.
Snow drifts down
     laying a lawn cold sheet
across the frozen ground,
          creating art reliefs
like acid etching glass,
open space rolling and undulating,
in small hills and depressions,
     bedecked in a veil of white.
The silence is deafening,
quiet having been enjoyed
     and surpassed,
briefly punctuated by the call of a bird,
     A sharp whistle that shrieks
and attacks the silence.
The fresh smell of snowfall wafts up
     as it settles and glistens
in the light of silver moonbeams,
randomly peeping through clouds.
The taste of peace,
                     tranquility,
in the frigid air,
sends imagination soaring
from the desolation of isolation
to another time and place.
          The snow falls,
     falls,
in a relentless race for the ground,
               all is still,
               nothing stirs,
as the moor welcomes its quilt
and sleeps with a cold heart,
     dreaming,
                       of being kissed by the Sun.



© Pagan Paul (28/05/18)

Take a thought
Long drawn out
Every detail nuance and particular
Write it out
Wander into every crevice corner
Orifice of it
Chew on the salty sweet detail
Talk in length about the atmosphere
How the sky was clear that day
Or how it was black as southern mud
Colorize it with the voices in your head write down what they said
The inner dialogue
Argue a point
With your ego
It doesn't matter which of you wins
Just paint it out spill
The angst in gallons of red spills
And splatters the anger
Throw black on the paper spit
Hit smack  your hand right fan on it mush it
Tangle get some virulent deep blue
And paint on paper the sky how it looked
And your eyes how wide they were
Spooked
Get lost misspell
Curse ******* demons
Who are you?
Who is anyone
Are we just blood and guts or
More

Feelings can get abstract and love can hurt poetry writing spilling paint crying
Are all we got.
Take a walk. Walk until dark.
Wake up the next day.