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 Mar 2019
Pagan Paul
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And then you were there
your presence touched my dream
I recoil at the beauty of it
unfamiliar with the feeling of love,
I feel your confused hurt
and wish you would withdraw
and wish you would stay
because the emotion scares me,
somewhere, somewhere in the night.

And then you were there
your fingers brushed my skin
I recoil at the softness of it
unfamiliar with the touch of fondness.
I see your confused hurt
and wish your eyes would laugh
and wish your eyes would cry
because your heart calls to me,
somewhere, somewhere in the night.

And then you were there
and then you were not,
and I yearn to find you,
somewhere, somewhere in the night.




© Pagan Paul (19/03/19)
.
 Mar 2019
Francie Lynch
Are you ever so full of it
That you need to flush
Halfway through a dump?
That's where we are with Trump.
Two more years of BS.
 Mar 2019
Rochelle Foles
As children
We who wore tights to school
   were taught
to wok in high heels
with a book on our heads


to never wear mascara
on our bottom lashes

                        red lipstick = harlot
            red nails = *****
            wearing jewelry = sinful


                       to be proper
                       to mind our manners


           the three monkeys mantra



                      



So we still
Go downtown in our good clothes            
Wearing high heels carrying a matching bag

We have expensive taste
Reputations to uphold

fast cars
      +
          faster boys
      =
           red lipstick
red nails
bodies bejeweled



We learned
All of that                                      Indoctrination
was nonsense









Oh! The high heels of heartache!
How those cruel shoes constrained us
the worship of deities can uplift ones soul or contaminate and desolate it.
 Mar 2019
Adele
you fly with your wings
navigating in the air
with the control of your hands
wearing the four stripes

waving in the air, telling the world
that the time has come
and you are ready to soar up high

The wheels touched Charles de Gaulle
and found yourself in the night of Porto,
sipping red wine just beside the coast
that covers the face of a man from the fog of yesterday’s memory

The flight from Toronto and the girl who gave a beam from the Pearson’s gate, disappeared

you walked the cobbled street that lead you back to your hotel room, opening the balcony

you just couldn’t stop looking at the setting sun, and the birds that goes along the melody of a piano you played on the background.
 Mar 2019
Sjr1000
I offer you this innocence,
come on in,
condemnation
judgement
vitriol
are left on the other side
of the walls of skin.

Hearts may open here
tears may tumble
walls may fall
in this moment between you and me.

We will offer
truths and tenderness
for every imagined sin.

Life's a puzzle
the pieces are in
earthquake shambles scattered
across the floor.
There are places for each puzzle piece
to put together,
we may even find bliss.

Sometimes this life is too complex
too hard to fathom
too easy to plummet,
we all need a place to
explore
unload
forgive.

This is the innocence
feel free to come on in,
your secrets are safe here,
never told by me.

It has been said
we are as sick as our secrets,
burrowing through our eyes
in dark packets of disguise.
But in this sanctuary
lies dissolve
innocence returns,
We find a chance to begin again.

Put down the masks
Put down the resentments
Put down the propped up sorrows
Our truths will set us free.

The door is open
the glowing warmth of connection
is at your disposal,
come speak to me
the accumulated hurts of where you have been,
through these true confessions
hurts pass
not forgotten
but
forgiven.

We can begin again.

The puzzle pieces lost
will be found,
compassion and forgiveness
become our friends.

Abandon all pasts
seen through a child's eyes,
in this time of now
we can become cozy
snuggle up in this warm bath embrace.
Sometimes we all need a place to hide
in all the necessary pillows and comforters.

Either in words or in silence,
we'll find that spot of transformation,
begin again,
once you enter this innocence,
from the tangle
as birds well know,
we can fly free again.
 Mar 2019
touka
‍  
thoughts pour
spill from their borders
swarm their predestined portion

"and I make them wait."

memory crawls my throat
makes itself known on my tongue
climbs into the labyrinth of my ears
bursts through the drum

and it is gone
   ‍      ‍  
 ‍
I am not a child

all the cars slow
to a rolling stop

where I lay,
fine-combing the dirt with my lashes

I've done it again

erected the edifice of my life
on the air from her lips

and when her gusts are wild,
I wish I was never born

but I am not a child

wheels appulse on the tar
inches from my tender head

I don't want to go home

I don't
 Mar 2019
Harsh
Over the past months there have been
so many times where I feel like nothing
more than a remnant, an empty ghost
with no spirit trapped inside the shroud.
So much has been seized from me-
when we walked our separate ways
you took back everything you brought.
Anything that once carried your touch
now feels tainted, a painful reminder
of something that once was and never
will be again. I can’t go to certain cities,
or listen to particular songs, because
the memory I have associated with it
is far too lovely for me to bear right now,
as is any positive thought I have of you.
I can’t even have things that were once
mine that I shared with you. I told you:
everything I have, and everything I am,
is yours. And truly, it is. I am bereft
of all I once had, wandering the halls
of my memories, a beggar, a supplicant.
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