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Pagan Paul Aug 2017
The morning mist dissipated
as the ships keel ploughed a furrow
through the Great Green of the Aegean,
leaving far behind the magick isle.
Vigilantos stood at the prow,
marvelling at the accompanying dolphins,
curious and playful,
schooling with purpose to the ocean.
Ahead, waiting, a grand tour.
Of Sumer, Abyssinia and desert lands,
to glean hidden knowledge,
regain the mysteries of the ancients,
read the Necronomicon and old scripts
from a time when power crackled,
and the storms of the gods
belittled the existence of mankind.

The twilight Moon peeps
from behind the brazen grey cloud.
And she weaves hap-hazard
through the crushes of the crowd.
A high-born daughter of the desert,
a vision of beauty from the sand.
With silks and satin and perfume
richly obtained from foreign lands.
Through the colourful bazaar she threads
with occasional glances thrown at stalls,
priestess jewels sparkle in the night,
its her Name the sirocco calls.

Cobalt blue water, an illusion of light
where the sun slides through the meniscus,
and the harbour of Tyre was alive.
The bustling of boats around ships at anchor,
snatching glimpses of a turquoise sky
and the quay throbbing with the pulse of music.
It would be another 3 thousand years
before Rome was even a trading post on the Tiber,
let alone an empire conquering the east,
or building hippodromes and columned avenues.
Vigilantos drank in the atmosphere,
his magicians instincts bristling, noting all.
Meandering through the narrow streets,
loosely following direction, getting lost.
Seeking his retinue and camels, ready to start,
across the desert to Ninevah on the Tigris.
To speak to tribes, pray with the priests of Ur.
To find the secrets of mysteries, and treasure,
reaping the knowledge of the Old Gods awe,
amongst the shifting dunes of history.

Vivid colours of silks and dyes
adorn the tents of cloth and stick.
The summer sun beats down lazy,
heat as oppressive as mist is thick.
Her charms and delights are hidden,
with misery and pain, the last week spent.
The dark, the quiet, the inane chatter,
deep within the women's red tent.
Free from the curse, her moon-cycle complete,
she wanders with mood sombre and slow.
A powerful man from a western place
will arrive at the camp as the sun sinks low.
He had seen her in the main bazaar
and decided to stake his claim.
Whilst confined away, behind her back,
her father had bartered for riches and fame.

His travels around those beautiful lands
had yielded books of law and scripts.
He had heard the oral traditions of elders
and gazed in wonder at the Moon's eclipse.
Then he had seen the greatest treasure
wending her way through crowded markets.
With tact and guile he discovered her Name,
and vowed to grace her father's carpets.

The desert folk live a simple life
but far from simple are they.
Sharp of tongue and quick of wit,
erudite in a most unusual way.
The father was the elected leader,
King of the tribe that he now led.
Vigilantos had bargained hard
to purchase the girl for his marital bed.

The sun sinks, falling from the sky in the eve.
Spectacular reds and orange colliding with the dunes.
The azure twilight sky lit and sprinkled with stars,
and the tribal camp fills with laughter and tunes.

He walked with purpose toward the campfire,
his features silhouetted by flickering light.
The sudden hush of the assembled camp
echoed strange, deep into the desert night.
His eyes beheld her most beautiful form,
half in the shadow, half in the light.
For her families benefit he had traded,
agreed bargains, and come to claim his right.

“Princess of the desert, Daughter of the sand,
step forward gently and take me by the hand.
For my island home calls out loud to me,
so come, let us away across the sea”.

Head bowed in fake submission
she boldly makes her cold admission.

“I am a Woman of the free,
these sands are my home to me.
With all good grace; I could not face
life on an island in the sea”.

Black and red, darkness and rage
descend upon his fevered mind.
Humiliated, spurned by a maiden fair,
and pride will not be left behind.

“A curse. A curse. 'pon thy beautiful head,
prowl and creep as do the undead.
Evil deeds are now thy course,
henceforth our contract is now divorced”.

But something made Vigilantos start,
a pang of something from his dead heart.
With such feelings he could not contend,
so a caveat, for the curse to amend.

“Thy deeds and crimes maybe invested
'pon mortals only who invest the same such evil
'pon their fellow mortals”.

Leaving far behind the desert
he turns his face to the sky.
The ships keel ploughs a furrow
as the evening mist draws nigh.

And now she prowls the dark night,
her Name lost in the sands of time.
Seeking out the mortal sinners and
punishing their evil with her crimes.

... and thus it begins ...

© Pagan Paul (08/08/17)
Prequel to The Judderwitch poem (posted in April).
I fear this may create more questions than it answers.

My Judderwitch poems are now in a collection :)
Doshi Apr 11
Change jobs every two years
cities every four
partners intermittently.
Permanence is a setback,
can't you see?
Commitment is for
the boomers.

Seek triumph
and a hint
of CBD.
Remember, social capital
adds value.

Remain slightly tilted
just a few degrees
and always on the prow
for better.
don't request.
You're entitled to even more
than you think.
facetious advice for the millennial way
she thought of going home.

It wasn’t a very hard task to go home, she thought.
She kind of was already home, she thought.
She was on top of the roof of her home, she thought.
She sat inte the sofa and she thought; take your clothes on, take your bag, take your keys, where were the keys?
The phone rang, she thought.
She took her keys, she threw them on the floor. Wrong order, she thought.
She took her clothes up from the floor, she put them on, success, first task done, she thought.  
She sat on the topp of the roof like on the prow of a ship, a woman on the street screamed up at her, she screamed up at her, she went down, she thought.
Not falling, she just took the stairs, so it was fine, she thought.  
The home was covered in dust, she was covered in dust, she tried to clean it of but the water was covered in dust. She wanted to float over the floor as if on one of those stupid hover-boards in the perfect middle of the room, there in the middle there were no dust, she thought.

She lost her hand, it was her left hand, she was left handed, she found her keys, they were on the floor. She took a pen with the hand she had left and wrote, to- do underlined it and continued; walk to bag, take bag, open door and go down all the stairs, go home, she thought.
She sat up and she stood up, she found her hand, it was on the roof, the wind stole it, now she had two hands, she thought.  
She walked to her bag, she took her bag and realized she had forgotten to write go to door, how can you open door if you’re aren’t by the door? She laid down, fell asleep on the hallway floor, in her dream she just walked out, down the stairs,  said hello to the nice old man sitting in the beach-chair outside and then she just took the train home, or you know, where she lived  now. She once had happened to call it her home when talking to her dad on the phone and he got so happy she could hear him crying on the other-side of the line so now she calls the new place where she lives her home. It isn’t though, she thought.

She woke up, she stood in the shower she screamed she tried to rip her heart out, she had to rip herself out of this apartment. She went out on the balcony, she slept on the balcony, she screamed on the balcony, she thought
on the balcony.

Thought about what happens when your brain drops
when the grief becomes to heavy and the brain can’t say stop.
Can’t say no, sorry. can we propane this very important grief-meeting, what about next week ?

She stood up, she thought.
She looked down the balcony, she saw people, people going to their jobs, taking their children to school, people jogging maybe for the first time ever or training for their fifteenth marathon. She thought.
She saw her old neighbor sitting in his chair outside. She thought.

She saw the sun come up, because it happens, she knew.
Elizz Jan 11
Featherlight suffocation
Leaden words weigh tongues down
Free range cage
Weary heart o mine

Sagging against restraints
Burning edges
I wish to tell you these words

Things you've already heard
Pressed into my vinly tongue
Scream the same three songs

1. I'm fine
2. We're fine
3. Our relationship is fine

Scalded skin
Boiling showers

To soak the worries away
To thaw out this anxiety
The insecurities
Its just me

Not everything seems
As polished as it was
Love still graces this heart
Love is a fear

Fear of fading
Falling out
Washing away
A castle crumbled by surf
Grains slipped
Mottled rib cages

Curled under a blanket
A sembalance of warmth creeping in
Mock comfort
Shells rattled by your breath

Turned over in these fragile hands
Committed to memory

As if it would be the last
Another sunrise
Another relief
A sight to hold dear
Throughout this day

Just inside the preferial
Of this skull
Just in my head
My head
My head

This fear that you'll disappear
Vibrancy  leeched out of this shell
Skin crisping

What if
You were
Never here

Just in my head?

The Last letter typed
Given form
To nightmares at the prow

How is it
So easy to breathe now

— The End —