Paul Wesley Naragon 

Kansas City, Kansas USA 

An adventurer most of his adult life, Paul Wesley Naragon sees the beauty and poetic inspiration in all of Creation. Besides poetry appearing in several anthologies published by The National Library of Poetry, Paul has self-published OBSERVATIONS THROUGH A KNOTHOLE IN CREATION, has a manuscript of his extraordinary venture in Peru under consideration for publication and plans self-publishing a book of poetry, POETIC WANDERINGS THROUGH MYSTICISM in 1999. Paul says, "I live with my head in the stars and my feet on the ground, and I am a citizen of both worlds." Paul admits, "Writing poetry is expressing life's profundity in simple form."
Paul welcomes letters. You may e-mail him at NARAGON49@aol.com.

What About Love?

Using another as a means of satisfaction
And security is not love.
Love is never security;
Love is a state in which there is
No desire to become secure;

It is a state of vulnerability.
In that state there is no need to
Manipulate, Control, Cajole, Convince,
Beg, Seduce, Insist.
Those are Actions bent on Security,
Or the illusion Thereof.

Hybrid Beingness

Before the next bite
of the meal of life,
ponder the next choice.
Guided to it by intellect?
Or steered to it by emotion?
"This OR that" is one acceptable notion.
Yet another is stirring commotion,
asking us to think about those feelings
and feel about those thoughts.
The new hybrid of beingness
Is "this AND that."

People of the Shells

Standing naked before a mirror
Or in front of another person reveals
Startling realities most prefer to conceal.

Clothes, cars, cosmetics, accoutrements,
contrived atmospheres and titles hide
the real person,
who is exposed very briefly only for lust.
Hidden quite deliberately are
obsessions and ravages of many
psychological storms,
Messages written on the body.

The Pharoah Akhenaton believed
"If we are to be the truth,
We must live the truth."
He and Nerfertiti carried truth
to the point of wearing no clothes--
not hiding any aspect of their lives.

Could one bare to be "sky clad",
revealing the real person?
Or, were we born naked and free
only to journey into elaborate disguise,
becoming "People of the Shells"?

one spoke unknowingly,
His echo failed to penetrate my understanding.
Someone moved too hastily,
And jolted the mountain but was far from me.
Someone prodded against my space,
To shatter the fine lines of my inner tune.
But I sat in the mountain of tranquility
One with my sweet moment of silence
And observed nature uncoil.