I remember yesterday,
walking down the street
with crooked trees dancing
and the sun burning down
from the heavenly
sky-blue and pink skies—

Crows and winds
screaming in laughter.
Surrounded by
a crowd of souls.

The one stood out.
Like a ghost
of nightmares,
he walked past
through me.

My heart skipped
an important beat—
And there,
my heart bleeds
in blood and cold tears
from memory.

My poetry exist
with a crooked purpose—

And so,
its crooked disturbance
violates
its comfort presence.

It exists
without my consent.

- Paul P. Deratany

At dusk a half moon
In solitude she is whole
Sweet the path ahead

I blow the new dust
off the old dust ,
the dust that remains forever.
I told her ,
"You steal my time
and my money ,
my house and
all my integrity .
But you will never steal my heart ."

One can say : "Tell us the truth!"
And I long to want to
but how is it best to do ?

I find it residing deep inside
But my ability is lacking to make it come alive

So I cast out examples
that lay alongside
Heavenly meanings
with Earthly ties

Proverbs , riddles , and saying so wise
Make it easier to see and feel the truth that's disguised

Sometimes it hard to separate the truth
Then one must turn into a quizzical sleuth

But for the one that knocks on the door
A new world opens for them to explore