"marvelling" poems
*Do you remember those summer noon times when the sun painted the world with shades of warm butterscotch. We sat stringing daisies together; like unbroken chains of our conversations - that lasted till sunset -
Swirling candy floss clouds, dissolved; leaving hues of soft pink that fused with the periwinkle sky. We'd walk home marvelling at nature's tie and dye.
After all these years you've drifted away like wisps of floating clouds; But the warm colour of your friendship has splashed itself onto the canvas of my memories
..and I will always remember those vibrant summer days that I spent sitting by your side.*
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
sitting down drawing circles on sand
by the ocean for 16 years without disturbances,
save a few hefty feet trampling down sand castles
but then one day something happened
and an overwhelming wave comes hurling itself at you,
and you have no escape plan despite living on the sand all your life
the wave comes bearing galaxies from atlantis,
blinding starlight, and a myriad perfect seashells.
it feels like an eternity,
being consumed by the wave as you're given
a tour of every attraction there is,
receiving free samples every now and then.
you succumb to the star dust,
enthralling you like a child at disneyland,
or tumblr teens on the fourth of july.
it feels like you're the only one lucky enough
to witness this spectacle, and you're marvelling
marvelling
marvelling
marvelling
marvel-
.
.
.
.
.
no air
you're gasping
muddy
sand in your eyes
and through the excruciating discomfort,
you see a hundred other silhouettes looking back at you.
---;
this is how it was, loving him briefly.
and this will stare him in the face,
but perhaps his eyes, too, full of sand
will stare right back at me
“silhouettes” he'll say
“silhouettes are what make my day”
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 4:37 AM UTC
As a passer-by I only watch
across a darkened room,
marvelling at your healing touch
that turns the searing sting
in my burning heart to one
that doesn’t burn as much.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
Baby blue
And posie pinks
Intertwined with orange tints
Fill the heavens
For all to see
But especially
For you and me!
Golden rays that end the day
As the sun sets and travels away
We sit on opposite sides of the earth
Marvelling at gods mighty works
And through the dark days the sunlight thrives
How you’re here with me despite thousands of miles
How this moment is so precious and real
And how I’m always here for you to tell me how you feel.
Tonight we’re under similar skies,
And tonight I bared a beaming smile,
Because I know in this world I am never alone,
For I have you, my safety, my friend, my comfort zone.
Let the orange tones warm you,
And let the pinks fill your cheeks,
Let the blues be in your eyes,
So beautiful and unique.
Let this sky be a sign that we were always meant to meet,
And let this poem be a memory that we can always keep.
Tonight we were under similar skies;
Despite the hundred thousand miles,
Tonight I know we were together at heart,
Tonight I realised,
We’ll never be apart.
Every sunset was made for you.
You are god
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:26 PM UTC
I long to be a patient companion
who stays to listen to every unspoken word & whispered plea
when all else run out of compassion
for an anxious pilgrim in deep, tiresome agony
Through fires and rains,
An enduring and trusting friend as a friend can be
guilty pleasures and pains,
understanding as Christ has been, you’ve been to me
I long to be a faithful companion
‘cause despite hurting still
you have not left me abandoned
rather daily still, you make me want to live and will
to overcome life’s bitter ordeals
and see His manifold glory revealed
So let me be your companion
write stories of mercy ’til we fill up an entire canon
Through the devil's canyon,
conquering the flames of angered dragons,
all the while marvelling at the Creator of the Grand Canyon
Journeying today and tomorrow with zealous passion
Together, until the day we arrive home in Zion.
Aug 18, 2021
Aug 18, 2021 at 11:34 PM UTC
.
*The string trails away down
I tug it with all of my might,
I am the hue of setting suns,
I am a sporting red kite.
I wanted someone with scissors
to so deftly cut the strings,
transform into a real Red Kite
with eyes and feathers and wings.
Floating free upon the winds,
and marvelling at all that I spy,
swooping and diving at high play,
the flying master of the sky.
But now something has changed,
a strange and different feeling,
I think I'd like to be grounded,
for someone to start in-reeling.
I would like to feel so treasured,
a possession of the hearts cry.
Wishing to be the real Red Kite,
the pleasure in someone else's sky.*
© Pagan Paul (30/12/18)
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 6:43 AM UTC
He wandered along the Pullman car
As if he owned the train,
And wore the badge of ‘Conductor’ and
A whistle on a chain,
He carried a block of tickets that
Were printed differently,
With various towns and places from
The inland to the sea.
He’d walk from behind the driver, from
The front up to the back,
His steps in time to the rhythm of
The train, its clicketty-clack,
He wouldn’t look at the passengers
Unless their eyes were strained,
But then would pause with his ticket block
To see which ones remained.
And then, as if he divined the stress
Each passenger went through,
He’d tear off one of the tickets, as
He would, for me or you,
And suddenly they’d be on a beach
Or resting in some town,
And making love to a red-haired *****
Just as the sun went down.
The train continued its journey with
Its steady clicketty-clack,
The passenger sitting limply with
His eyes, empty and black,
While ever the train’s conductor walked
Along the swaying aisle,
Dispensing the tickets on the block
For mile on endless mile.
Then once at their destination he
Would blow a single note,
Using that tiny whistle hanging
Chained down by his throat,
And all of the passengers would wake,
Their eyes no longer black,
Marvelling at the dreams they’d had
While travelling on that track.
If ever you board that certain train
Be sure to be aware,
And look long at the conductor,
As he walks; No, even stare!
Then if he pauses in front of you
Think where you’d like to be,
And watch as he peels your ticket off,
Your ride to ecstasy.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC
the fast car speeds along the avenue
and she relaxes at the wheel
shell tell you she was born to drive
and with a cigarette grey haze
she leans into the telling
a story of her younger days
a summer back in the world
back in the dust of 1958
when the motorcycles rode on main street
she and her baby sister went to see
and stood back of the five and dime
marvelling at at the wild men
and the chrome machines
thouse were the days when
the future was brighter
and the dream seemed like it could be real
this light comes alive in her eye when she speaks
of thouse days
you can see the years fall away
you can almost taste the malted she drank
and almost see her in her blue dress
there at the five and dime
you can see the light in her eyes
when she is remembering thouse days
the sock hop and the drive thu
she is so much a younger soul than i
filled with all these beautiful memories
and as we drive down the hutchinson river parkway
middle of the night
in the pouring rain
robert gordon on the radio
i think to myself that she's right
she was born to drive
and i was born to be with a girl like her
oldsmobile cutlass 440 was her car
i was her man
.and rockabilly was her music
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
I wish to comb the now distant Eden
Adopting Penelope's marble poise
To find her marvelling Polaris' freedom
Not questioning her heart, unlike my words.
Vaulted abaft* her marmoreal* shoulders
Chiliad* tales won, your silhouette
Decorticating* off African suns.
Oil lamp explorer, icy caves your lamp
Cannot warm; There are paths to cross with will,
Verdant* bridges constellated* with time.
Yet you, Inexhaustible human heart,
Beat with love. You gravedigger of the sky,
Estranged Love, brave forevermore the Afar,
Beyond the doubts of your enduring Heart.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
When Adam and Eve played love's old game
We thought early romance a little too rough
We wanted kinder and gentler rules
We looked at it good and added our touch
We turned it sideways and looked at some Masters
Cleopatra and Marcus, Burton and Liz
We looked through history and weighed each technique...
Studying hers and studying his
We re-invented love
Applied TLC without the big rush
Someone had to do it; it was way overdue
And no one gets in it quite like me and you
Making it perfect, re-inventing love
We wanted to see the sexes more equal
From Rome to Paris we studied their style
We watched new positions in old Kuma Sutra
In Mumbai and Murmansk to the banks of the Nile
Now when they ***** a great Hall of Fame
The applause will come down falling on us
They'll put our names upon a big plaque
Everyone marvelling and making a fuss
CHORUS
Bridge: Now the cave man technique is gone from romance
Barbarians no longer can come to the dance
CHORUS
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
Far in a western brookland
That bred me long ago
The poplars stand and tremble
By pools I used to know.
There, in the windless night-time,
The wanderer, marvelling why,
Halts on the bridge to hearken
How soft the poplars sigh.
He hears: no more remembered
In fields where I was known,
Here I lie down in London
And turn to rest alone.
There, by the starlit fences,
The wanderer halts and hears
My soul that lingers sighing
About the glimmering weirs.
1.5k
i am ambidextrous – i can count how many times you’ve hurt me on both hands and i am ambivalent, i love you but i hate you
there is a certain ambience i recall in flashbacks and unspoken memories, however it fades as quickly as my smile when your name is mentioned
there is so much ambiguity in your eyes when you gaze at me – i stopped marvelling over you and your thoughts and instead marvelled over myself
who am i, without you? what am i, without you?
i am a life of ambition
you are a life of indifference
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
Cut from my womb
no signs of life
no first breath
no first cry
no first cuddle
I did not get to count your fingers or toes
nor did I get to look into your eyes
you were taken and I was left alone
wondering and fearful
Our first meeting through a plastic box
wires, tubes, laboured breathing
so frail and broken
tears and hopes as I held your tiny hand
afraid as tears wet my face
So tiny for such a brave warrior
fighting against the odds
as we stayed by your side
marvelling at your strength
and the devotion of those that cared
The first time I held you
gingerly fearing tangled wires
I finally felt that you belonged to me
my little man
Our first night alone
much overdue
rush of love
as you snuggle in
and suckle like a pro
Soon I could take you home
and you would truly belong to us
Now time has passed
you grew and found your feet
my naughty little adventurer
who is far to busy to sleep
full of life as if making up for lost time
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
I gasp and watch
Horrified
As I hammer the final nail into the coffin.
We sit. Apart.
Staring at our loss
Knowing and not knowing
Understanding and not understanding
Feeling and unable to comprehend
The true realisation will come later
With crashing waves of tears
And unanswered questions
'Why?' There are always reasons.
'Life is cruel' But they're never enough.
Now. Now, we sit.
My mind already begins to wrap
This moment in a fine silk handkerchief
Labelled 'Beautiful and tragic'
A keepsake.
And sometime later
I shall unwrap it
Gaping
Marvelling
Mourning
The final.
moment.
of.
Us.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
passions were my strong point. every breath lined with a deeper meaning that makes you embrace any emotion including sadness is a blessing.
i can sit and stare at the clouds endlessly. distance myself from human infestation, so i can spend some time alone marvelling the cosmic manifestation.
i read books, conjure up worlds and press pages with fragile paper wings that let me fly in the summer air making me feel as light as a butterfly.
i stay up at nights and end up painting faces of unrecognisable angels and demons that live inside my head. i'm constantly torn between prose and poetry. one lets me live, and the other helps me to get lost.
i am a girl living on wishbones and rusted blood. a girl covered in an ever-glowing soil. a girl toiled with ashes. but i am reborn every time a part of me is scathed. i reappear till i'm completed.
till i'm finite because i was held by strong points:
passions.
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 4:58 PM UTC
i seek a fresh page
on which i may be written
a new palate upon which the landscape
of this soul may be inked
i dreamt
i stand here on the edge of night
looking out over the vast empty parking lot
of some nameless something-mart
a single piece of paper walks with a slow wind across
the desert of pavement
i turn and leave
walking down a tree lined street
only streetlights and silent empty cars
only the night noise of suburbia
a television sound of gunfire and laughter
a dog whispering loudly of his intents to be free
of whatever chain that binds him to his unfriendly fate
i walk for hours it seems
marvelling at the stillness of suburbia's intense isolations
walking from pool of streetlight to pool of streetlight
i finally come to a stop benith one
silence
nothing beyond this place is real
i ask aloud of the meanings of these things
and a friends voice from a long ago conversation
says "one of these things are not like the others..."
and he fades away back into the past
and he takes the dream with him
i wake slowly
to the sounds of a empty apartment
i walked out on my lover
i am alone
it is not a dream
and one of these things is just like all the rest
of the things that don't fit in round holes
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
I lay there, right next to you
I watch you, sleep the night through.
You whisper, incoherent words
I watch you, languid and undisturbed.
I want to touch your face, the contours, the planes
Watch the blood drip down our arms, mixing to create scarlet bonds and chains.
I want to hear the beats getting slower,
Your breathing shallow...your eyes dripping of fear?
"No, don't fear me. I've come here to save you.
You belong to me I say, no, don't try to look away.
I'll save you, I promise.
This is the only way I can.
I'll save you I promise.
This will work, it's a full proof plan.
It'll just hurt a little, but u can take that, right?
It's just an unfolding of a mystery, as we drive deeper into the night.
We'll stay together, till death do part us,
You and me, me and you. No minus, no plus.
Ill hold onto u, I'm not letting go."
He watched her the entire night, marvelling her beauty.
Soon she'd be all his, only his to touch and see.
Her golden hair that turned heads, was ironically turning hers
His lips on hers silenced all her screams, his rough hands ate her tears.
The sound of ripping and flesh being cut, the grunting, wasn't heard for miles
Her lifeless eyes stared up at him, not blinking, no response .
But he just lay beside her with a smile,
In some blissful, over whelming trance.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
I dream of flying beyond the universe,
amidst the planets and the countless stars.
I would stop by the red planet mars
the man's dream home.
Move on, to watch the Saturn,
with its ring and moons
Then, stood marvelling at Jupiter's
red storms, that resembles a marble.
Hurdling through the belt of asteroids,
to reach, Uranes,that rolls like a wheel.
And then to Neptune, the blue Ice giant.
Further high, I fly, beyond the galaxy.
To meet the creator, of this
exuberant display, to take me
beyond this universe, to view
further of his creations.
Sep 27, 2023
Sep 27, 2023 at 12:39 PM UTC
in a garden, slender with summer rose,
where the silvering petals
gathered whisky clouds and love,
the shadows smouldered
while the breezes built bridges of
leaves, in a darkening, near nocturnal world;
and i sat, marvelling at the pretty sunset,
at the shady boughs, at the gorgeous
sky in the fading light with its golds and blues
and i felt calm and settled, while the
sun grew smokey, burnt to ruin,
(in the soon ruined sky) dulling, nearly black.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 2:18 PM UTC
He ghosts through apartments long after three in the morning
Tracking in the residue of his night time wanderings through dreams
Curtains lift in the wake of his storm and rest on bare shoulders,
Life signs;
The figments and fragments of a hurricane he breathes.
Through open windows he leans, his soul reaching surface
Drawing moonlight into his skin, illuminating the ice he carries,
A chest cavity full of crystals and rainbow light
Breathing in shades of heated silver.
He has found a place for his bones to lie down and sleep, wrapped up tight
Spiders web to sew together and daisy chains round veins
His limbs - will become trees
I stand below, blinking upwards as he takes root and grows,
Resting burdens in the air
I - am a foolish, fragile spine and wake when he does
Passing time, holding up more than is my own as I try
To take him from himself,
Even if I’m buckling beneath these unspoken
I have watched him appear, as a flower
Hiding secrets amongst himself and blooming long enough
In Spring, baring bones
To prove he is more beautiful than this drained, scar-riddled skin
These, he says, are his strength, and that the skeleton forcing outwards
Is the truth. For when we die, and lie buried
We will have his face
Setting fire to his insides for fun he catches his tears in hands
Allowing wounds to grow, and through translucent skin
His screams show, throwing themselves against ribs
So as not to fly free of throat
He breathes in smoke, blackened lungs straining, dry
As he drowns in himself.
He leaves,
His shadow whispering across my skin as I watch, breathing silent as
His pleas.
I – am a foolish, fragile spine, trying to take him from himself
I – lie bent and broken, life passing and I remain on the roadside,
Safely tucked away.
I have travelled through my days as if they are
Losing themselves. Marvelling at what he has grown into as he
Reaches for the skies. I have walked trails instead of stretching,
Standing straight, growing tall as he
Try save him from
His – is a flower, grown and withered, seeping into earth
Six foot deep. His – is a tree among many, his years marked out
In rings. His – staying rooted and breathing life from life he does not feel and
I – am setting forest fires
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
it’s not as real
as it feels
that’s how it always goes
attraction
primrose passion
mediocre marvelling
then
I want to leave this city
and
you were never good enough for me
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
in our reflections I've
attempted to aggrandize
my perception
of I, cocooned
in the softness of
her petals bringing
about our dawning
as if, giving breath
to our birth, unfolding
upon a new sunrise
and we breathe in
the delicacy of nature
as I caress newborn
pouted lips
we gaze upon our
reflections together;
marvelling of God's beauty,
instilled within; as we
curl into warmth of limbs,
embraced in consummated
hunger; adorning ourselves
with earth's reflective hues
as in completed gestational birth...
reflecting new beginnings...
cocooned in bliss...
as I became hers...
and
she became mine...
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 4:26 AM UTC
I stood in view of Helvellyn
on a summer afternoon
Marvelling at the majesty
of this English landscape
As young hikers lay
amongst the ancient stones
Performing ancient rites
they thought they'd invented
I thought of the poets
of life and the world
Remembered Lovehearts words
and drank in the air.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Saw her after years,
Clinking her glass as
Everyone roared "cheers"
To somebody's happiness
They cared two dimes about.
Marvelling over how her
Hair seemed to finally
Stay in place,
How she did eventually learn
To suffer high heels with grace,
And trying hard to not be
Intimidated by the hint of rouge
Adorning her face, I managed
A "What are you doing here!"
Expecting her to reply in some
Accent or language as fancy
As she'd become,
But oh! Musically she spoke
In a manner as matter of fact,
As nonchalant, as uncautious
As before,
"You know, just pretending to be pretentious!"
Oh you wicked little rebel, I thought,
Gently tugging at her hair,
Loosening one curl,
Try as you might to pretend to pretend!
You're way too REAL for this world.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
Nostalgia nearly took me back
To that time when I was
Something simpler
Because there's nothing simpler
Than being dead
Rose tinted glasses
Are blood red for a reason
Never trust the past
Because you didn't know what you had
When you had it.
Look around
Love around a little
Because your 'lost child'
Is playing with you and
Marvelling at what you've become.
Don't trust red nostalgia
It's just there to make you think
That lives don't get better,
But, here's the secret,
They already have.
If you fight for them.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC