.
Jerrica had found Lost.
The treasure buried above ground.
The memory foam with dementia.
The quill with no nib …
she thought about feather pens.
Catching herself from falling
the swoon had caught her cold.
This **** ****** sword
was proving to be elusive
and now she was under sustained attack.
From a personal fetish.
It just wouldn't leave her alone,
creeping into her mind unbidden.
She needed to scratch an itch,
if only she knew what that itch was.

Trolls are magickally bound to their bridge.
Leaving it is usually fatal.
But Gyb had bones to gnaw,
and once he had his teeth employed
his mind was a captive onlooker.
A crazy plan formed in his head,
possibly avoiding the brain.
He took mud and formed a figure,
then some of his hair clippings
moulded into the head.
Then he took a leap of disbelief!
He looked into the river and … Click!
Snapped his fingers and fixed the image.
He cut it out of the meniscus
and attached it to the doll familiar.

“Did Achilles have damp ankles
or was he well heeled?”
Morfine had asked Choklut.
“Neither. He was the one who sneezed
and opened the Fête of the Suitors”.
“No. I think he was called Telemarketing,
he sneezed and they drew the tombola raffle”.
“Wasn't there a Goddess involved as well?”.
“Um … Yes, maybe the Goddess of Tissues?”.
“Snivel? No, she is more tears than snot.
I think its the one who turned her husband
into a swan, and made him ****** her handmaiden”.
“Oooo Nasty!”
“No, Nasty fell in love with his own profile,
and called things off with his nymph,
the reverberations can still be heard today”.
There was a brief pause … then,
“What are we doing Choklut?
We found a magickal sword and …
talking of which, where is it?”.
“I don't know. You had it last”.
Just then a serving girl gave them a note.
It said. Tomatoes, Peppers, Onions, Eggs …
“Not that side you dyk” she said.
Morfine turned the note over and read.
“Quick, no time to lose.
Someone saw the sword in the river.
We have to get to stanza 8
before it goes over the waterfall!”.
“Oh” said Choklut “I've never seen a stanza belly flop”.

It was true.
Contrary to the laws of physics.
Kelm saw the sword floating down river.
It looked like any other sword.
So he let it be, dismissed it.
He couldn't swim anyway.
He mused on the irony of that.
Nobody learnt to swim and yet drowning
was an undignified death for a barbarian.
If he could swim
he could find the fishes hiding places.

Jerrica had also been musing.
With a Poet.
That was during the last 3 stanza's.
But now …
she saw a sword floating in the river.
Something didn't quite fit.
Something was not in the right place.
She placed the Poet back in her breast pocket.
'If only he wasn't just 4 inches high' she thought
'he is rather handsome and intelligent'.
Bingo! She had it. But she didn't want it.
Armydiseases Principle of Liquid Dispersement!
It states!
Introduce a solid object into a body of liquid,
then the corresponding volume of liquid is dispersed
back to the nearest solid.
So, right now there is a very small flood
in the shape of a very small sword
ravishing the local area.
She decided, quite rightly as it turns out,
that she was feeding herself a red herring.

Slim stood on the bridge
staring at the churning water below.
How did it happen?
A stanza all of his own,
ruined by the intrusion of morons.
“Morfine and Choklut” he bellowed
“I'm going to eviscerate you”.
The wind carried a few of the words away,
but that was the gist of it.
“Hello” a voice said.
Slim had an accident, and jumped out of his skin.
And plunged into the cold water.
A strong arm pulled him out,
and he was face to face with a troll.
“My name is Gyb. I hate Morf Chok also”.
Nothing had prepared Slim for meeting a troll.
Not even the etti-queue-etti lessons at school.
'Would you care for afternoon tea?'
seemed rather inappropriate.
Gyb broke the awkward silence.
“Look! Sword floating”.
Slim didn't look.
Convinced the troll would eat him.
Thats their way. Distract and devour.
But he couldn't help it, he snuck a look.
And the sword slid on by gently bobbing,
tiny little runes glinting in the sun.

For its part the sword was serenity itself.
Chilled out to the max.
Resting on the water. Relaxing and reclining.
Life was good for the sword.
It had just passed a boy fishing,
poking his rod down a fish hole.
It had passed a young woman,
who looked confused and flustered.
It slid under a stone bridge.
A troll with a doll,
and a man with questionable odour.
And then he heard the roaring.
He sent out his senses,
no mean feat for a sword,
and 'felt' its surroundings.
Its image eye caught sight of the future.
It was an effing great waterfall.
And the future was the way he was heading.
For now.

Narrative Interlude

At this point in the story the author, Pagan Paul, is compelled
to inform the reader/listener of a complaint received
from Messrs Morfine and Choklut.
The substance of which amounts to the following:
That the said author is willfully under using their talent
as supporting cast and denying them access to many stanza's.
Furthermore they are threatening to expose the authors
'irregularities' in his relationship with Princess (name redacted).
The author, Pagan Paul, responds thus:
I should like to remind Messrs Morfine and Choklut
that, with astroke of my quill, I can eradicate them.
Drop them from the story all together.
And with reference to Princess (name redacted) -
'Its my Poem and I'll irregularit if I want to'.
Dear reader/listener prepare yourself for stanza 9.
It has a waterfall in it.
Maybe Morfine and Choklut will appear, maybe not.
They are the ones over a barrel.

Minutes after the sword floated by
something else caught her eye.
To boys on a barrel, in the water.
Boys barreling along or a barrel buoying along?
Choklut noticed her by the bank.
'funny place to have a cash machine' he thought.
Doing his best to impress and look brave.
Morfine waved and nearly fell off.
Suddenly the barrel lid opened
and Slim poked his head out like a tortoise.
“What the …?” said Choklut.
“Just repaying a debt boys” he said.
“But you owe us nothing” Morfine replied.
“Oh but I do” snarled Slim
“I owe you one times intrusion into your own stanza”.
He ducked back inside, and slammed the lid.
“Of all the fatherless ...”
“I blame the author” said Choklut.
“Yeah well, he is the one who's gonna be sorry,
we've just muscled in on stanza 8,
and relegated that waterfall to stanza 9” Morfine chimed.
“Morfine. Morfine! I hear the waterfall coming”.
“No! Not now. He has to leave it until 9 now,
we are about to cross the finish line on 8”.
The waterfall loomed.

Actually the waterfall knew nothing of weaving.
It just stayed where it was, pouring.
Spectacular, it was a very pretty waterfall.
It must be. It attracted tourists.
And it had fun!
It loved watching detritus tumble,
teeter on the brink. And fall.
Especially tourists.
It was over 300 paces high,
less than 40 paces wide,
its descent magnificent liquid ballet,
sparkling droplets shining like jewels,
forever transcending light refraction,
and plunging, plunging, plunging,
into a gorgeous azure puddle.
About ankle deep.



© Pagan Paul (17/01/19)

.
The future was heading its way very fast,
it pondered the alternatives.
It could gently levitate
and reveal its magickal powers.
But now was not the time.
Not quite yet.
It relaxed, in the way swords relax,
and waited for the drop,
a tune humming along its full length.
Tension just a distant memory.
Its point tipped over the edge.
It fell,
in the manner of magickal swords.
Gracefully.

The waterfall felt the ripple of enchantment
as the iron thing crested its … crest,
and failed to plummet.
That disappointed the waterfall.
It also felt the girl,
in the swirling flow on the edge,
fail to catch it before it fell.
It 'heard' the naughty words
and the scream …

… she had screamed
as she lunged for the sword
and missed,
the Poet had been unceremoniously
ejected from her pocket
and disappeared over the edge.
So Jerrica screamed.
She didn't know what else to do.

Kelm was stalking fish.
They hadn't been hiding in the river
so they must be in the trees.
He had his catapult ready
and maggots to fire at the fish.
Then he heard a scream
so he started off towards it.
He saw the girl staring in horror
and then she bolted off.
Down the side of the waterfall.
“What the hell are girls for?”
he wondered as he wandered off.
He decided to go and hector Bruce.

They had abandoned ship.
Well, jumped barrel.
And now they had gone awol.
But the author didn't care
about a couple of slap dash bit parts.
He hoped the Troll had got them.

The sword floated serenely.
Mattering not in the slightest
that the water was vertical
and flowed quicker in that direction.
Then it felt a jolt,
a ripple in its pond of calm.
It was slightly amused
as something grabbed its hilt.
And held on.
It felt the panic, it felt the relief.
Then it felt … a connection.
Something tingled along its length.

As his tiny arms clutched the sword
a wave of dread passed by,
waving at him with a sharp smile.
A wave waving in waves.
The Poet considered the images
and clutched harder
as nausea also comes in waves.
Instead he thought about physics.
How could it be he fell faster than
an iron sword?
And how was it possible
to slow descent to a mere saunter?
Most of all he asked
“What does this all over tingling feeling mean?”
A barrel plummeted by
too fast and too **** close.

Kelm was exploring
and had found the tiny bridge
upstream from the excitement
and was poking about,
as is the want of curious little boys.
Thats when he found the clay doll.
Ugly in a crude kind of way.
He wondered if dolls could swim
and attached it to his fishing rod.
He dunked it.
Like a biscuit in tea.
The result was a sticky mess
so he threw it in the river.
He made a decision and wandered off,
he was going to look for fish nests.

The Troll was confused.
He had accidentally discovered Hide and Seek.
But didn't understand the rules.
Morfine and Choklut were hiding
and he was out of ideas.
A fairly normal state of mind for a Troll.
And now his body was dissolving.
He remembered his doll familiar.
It must have got wet.
And he was fading out of the story.
“Goodbye reader. Thankyou for knowing me”
he says with a regretful voice.

The astonishing thing about light
is it stops you bumping into things.
And the sword was very light,
as the tingling pulsed through it.
It did not bump into the boulder
at the bottom of the waterfall.
Rather, it slid gently
into the middle of the large stone.



© Pagan Paul (10/02/19)

Gazing through the tallest
green nettles

I realized they do
not bite me

Cause it was not the day
for stings and aching

Cause i had the black
mountain boots
and a heart
on my
dim
dark
sport gown

My hands reached
upwards
the Heavens
towards  
the white yello

Crown
of
Elder's Abundance

Where Scented Blossoms
Coloured my skin

And exposed my life lines

After
The coolest tangerine
Lemonade

I sat on the black soil
squished young grasses
and found the
tiniest
snail
baby

My palm was a giant Plato
For it's snailish leg

On the left one
he was without weight
portruding forth
to his destination

Is it possible that
his house was
3,5 mm
long
Isn't it cute
that when streched
was 7 mm
at lenght

Visible horns
like 1 mm
and half of it

The upper
The downward
Twotwo
Four

What are you looking at
My lines or me

If he climbs from my
left palm on the right one
It's ment to be

I'll visit the seaside

Fibbonacci House Spiralled
Inner layers with colours
outer still
and translucent

Is it possible
this tiny snail
thinks about me

It didn't work
It remained
on my heart's side

Then I moved this
cutest creature
on my right palm

Little little snail
you're not a match
to squeeze

From the right to the left
I thought to myself
he is she
i don't know
snail's so young
for sure it doesn't seek another snail

To cherrish and love

Yet
It
Climbed on my left thumb
Beautiful in motion
As a revolution
For better days

It is my heart's side
My vision became
Sharp
Clouds
Waffed all around on the deepest blue
White and puffy

Magickal
Metallic

Dragonfly

Emerged out of

Nowhere

Had landed on a spider web
cocoon
on the Verge
of Enchanted Forest
Where grave monument resides

Dragonfly
was in the air
the invisible wings fluttered

My sharp vision
focused on
another three
Blueish
camerades

They don't need los zapatos
They are not obsessed as
Imelda was

And i wasn't thinking
about that at all

This words are for you:
thank you for the music
but the dragonflies
buterflies I love
most.

They were near my
heart,
one caressed among
tall grasses
one butterfly
also

not in oslo

and
Fibbonnaci Friend
who gave me this
Sharp vision

To see the magic
revealing all
around.

Magickal black light
**** star probe
cylinders bright
Fish of 12
make bread in abundance
for 5000
knead the axle
the sphere that sits
adhere regret
when Jesus wept
for one dead
death the *******
the ******* let loose
Not the original
sleep for all
But the horrible macabre
That us befalls

When deep indigo night
Releases magickal stars from the sky
And tenderly brushes them upon
Your mischievous smiles ~


Herself's stroked by this peculiar
View; then little naughty thoughts start
To conjur an irresistible wish borne inside her
*****: "You ~witty man~ deserve one lovely
Kiss on the left cheek." Then another one!


A kiss that's rarely seen ~ a soft one ~
A passionate one! Juicy, yummy charm ~
Resembling a wanton scented humidity
On the beautiful cherry blossoms day ~
On the other one. Right now!


Then at last our lips are lit; as wild
Woods strawberries ~sweet taste~ comes after
They bathe in the warmest sunshine rays.


Waiting to be consumed with
Adoration and gratitude. We are a gift! ~
To one Another. . . I hide bluntly in each
Others Love; and so do you.


We ~lost within our eyes~
Diving to unknown and unrevealed
Dephts, levitating above mysterious
Corners of shadows and light. . .
Only our souls know of.


At last, my love!
We humm, my heart is yours ~
Mesmerized; your heart is wide ~
We kiss, we breathe, oh my!*


To live, to dream a thousand times
And never forget: to live ~to love!

The wheat harvest is Magickal, and you have always invited me into your damp crypt.
Apples are ripe when Demeter searches for her lost offspring, amidst shades of nocturnal eroticism.
Therefore, let us now bake bread with feminine or masculine features in the name of Southern rhythms where the hunt takes place upon acreage of the aristocracy.
Do you have any regrets or farewells in this season?
Let it flow like a bubbling brook through woodlands of this recollected netherworld.

As I begin to write,
Understand,
My head has gone to the office.
I arrange myself to review my dreams,
Enter into this the golden nexus,
Lay down my temptations to the laws I perceive.
Receive this,
A silent form of opulence,
A suspended form of decadence,
A river bathed in moonlight,
And a snake protecting his own coffin.
I can afford this to you,
Wrapped in red,
Hollowed,
Dignified.
The sands of these forces may conceal,
Yet,
They have never lied to me,
These forces,
That beauty graciously hides.
Seven precious stones singing,
Seven heavenly melodies breeding,
Seven treasured colors,
Stolen,
From the rainbows of immortality.
The butterfly truly does dance with the wind!
Love,
As the salamander conjures up her fire,
Rests,
Eternally,
Peacefully,
Coiled amongst her flames.
Sensations of yesterday,
I,
Never obtained access to witness.
The ghosts of ghosts impregnate themselves...
With the mists of my mind.
The perfection of the soul,
The dissolution of my ego.
An enigmatic pragmatism.
Is it justified?
White light travelling,
Thoroughly through,
The halls of disengaged magickal prisms.
A Shepard and his lost dog.
This field leads to the omen.
I am transient and omnipotent,
God manifest.
I am both man and woman.

.

This forest night belongs to us,
with cool air so fresh and crisp,
held hands follow the tiny lights
of the dancing Will-O'-the-Wisp.

Guiding us through sleeping trees,
along paths that wend and twist,
across glades of woodland grass
bedecked with eerie evening mist.

Leading us to a magickal place
where inhibitions take a loss,
this forest night belongs to us
'pon our bed of soft green moss.



© Pagan Paul (16/06/18)

There is a surge of emotion that rises instantly from deep within when I hear favoured sounds

A primal rhythmic piece of music

The contented sigh of a loved one

The crackle of a fire
A whispered secret

Mmmmmmmm

These waves of energy are magickal to me

They enter our bodies and move through us

Merge with our souls

Taking us from where we were just a short moment ago,

To another realm

A delightful, expansive, intimate place within.

*Mmmmmmmm

when vision forms genuine,
pointed fingers become magick wands.
knots within backs
& stiff joints show up to be new levels that advise you
to stretch out to new growth.
-
trap music became sacred space.
like sounds of potential world endings,
like thunderstorms speak in ancient language,
how far have we strayed?
how much farther might we go?
-
in this age,
platforms with distraction as incentive
aid in focus & ascension,
how is that for a plot twist?
the tables turned;
now the mesh at the neck of the sun one
is melting just like ice in frozen habitat.
-
as we evolve in specie,
the dark is rising.

she reminds me of
magnificent blue waves
raging from the deep dark ocean
reclaiming coast-line without mercy
breaking into thousand shades of blue
purple and green

just under the stars
the water glows bright
in a hue of turquoise
from the plankton amassed

it is warm
inviting
safe

safer than any other place
you could find yourself in
despite all

it is magickal, unreal
a breathing utopia

she makes you desire
to breath underwater
never leaving that place of wonder

Who's to say
that I am extreme
I hide my quirks
in awkward smiles
and inconvenient
small talk
I am a black girl
interrupted which means
I am quite possibly magickal
but invisible to most and really
seen by very few
I guess like all of us
dying to be remembered
dying to become immortal...

I know what I like and I know what I'm into
I know what I wrote I know what I sent you
I felt what I said and I spoke what I meant to
If you betray me I will go against you
Said something of me that's not even true
That's not what a friend do
Enough of the threats
Not ready for death
I live for my freedom
Don't make me end you
Equipped with the sword Ready for war
With whoever might want to avenge you
My goal is just peace
My soul is elite
My heart
Forever it bleeds
Thorns from the roses they cover the sheet
Meditate in a casket
To see what it means
My mind is intricate
I'm infinite
Thoughts are to deep
Quantum and sensative
Feeling Extreme
Tears piercing my face
Fade into streams
Do I ever feel safe
Escpae in my dreams
Night mares to night terrors
Purgatory screams
A beautiful voice full of pain when I sing
I feel detached
Strange and aware of these things
I am Magickal
Pacts with Interdimensional Beings
Abandoned graveyards
Ghost on a swing
Shivers through my spine
Whispers from the Trees
I get chills from the thoughts that I think
Blood just cloggs up the sink