lights
shoot fireworks, launch rockets
through an ever expanding field of vision

Let me put us in a box
where memories run in loops.

Where, we never had to worry
about what comes next.

Where, forever was now
and now was forever.

Where, we couldn’t care less about tomorrow
because all that mattered was, we were together.

Let me put us in a box,
because, like all things dead,
that's where our love belong.

Like all things dead,
it was once beautiful.

Like all things dead,
it will be remembered.

Let me put us in a box,
so that even when the world goes on,
we know that, once, our love lived.