"recapturing" poems
Dear, let me startle you by slinking my hand into
your smart, ethical decisions while I touch
quite gently
ripping to shreds
your photon ends.
Dear, let me caress your supple virtues and vows
until they blow out of proportion
merging your interests with mine
like the longing of eyes
uncanny in its distortion.
Dear, let me rip off your clothes as I grip your tight notions
ideas slipping carefully into place
like a sterile, unflinching blank slate
inching towards computed devotion.
Dear, let me carry out some foreplay
as long as you bend, not break,
delightfully stroking the edge of your plate.
Dear, let me come so close to your face
so close that it becomes blurry.
Where are my glasses in all this flurry?
Of feelings resembling photo reels on fire
shooting flames out the window
beyond everything you’ve ever known;
beyond anything you desire.
Dear, let me kiss you to submission,
your brain waves in motion
as I twist and slip into them
hormones ablaze
lighting up for days
your synapses recapturing
in a binocular haze.
Dear, let me flop on top of you
like a floppy disk, uploading your lips
into my hardrive.
Do I make you hard as fire?
Slowing burning
my hot fingers curling
up your robust spine
cracking it into
chiropractor sublime.
Massaging your tired broad shoulders
like large sofa ends.
Is this keyboard only
made for pretend?
Dear, let me mind **** you
take you and light you
brighten your screen
uphold and unseen
neurons fighting as I whisper ***** words
directly into the folds of your tulip ears
too large to hear, and
Dear, let me engage my rage
into a productive haze
bolting out words, unheard of for days.
Dear, let us become undone together
like the battery of a computer
rebooting after a hectic hardware phase.
Dear, let us breathe and walk through this maze.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
Dear, let me startle you by slinking my hand into
your smart, ethical decisions while I touch
quite gently
ripping to shreds
your photon ends.
Dear, let me caress your supple virtues and vows
until they blow out of proportion
merging your interests with mine
like the longing of eyes
uncanny in its distortion.
Dear, let me rip off your clothes as I grip your tight notions
ideas slipping carefully into place
like a sterile, unflinching blank slate
inching towards computed devotion.
Dear, let me carry out some foreplay
as long as you bend, not break,
delightfully stroking the edge of your plate.
Dear, let me come so close to your face
so close that it becomes blurry.
Where are my glasses in all this flurry?
Of feelings resembling photo reels on fire
shooting flames out the window
beyond everything you’ve ever known;
beyond anything you desire.
Dear, let me kiss you to submission,
your brain waves in motion
as I twist and slip into them
hormones ablaze
lighting up for days
your synapses recapturing
in a binocular haze.
Dear, let me flop on top of you
like a floppy disk, uploading your lips
into my hardrive.
Do I make you hard as fire?
Slowing burning
my hot fingers curling
up your robust spine
cracking it into
chiropractor sublime.
Massaging your tired broad shoulders
like large sofa ends.
Is this keyboard only
made for pretend?
Dear, let me mind **** you
take you and light you
brighten your screen
uphold and unseen
neurons fighting as I whisper ***** words
directly into the folds of your tulip ears
too large to hear, and
Dear, let me engage my rage
into a productive haze
bolting out words, unheard of for days.
Dear, let us become undone together
like the battery of a computer
rebooting after a hectic hardware phase.
Dear, let us breathe and walk through this maze.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
Teasing the beast
Looking for a feast
Hounds barking at our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Compartmentalizing symptom after symptom
To hide the great systematic sickness
Labeling the suffering, outcome from desire
We, wholeheartedly accepting being
Appropriated, labeled, discarded
As construing our own oppression and sadness
Enduring the **** of our minds
Being castrated of our consciousness
Before we reap the products
Of its bold liberation and grandness
Its the belly of the beast
And its hungry
Insatiable, amoral entrails
Hoping to salvage a feast
From the casualties of d(e)moc(ratic) wars
Hoping we feed our monstrous fear
Thirsting for the greed
Dripping off of accumulating wealths
Impatiently waiting, we keep parceling out grudges
Disfiguring our minds, our souls, and our bodies
Its misanthropic nature lashes out without conscience
Knowing we'll never realize we are masses
Disappearing the individuals who realize their suffering
Ensuring there's no collective opposition or action
Trying to reassure we are weak
Knowing at some point or another
We all act mute, deaf, and blind when anyone experiences:
Oppression
Pain
Silencing
****
Hunger
Fear
Violence
Repression
Retaliation
Discrimination
Torture
Negation
Alienation
All forms of mental, psychological, physical, and spiritual mutilation
Fearing death more than fighting for necessary abolishment
Preferring to live out our veiled miseries
Endorsing their continuance
Instead of risking our lives for everyone's liberation
Always ensuring the feast of the beast
By its very efforts trying to decree our very human nature
Ingraining greed, fear, animosity, and weakness as if inherent of us
All parts of its most damaging weapon: the seed of discord
Its implantation, a socialized deep desire for self-preservation
Sheep bleating painfully toward our ears
Vultures flying up ahead
Circling a bald eagle's fresh corpse
Signifying the impending recapturing
Of our true transformative desires
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
I can see the vivid flashbacks from past times
The person I was meant to be left somewhere behind
The worldly winds of heartbreak and defeat have tossed me here
In this place I can't escape because of fear
If I could kick my heels thrice and maybe rewind
Go back past the hurt to a more simple happy time
Yet the present is what I have and the future neither promised nor imagined
The past just a long ago beauty like the retired queens of pageants
Still I pray everyday that this mindset is just a phase
Counting on recapturing that childlike spirit from the hands of yesterday
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
.
When you caught my wandering eye,
love was a small word to hide behind,
an improper play seen through a diaphanous veil.
There was a new star in the sky, a mint room,
still searching for a lost dream.
I sit and watch a world die, and another take its place,
a kaleidoscope colander, as silence has its throat cut
with delicate skeletal lace and a face of porcelain.
A whisper to the zephyrs of second glance
echoing through the histories of the future,
a plea from a roving orb like a mute scream.
Did you hear me talking to the wind
where the wild things grow, recapturing misty joys.
As the Horns of Cernunnos reflect the primal stag
and the cusp of the Moon vibrates a soliloquy,
you caught my wandering eye.
© Pagan Paul (17/08/17)
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 4:03 AM UTC
Proem
After Sir Thomas recovered the Spear of Destiny and returned it to the Pope at the Vatican in Rome, he remained there for several months serving His Excellency, attending meetings, and recovering from several minor injuries sustained while recapturing the Spear that pierced the side of Jesus the Messiah. Sir Thomas could have stayed as a guest of the pope in one of their lush suites, but he chose the bare walls of a guest bedroom at the local Knights Templar castle. The pope then called upon him for his next assignment: Leave Rome immediately, by boat, again, back to Constantinople. “Head off a Scot by the name of Sir Robert Bruce, whom our intel indicates has a map and is currently on his way in search for the Holy Grail. Sir Robert is a stubborn ally. You will help Sir Robert, but convince him that the chalice of Jesus belongs here in Rome.”
Prior to shoving off the west coast of Italy, a few miles from Rome, Sir Thomas wrote the following message, and placed it in a bottle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My dear sweet wife and babe within her womb
The five long years since I had lost you both
I prayed for inner peace despite my joy
Your both in heaven; worship Thee Most High
Because your love exceeds all life itself
My lips will glorify you ever more
I praise you for the rest; my living days
Your name I lift on high with my bare hands
Was on my bed that I remember you
I think of you the watches of the night
The shadow of your wings I cling my soul
The depths of which my sword shall honor thee
I yearn affections taste where two come one
The seed by faith that yields abundant life
Endures celestial kingdom's perfect place
It brings this missive to its endless oath:
To bless, release my restless heart that bleeds
Commit my swords allegiance to the Lord
To you Dagung the earth is smaller still
For every inch be searched to see your face
You disappeared, not dead but still alive
I feel the transom temper my resolve
For in this ship another search begins
The Holy Grail; Dagung I'll find you both
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Postscript
I toss the bottle through the wind to stormy sea
Inside the missive of a knight in love with thee
__________________________________________
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
Out of despair I've broken
the glass protecting this mind
from our memories, as we see
each recollection begin to leak,
your thought, once again
impossible to make hearts retreat.
The explanation I'm deserved;
forgotten, as it's now stained with forgiveness,
in order to attempt a different tactic at recapturing
the heart, of which a picture, I keep in this attic.
Can you read the words
of this asthmatic?
That my voice is finally
calm and not frantic.
Hate my enemy, to it,
no longer an addict.
That to you this seems
as me trying to keep
sparks lit with static.
Correct you are lovely lady,
and if you read this in content, get in contact
with man whose name begins with a consonant,
keep communication constant and let us
learn to walk before jogging.
At the moment too overwhelmed and
if the tattooed [two] were to appear
I'd steer the [conversations] onto revealing
I'm held up in investing a relationship with fame.
The pieces are starting to fall into place.
I'd tell you in detail,
but for now I'll keep this tongue tamed.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
Aesthetically speaking music’s a salve to the soul
Capturing and lulling someone into a wakeful stupor
Releasing and recapturing one’s attention almost intrinsically
Owing to its eclectic nature.
Sound’s itself a marvel on its own
Tastefully quaint
Intimate even when it’s absent
Cold and warm when it sees fit.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
Soft folds of velvet memories caress you
In all your vivid dreams
Of a world you wish to travel through
Upon the night’s moonbeams
An effervescent glow of a distant star
Whispers to your soul
As your inner spirit dances from afar
With the strength of old
A melody of a galaxy the eye cannot see
Sweetly plays a song anew
Your heart dances young and free
Recapturing your youth
You wish to always sleep and never wake
Your dream to stay within
But morning breaks and it’s too late
You’re awake again
But what a glorious sunrise there to see
A new day to dance into
Your heart is still young and free
Right there inside of you
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 10:24 AM UTC
I've tucked my dreams away in a time capsule. For certain, they will be better use to someone in the future. Though in all likelihood, they may never be found, for I have told no one where they have been buried and shan't offer a clue. In the capsule, far under the darkness of dirt, should one happen upon it, they will find obscure memories along with those dreams. Just tokens they are, recapturing happy times, made of clay and paint, spell ridden for a future discoverer. These knick-knacks are sure to have power, as no intention I have ever had has been greater than what was formed in those whatnots. You've seen bric-a-brac shelved, gather dust, and finally find themselves wrapped in tissue paper, inside a shoebox stowed in an attic and forgotten. Then one day they are rediscovered by another generation, who is charmed by their quaintness. They are dusted off and put on a shelf again, until sadness bearing that memory requires them to be sold at some yard sale or donated to a thrift store. I can not see this for my whatnots. To me they are too precious to leave in the hands of those close to me now. I won't have them sobbed over. That is the reason they have been buried. And should a certain someone find them in the course of time, may they only know their dreams fulfilled, by a time capsule that stewed long enough to design newer wonder of whatnot.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 9:41 AM UTC
The things we imagined have been lost
On the way to discovering
The reality of who we really are,
Reminiscence is deadly,
Poison
It will drive us both insane
As we try to drag up the past,
Recapturing our youth,
Trying to fit together
The jagged puzzle pieces
Of how we went wrong.
Before we lost our path,
Before we crumbled into ashes,
Before we pressed the gun against our lips
And spat bullets into the sky at night,
Remember the pact we made,
If we have nothing now, just promise me in the future we will still have nothing.
I promise.
Do you understand?
I let the memories erode,
The sickening feel of nostalgia fade,
The glowing embers of what we had extinguish
Into wisps of smoke.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
Kissing her old style
recapturing youth's smile,
in the move back in time where the
lines of age dissipate,and touching
where the joy of memories hesitate,
we still date as if we're teenagers,and
not pensioners.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
One snowy night years ago I was driving home
and my ancient classically beautiful ford
thunderbird spun around in a perfect
three hundred and sixty degree
direction careening but in a
slow-motion way on slick ice. I recall pleading
in a frantic prayer to keep my car free
from collision while my body was
angling crazily like a crash test
dummy veering dizzily
but I survived.
I drove home recapturing my breathing with
renewed respect for God's good grace and
my incredible brush with mortality and I
wondered about the snow that falls
settles paints prettifies and terrifies
our universe, that never lets us
forget the drift between life
and death, between fear
and serenity.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 1:58 PM UTC
The rose of love withered on the vine
In lifeless disposition it remains
The sugar of joy's elation did decline
Bewailing sorrows sing in sad refrains
No recapturing of past gleefulness
Her petals died they browned to dark
There would ne'er again be happiness
The rose's heart minus a loving spark
Without the touch of fondness on its bloom
The rose lost color and faded away
All those wonderful days lie in dead gloom
Sombre the vine of love is this very day
As dusk turns to the dawning of closeness
Reflect on the rose's place in darkness
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
(
•
)
^^^
••
I have just read an article showing how most / if not all /
Of the school shootings of the past
20 years / have / as their cause /
****** jealously and ****** humiliation/
and the acceptance of Revenge as a means of
recapturing Self Esteem
And that the factor of narcissistic possessiveness
that is being promoted in the schools
is the main source of
this dysfunctional behavior
••
••
I ( of course ) thought of The lovers ! Of HP
and their willing participation in the murderous dysfunctionality
of society and their purposeful distortion of what
Love really is ////
Taken as a whole
Our poetry is one big
**** YOU !
thrown up in the face of LIFE
//
And is it any wonder one senses LIFE
replying
**** YOU TOO !
::::::
This is called KARMA
:::::::
I
( of course )
Do not enter the fray but remain
LOVING AND SUPPORTIVE
••
But with every single DEATH
in the battlefield called Earth
I think of HP
and our careless words
and the Halloween Hatred
disguised as Love
and the wasted humanity of our
Uselessness
and our REAL PARTICIPATION
in the killings
and of our collective guilt
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
It was an heartbreak,
It was like an earthquake,
That which I ponder on day after day,
No more smiling, no more play together in the hay.
My aim of loving turns nothing,
Our future turns dim,
My feelings turns dim,
But am still breathing.
I am sober,
Recapturing my past,
The withered flower,
Iron remains cast,
So pathetic,
That love did not last,
I love you that's why am emphatic.
Feelings that can't be measured,
You were the diamond I treasured,
Life without you is would be solitary,
For now, it doesn't change anything, feelings unnecessary.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 9:27 AM UTC
modern native
taking a drive
to console with the eagles
recapturing my breathing
with pinched off
thai basil flowers
first thing in the morning
eating enough Tulsi basil leaves
from the garden
pinched flower breathing
in for 6 seconds
yes a lot of trauma out there
hold for 7 seconds
invisible to recuperate
8 seconds out
everything is perfect
modern native
reminding people
to stop not being human
there is an answer
a cure
a choice
what is the difference
of being white
and being human
when is it that human
became white?
how and why?
oops
apology
modern native
it is one thing to assume
and think
all the natives have been killed
but you must not forget what
natives know about our breathing
and what natives
know about our future
modern native
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 6:51 PM UTC
our moon
She misses our moans
enclosed behind these walls
She yearns for our souls
our calls
our songs
our passion in love.
She beckons me
with an alluring glare.
barely aware of her
realities.
captured by mystery
She
calls on me.
preparing me.
I the novice star gazer.
She, here with me,
She warns me.
She rallies her team.
She implodes in dreams.
She maintains despite lean.
Her majesty, sprouting new life
only when ready.
and collects and releases the being
for her sisters meeting.
She, recapturing herself.
pure giving and
receiving.
this love I know.
this love the moon proves
Time and
Time again.
She misses the grounds
growl,
the ripple of new life.
spirits pastime
create create create…
born under a balsamic moon.
aware of my call home.
eager to share all of me.
to inject my gift into the realm of now!
honestly a bit weary.
energy being forced out.
supernova type theories.
nearing the end of a cycle,
matter recycled,
She calls me back in.
this time I am even taller.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 5:20 AM UTC
They made them walk across hot coals
broke their bones and tried to take their souls,
recapturing the life that was lost to them.
The matinee had finished late,
the mariners left to their fate
the curtain fell like rain upon a desert,
drinking it in greedily to douse the
flames eternally
they rose again in unity to sing
in perfect harmony
and the flames had lit another way into a
start but not another day,
into a day like no other day had even been before and
a door that shuts can open up, a key
a prayer, a loving cup,
a drink to make me think that
life's not so bad after all.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
On the promenade where the North Sea salt cuts into your skin and the ships that make it back, you watch as they wearily traipse in and the stevedores cheer, you hear and you don't, you see, but you can't see the one that you're looking for.
The troubadour was born to wander and like the albatross you look down on the scene and wonder where the music went and all the times that were spent in the agony if we could replay the harbour that day when you sailed on the ecstasy would I see you again?
Is the memory a memory of pain? Is recapturing a loss to lose it again a part of what being alive means?
Harbour scenes.
I harbour scenes like a miser, never sharing because they are my miseries and my ecstasies and what memories.
The albatross knows and never tells,
The troubadour tells and seldom knows,
The North Sea wind blows more salt in my face and it doesn't care about any of it.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
recapturing a feeling
fleeting and forgotten
of love and peace
well-being and understanding
I have misplaced
my empathy –
once upon a time
I sought youtube videos
of children singing
and they brought tears of joy
to my aged and angry eyes
giving me pause
and a moment of quiet reflection
there was a time
in which I tracked down
high mountain lakes
to sit along side
and meditate on my connection
to everything around me
all of the time
…..seems a faded picture
on Kodak paper
from the late 70’s
figures blur and
distortion melds with
time ravaging oxidization –
there was a place
within my own mind
that gave me endless silver linings
constantly finding ways
to embrace optimism…..
though lately
I struggle to find that pathway
I miss old road signs
I pass overgrown landmarks
I forget what I am looking for…..
sitting within
staring out
seeking the old me –
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
walking down the avenue
right below my feet
dodging lifeless bodies
strung out from lost dreams
turning the corner, winds echo
little needles pricking all I feel
I sense the buildings, swaying
cold and stoic, yet to a beat
silently blocking the sun
each block the same repeat
but then it appears, foreign
the mist of the open sea
daylight pierces my eyes
recapturing those lost dreams
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC