‘Twas many moons ago in fled days of yore,
In a distant realm of a golden shore,
When there dwelt a maiden of golden hair,
The last fairest by the name of Lenore.

The sweetness of her mellifluous voice,
Like only Angels of high heaven can make;
The beaminess of her impeccable face,
Reflections of a dawn sun-kissed lake.

Once by a golden noontide, so they say,
Perfectly salubrious was the day,
Fairly enriched by heaven's fairest ray
That Lenore chose to potter by the bay.

She marveled at so wide a limpid sea,
That was a vast luminous blue millpond,
Whispering mellifluous lullabies
Like of Angels upon heaven's compound.

“O sea, thou art lovely like a sweet dream,”
Quoth Lenore, “In thy waters I must swim.”
Hence as quick as a plummeting sunbeam,
In waters jumped the little seraphim.

Frosted in sheer elation she galloped
Upon the crest of so gentle a wave,
But every sea creature lifted its head,
Whilst doleful as marigold by a grave,

And in faint whispers didst bid her adieu,
"Farewell Lenore," till she was out of view,
Away where mortals of yore never knew,
Away where none canst ever have a clue.

In a while, the sun had shone her last ray
And solitary stars were beaming bright
Upon heaven's timelessly stonking bay,
But she still alone In the dead of night.

By luck, on yonder was a galleon
Of a sundeck decked with bright neon,
Her glossy sails as if from diamond hewn,
With words golden blazoned upon her stern:

Come thou little maiden, come thou aboard,
But little did innocent Lenore know,
At the back words in clear ruby-red read:
“To the kingdom of eternal sorrow.”

Not so long faded the night, dawn was nigh,
Heaven's molten gold began oozing by,
Whilst silvery clouds waltzed athwart the sky,
That Lenore's eyes slavered with ecstasy.

But then, there came a dog in the manger,
A hateful wave assailed the galleon
And heavens raged with roaring thunder
That echoed louder than the hungriest lion.

Tossing her where the sea kisses the skies,
Hence now but a speck on the horizons,
And there she galloped by and by downwards
Till wrecked upon shadowy blue islands

That bore words by the shores: “Little maiden,
Welcome thou to the kingdom of Nineva,
Where mortals shalt see thee never again,
For here you'll dwell forever and ever.”

This sent poor Lenore reeling far in mind
That with cinder-like eyes stumbled behind
But her galleon she could hardly find
For it had long vanished into the wind.

But hark! Yonder woods sprang a companion,
A lad whose names were Edgar Alan Poe;
Bestrode upon a snowy fair stallion
Who unto her whispered softly and low:

“If the moon be fair, then thy skin fairer,
If the stars be bright, then thine eyes brighter,
If snow be white, then thy lip’s gems whiter,
If the sun be hot, then thy hair hotter,

Then tell me, what bringeth thou to Nineva,
A realm of eternal sorrow and fear,
Where no mortal hath escaped ever,
But ever doomed in dungeons of despair?”

Despite her visage was lugubrious,
Her worries were all now but fugacious,
That yonder fair floral woods susurrous
Galloped whilst trees sang in tunes mellifluous.

For Edgar’s words of kindness had soothed her
Now doth she beam with ethereal luster
Like of night lanterns upon heavens shore
Scintillating in a wondrous cluster.

Alas! strange and covetous myriad eyes
By yon brier coveted the beauty queen
That as passes a fiend in the night skies
Did spy upon her with eyes all unseen

'Tis then when Edgar was away hunting
Whilst the beauty queen was all alone singing
When those dreamy figures came whispering
Amongst each other whilst wildly smiling.

Bestrode upon many a snowy fair horse,
Their strange faces, as pale as death her self.
Their voices, as if thousand snakes didst hiss,
Betwixt them, there lordly sprang an elf

Who unto her said, "how sweet thou dost sing,
Thy melodious voice would so please our king,
Unto thee, rubies and pearls shalt he bring,
Of banished gold shalt be thy nuptial ring."

"Nay", softly replied the little maiden,
To thy king I canst not walk down the isle,
For in violent love I'm with a swain,
Thy king's treasures outweigh not his smile.

"Wretch", why dost thou abhor our proposal?
For soon thou art to regret having done so,
So cried the elf, "opting for a mortal
Than a mighty king who is immortal"?

"Hark! Fair moon, see that morrow by noontide
Thou art by the edge of yon verdant moor,
For then thou shalt come with us yonder side
Neath the sea, and dwell with us evermore."

At this, a wild wind danced by many a leaf
And so vanished the strange troop of the elf
That she busted with a sigh of relief
Though deep within, her soul kindled with grief.

Not long, news sprinkled into the swain's ear
Who gathered a troop of a thousand men
Each bearing a bow, a hummer and spear,
All ready to guard the beauty queen.

When came morrow, they took little Lenore
And laid her beneath a lone sycamore
That stood by the edge of a lonely moor,
And then all matched towards the shingly shore.

No army led by any hostile king
Towards them could ever come any near.
There job was great that they did chant and sing
Songs of triumph of the fled days of yore.

Alas! To match towards the sycamore,
There pale and cold laid innocent Lenore
With not any single bone of poor her
Broken, but her breath taken evermore.

Mute, forlon, and motionless stood the swain
With bitter tears galloping from his eye,
With his soul 'neath a sepulchre of pain
That from yon day on, the realm he did curse.

For in Nineva, a realm dim and deep,
There not a mean ray of light canst now creep,
And there all creatures night and day dost weep
Till sweet Lenore wakes from eternal sleep.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros, Kampala, Uganda. 16th.July.2018.

#tale #adventure #fantasy #Lenore #EdgarAlanPoe #Nineva

Ah, woe is me for pleasure that is vain,
  Ah, woe is me for glory that is past:
  Pleasure that bringeth sorrow at the last,
Glory that at the last bringeth no gain!
So saith the sinking heart; and so again
  It shall say till the mighty angel-blast
  Is blown, making the sun and moon aghast,
And showering down the stars like sudden rain.
And evermore men shall go fearfully,
  Bending beneath their weight of heaviness;
And ancient men shall lie down wearily,
  And strong men shall rise up in weariness;
Yea, even the young shall answer sighingly,
  Saying one to another: How vain it is!

I prayed with light voices, but a burdened heart;
You are not here--that I am supposed to know of.
But still, my mind cannot accept that we are now apart.
I am despaired by my own hands, by my own love;
Your images keep shrouding me--you keep haunting me.
Your portraits shout your name, but none of ‘em is truthful;
They reject my bliss, though they told me I was beautiful.
I keep looking for you in the shades: but all I find is blueness,
And as daylight grows mature, I feel but scarce and clueless;
I am entrapped by my own wishes, and I can no longer write.
Ah, ‘tis over now--I should declare;
I walk home and sleep, and decide I should no more be in love--
Some sheer charms I might better not be.

I was running across the moors, and secretly hoped I would find thee there;
Thee with thy own giggles and mockery and childish wishes;
Thee with a resemblance of moonlit skies on thy face.
Thee with a thousand arches in thy brown eyes;
Eyes that were genuine, hopeful; with spirits that would not die.
And those lithe hands; and thy handful of full lips;
Thou always startled me within thy black jacket,
Yes, that black jacket with gruesome naughty little pockets,
Thou always asked me to chase around the bogs;
While peering naively into the hidden summer spider webs.
Thou woke me up with thy morn noises;
Thou wanted to tell me a tale of castles, friendship, and promises.
Thee with a thousand smiles, hopes, and legitimate fears;
Thee with the sweetness of a moonbeam, thee with one hundred kisses.
Thou wert like a lonesome butterfly at first;
And on a shiny day I but caught thee;
and weaved my colourful love onto thy plain nest.
Thou shined again, and I felt but merited;
As time passed, I grew hungrier for thee--and always delighted;
Thou wert a summer to a pleasant summer itself;
Thou made my heart warm, and my seasons magnified.
Even my lavenders were stupefied by thy cleverness;
They were warm always, to welcome and greet thee at night.
Ah, my darling, my half spirit, my sweet;
Thou owned the second spare of my green light;
Thou wert my frost at conned summers, and mild winters;
Thou wert the white snow I played with--and its evening rainbow!
Ah, and at times--thou wert like a nature among yon shrieking green grass;
I smiled always, as I entrapped thee within my clear glass.

I should twist this story away, and welcome him;
Welcome whoever shines through my love--in reality, and in dreams.
I know I hath to celebrate him behind the furnace;
I shall smile sweetly and charm him by my maiden’s face.
He hath a lovely aura as the unheeded stars;
And his steps are awkward, but stately as the moon’s.
He hath smooth and virile advantages about him;
He hath a weather, but still he hath not thy playful air.
He is serious, thou art more festive and thoughtful;
He is cordial, but I findeth him at times uninnate and insoluble.
Ah, Immortal, he liveth but in a cold bubble away from me;
And so you know, the love of him is but a love of pain;
Sometimes I want to find thy face in his poetry;
Sometimes I want to see again, but your fairness.
Thy heart is, as thou hath figured, widespread within me;
It ambushes me and glides me around like a cheeky star;
But as thou gazed into me,
I found that thy charms were absolute;
I pampered this notion of thee--as I still do;
Thou wert my nymphic and immortal dream;
Thou art my sane and insane ambition;
Thou art my sand, my boats, my sails!
Thou art the sea worth a thousand miles;
And I care not what foul and fuzziness thy soul might carry;
I shall purify thee, I shall endorse thee, I shall welcome thee into my lonely heart!
Ah, Immortal, I am but a spoiled of ruins and wreckage now;
As I woke up t'is very morn, I knew I wouldst not see you tomorrow.
And guess now--how shall I define our once glossy, faint Sofia?
I do not want to pronounce to Sofia, ah, our very dwellings, a goodbye;
I shall never pronounce such; and on t’is I shall care for thy sayings not--
As telling such wouldst indeed be a remarkable lie.
Instead, I should dream again, of being by your side;
I shall be the terrified mermaid--but thee--my gentle merman;
We shall swim across the sea and startle the aquatics by our depth;
And thereon I shall dream of myself cherishing you--and holding you in my arms;
As I pray and bow and submit the rhapsodies of my heart, all day and night.

Ah, but where is Immortal, Immortal, Immortal;
Without whom my heart is bleak; and winters are hard.
Ah, Immortal; by whom rains are pretty, and colours are magnificently saturated;
By whom storms are no more storms, and no more downpours are petty;
By whom lakeside houses are not cold, and slippery rocks are not frightful;
By whom birch trees shall sing, and honey bees shall farm away for hours.
Ah, Immortal, by whom my poetry stays alive, and fed tranquilly by yon earth;
Immortal, by whose lullabies I fall asleep among the midnight’s icy hearth.
Immortal, whom my heart values, and urges me to love;
Immortal, by whose side debris are whole, and ruins picture unity;
Ah, Immortal, by whose singing melodies are songs, and rhythms are but poetry.
Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose words--the entire worlds are but Sofia;
And all merit and grace but belong to the romantic Bulgaria.
Immortal my entire darling; who taught me to see how the moon teases the sun;
And how the latter becomes fainted but mirthful, at t’is very realisation.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose absence I feel but frightened.
Ah, Immortal, do you think I should hurry--shall I fleet and run?
I shall meet thee again tonight, around the corner by the lake;
Before such an eve grows genuine--causing the day to turn fake.
I should meet thee before everything is but feasted and pierced;
And I shall bringeth thee my midnight poems and soliloquy;
I shall embrace thee by my myths, and relish thee within my solitude.
I shall make thee remain by my side, and keep shady thy burly night;
I shall, perhaps, make thee my mirth itself--I shall keep thee warm, and safe, and bright.
Ah, Immortal, one who was always aired by my fresh recitations;
One who was entrenched in my tales of craze, atrocity, and vanity;
One who cried by me like a selfish child--but at times, became the radiance itself.
Ah, Immortal, one within whose palms the moon is transparent;
And the harmony of night becomes more possible;
Ah, my darling Immortal, who was once infatuated with my nights--and 'twas apparent;
Oh, my darling, my own darling, my very darling--how I hath only words to play with!

Where is but Immortal, Immortal, Immortal,
My jokes cannot sleep, and even my eyes choose to stay awake.
My heart feels absurd, as it is not calmed and soothed by him;
Even as I can sleep no more, I am but unable to edify him in my dreams.
Ah, where is my Immortal--for as I scurry outside, I cannot locate him;
While he is but the golden lock I need to deliberate my heart.
Ah, my husband, who owns but the charms heartbeat cannot describe;
Ah, Immortal, by thy words--thou knoweth, vanished worlds are real to me today.
The rush of your blood still, knowingly, flows within my breath;
You look like that little lad proudly standing by yon bridge faraway.
Immortal, my little sound, my eager song, my profound lilac;
How shall you ever know what you mean to my heart?
To me, you are more than any gold, brown silver, nor white bronze;
You are my tears, my growth, and the height of my winter;
You own the youth and throne my heart hath always longed for.
Ah, Immortal, no matter how hard thou hath defeated--and perhaps, betrayed me;
Thou art still more immortal than a thousand suns outside;
And more mature than t’is benighted winter as it already is.
Ah, Immortal, 'tis hath grown silent again, and I need to greet my lavish worlds;
But for you know--your scent shall remain better than the sun's on its own, and more lively.
Ah, Immortal, and while those winds shriek, and hop, and wail;
‘Tis your voice still, that I but imagine in my *****;
And while their spread and take rule of their wings;
Thou shalt remain by prince, my ruler--the one I choose to be my king.

My heart hath borne thee since I was in her womb;
My mother's chaste womb--and there, just there--
I had but been formed by her sheepish threads.
Ah, and thus I heart her like t’is-but not as much as I heart thee, perhaps;
If I doth dream of her; it meaneth I'd but dream of thee;
And thou knoweth--my dreams of winter shall be but one about thee;
About thee--my vigour, my shadow in my traces, my vengeful spirit.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal; my century of blessings, my time
and poetry of such an endless eternity.
Ah, Immortal, in whose heart there was purity;
And in whose love I felt reified, and no such tyranny,
Ah, and t’is loss of thee perhaps means a life of illness;
A time of neglect, but a loss of my valid youth.
I want not to age, for thou art, thyself, young and ageless and immortal;
I want to dwell but only in yon Paradise of thee;
And be fueled solely but thy desire, and not anyone else's.
Ah, Immortal, I want to feel but the flavour of thy skin;
And be engrossed but against thy stomach.
I want to be thy lily, and thy novel rose that shall never wither;
Ah, Immortal, I want to be little again; and thy most awesome lavender.

And thy blame--such as t'is one, shall mean a brawl to my destiny;
And its glam is but my fiery--while insuperable--destruction.
As I promised thee--I shall not be weary, I shall not be sad;
But never shall I love, never shall I be satisfied.
Ah, Immortal, I shall never agree to love again;
I want to keep my love for thee; for whom I shall advocate my youth,
I want never to share my trembling love with anyone else.
As I hath loved thee just now, perhaps I shall love thee forever;
Ah, Immortal, as how it usually is, thou shall be the sailor-
And ever the painter, in our very own colloquial poetry!

Immortal, my grace, my perambulations, my ecstasy;
Immortal, my good, my one, my irrepressible;
I hath fulfilled thy wishes, at least at present, to bear t'is alone;
But for you know, that life without thee is no Paradise;
And even when I am dead, perhaps my soul shall never lie;
I shall wander the earth still--to look for thee, my tears and my lost love;
And insofar as thou remaineth away, I shall too stay on earth; and never ascend above.

A soul, a survivor of an emptied dark pit
We calleth the planet-globe; Certes a western
Mountain glow. She giveth all, even to those
Who cometh with hatred, she's outspoken,
Unbroken, willing and thus patient. A prophetess
Of the clandestine; her poetry as wine to relax
Men and boy's, girl's who knoweth none joy- she
Bringeth the finest of lingo. Even with her own
Worries, she let's thine head, with her comforting
Word's- relax upon thine pillow. She's verily a
Poetess of the native land's meadow's. O' soul-
Survivor, with an open heart and kindred-spirit.
Only if everyone couldst seeith thy light, they'd
All come near it.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Birthday dedicated to soul-survivor....

Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;
Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required:
Restore him to my sight—great Jove, restore!”

With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands;
Her countenance brightens—and her eye expands;
As she expects the issue in repose.

What doth she look on?—whom doth she behold?
His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
And a God leads him, wingèd Mercury!

That calms all fear; “Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,
Thy husband walks the paths of upper air:
Accept the gift, behold him face to face!”

Again that consummation she essayed;
As often as that eager grasp was made.
And re-assume his place before her sight.

Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:
Speak, and the floor thou tread’st on will rejoice.
This precious boon; and blest a sad abode.”

His gifts imperfect:—Spectre though I be,
But in reward of thy fidelity.
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand
A generous cause a victim did demand;
A self-devoted chief—by Hector slain.”

Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore;
A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
Thou should’st elude the malice of the grave:
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.

Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!
To me, this day a second time thy bride!”
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys
And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys
Calm pleasures there abide—majestic pains.

Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve
A fervent, not ungovernable love.
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn—”

Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb
Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?
And æson stood a youth ’mid youthful peers.

Yet further may relent: for mightier far
Of magic potent over sun and star,
And though his favourite seat be feeble woman’s breast.

She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;
In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared
Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

In worlds whose course is equable and pure;
The past unsighed for, and the future sure;
Revived, with finer harmony pursued;

In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,
And fields invested with purpureal gleams;
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey.

That privilege by virtue.—”Ill,” said he,
Who from ignoble games and revelry
While tears were thy best pastime, day and night;

(Each hero following his peculiar bent)
By martial sports,—or, seated in the tent,
What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained.

The oracle, upon the silent sea;
That, of a thousand vessels, mine should be
Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand.

When of thy loss I thought, belovèd Wife!
And on the joys we shared in mortal life,—
My new-planned cities, and unfinished towers.

‘Behold they tremble!—haughty their array,
In soul I swept the indignity away:
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

In reason, in self-government too slow;
Our blest re-union in the shades below.
Be thy affections raised and solemnised.

Seeking a higher object. Love was given,
For this the passion to excess was driven—
The fetters of a dream opposed to love.—

Round the dear Shade she would have clung—’tis vain:
And him no mortal effort can detain:
He through the portal takes his silent way,

She perished; and, as for a wilful crime,
Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,
Of blissful quiet ’mid unfading bowers.

And mortal hopes defeated and o’erthrown
As fondly he believes.—Upon the side
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew
And ever, when such stature they had gained
The trees’ tall summits withered at the sight;

Dear Mrs. Nagley

Oh my dearest mother-in-law,
Did Brandon my king write you?
I am in my utmost state of agitation,
I don’t know what to do, I’m going “non compos mentis”.


Did he left a letter for me before he go?
He said he’ll be in my arms for less than a week,
Oh my goodness it’s been more than 2 weeks!
Oh, this throe is burying me alive in my grave.


Mother-in-law, Oh, mother-in-law,
I am in extreme dejection,
Oh where is my soulmate, my king, my all?
Where is he, please tell me where is he.


Please assure me nothing bad happened,
Oh this eyes shed bucket of tears,
They’re swollen and I am so weary,
Please mother-in-law, tell me what’s going on.

Sincerely your daughter-in-law
Earl Jane Nagley
September 27th, 1876



(Mrs. Nagley's response letter)

Dearest daughter in law Jane........

He left over two week's ago, didst he not correspond?
Mineself either hath no way to knoweth;
I'm worried mineself, me and his father,
We hast not heard one word from ourn son, dearest daughter.

Do not fret Jane, maby mine son's cruise ship is late
If he doth get there, telleth him to write his mum;
I'm crying now from this stress, there art no word's to calm,
Me and his father heard a storm was coming in, I'm anxious.

We need to hath faith mine son wilt maketh it.
Maby the captain's running late, maby the ocean's shaking;
Mine baby is strong, as I prayest he mayest hold on to the thunderous lightning that's hitting the dawn, I want mine son.

Im on mine knee's now, begging God to bringeth him to thee
If he dost not maketh it to thee Jane, mine daughter and sweet;
I wouldst not knoweth what to do without thy king, mine son!
I'm beseeching Yahweh's mercy, mayest god protect his ship run.

Your Mother in law, Juna Nagley............
October 9th, 1876


ONE WEEK LATER MRS. NAGLEY WRITES ONE LAST LETTER TO HER DAUGHTER IN LAW JANE NAGLEY ON THE NEWS OF BRANDON........


Dearest daughter in law Jane.........

Me and mine husband hath received news on mine son, and thine king, I'm heartbroken to telleth thee, but the ship succumbed to the storm's ferocious sting; I prayed and begged to god, yet mine son no longer couldst cling, he passed at twenty-seven. The front half of the vessel broke into many pieces, the lightning struck the sail as tis all the men were flung west and east: Mine baby found some wood to grasp onto, though shark's were around, as ******* they made there move. He was taken by the man-eater's and sunk into the deep blue. O' how saddened I am, O' how I miss mine son, this ****'s mine soul and break's me in ways more than one...... Here is the letter mine son left when they found him floating by the blood of his vest.
Sincerely mom ...
October 16, 1876

( Brandon's letter to his wife Jane Nagley)

Dear amour', I canst not write thee much, mine limbs art bleeding out from the shark bites and cuts. Mine ship went down, as tis this is God's will, please if thou shalt get this letter please knoweth thou art mine queen, mine body shalt be renewed in the presence of the Lord's feet; thou art not losing me, remember? No goodbye's, if I'm to goeth now and if I'm to die, smileth for me lass, drieth thine eye's; I'll meeteth thee in the third celestial, i'll meet thee there.... By the pearly gate's. On cloud nine.

Thy king and soulmate, always and forever

Brandon Cory nagley........
September 23rd, 1876........




©Brandon nagley \Earl Jane Nagley duo
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Hari-reyna incorporated

i.

mo chroí, do not dismay, we art not chained global slave's, as tis
We art ourn father God's chosen; we need to bringeth hope to those lost, wearied and broken.

ii.

mo bhanríon, these stanza's art ourn song's, ourn voices shalt carry on, as peach-faced lovebird's in the dawn;

iii.

a chuisle mo chroí, holdeth me closer, embrace mine visage, we must be Argus-eyed, in the coming soon explosional shock, for this terrace of dirt shalt shaketh as rock's, back to the sand- dusted, eleven-fifty-nine's on the clock;

iv.

We were created together, verily for this reason, to emit forgiveness and compassion, if even for one planetary season;  also we were generated distances ago, then we were soulmates as still now- though then at that time, thou didst not know. I weaved intimately in and back out of thy soul, thine past spirit memory faded, before now I was thy king and thy whole. When we were sent to earth to taketh human form, ourn affections from kingdom's ago were forgotten and mourned, though tis mine lass when I saweth thee again, I kneweth thou were me, as tis I'm thee mine sweet, mine Jane, mine best friend. So now that I haveth thee again, back Into mine reach; we'll spend eternity with the saint's, well learn together, and we shalt teach......



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose ) dedication

WRITTEN FOR HIS MOTHER

Dame du ciel, regents terrienne,
Emperiere des infemaux palus....

Lady of Heaven and earth, and therewithal
Crowned Empress of the nether clefts of Hell,—

I, thy poor Christian, on thy name do call,
Commending me to thee, with thee to dwell,
Albeit in nought I be commendable.

But all mine undeserving may not mar
Such mercies as thy sovereign mercies are;
Without the which (as true words testify)
No soul can reach thy Heaven so fair and far.
Even in this faith I choose to live and die.
Unto thy Son say thou that I am His,
And to me graceless make Him gracious.
Said Mary of Egypt lacked not of that bliss,
Nor yet the sorrowful clerk Theopbilus,
Whose bitter sins were set aside even thus
Though to the Fiend his bounden service was.
Oh help me, lest in vain for me should pass
(Sweet ****** that shalt have no loss thereby!)
The blessed Host and sacring of the Mass
Even in this faith I choose to live and die.

A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old,
I am, and nothing learn'd in letter-lore.
Within my parish-cloister I behold
A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore,
And eke an Hell whose ****** folk seethe full sore:
One bringeth fear, the other joy to me.
That joy, great Goddess, make thou mine to be,—
Thou of whom all must ask it even as I;
And that which faith desires, that let it see.
For in this faith I choose to live and die.

O excellent ****** Princess! thou didst bear
King Jesus, the most excellent comforter,
Who even of this our weakness craved a share
And for our sake stooped to us from on high,
Offering to death His young life sweet and fair.
Such as He is, Our Lord, I Him declare,
And in this faith I choose to live and die.


Dante Gabriel Rossetti, trans.

J.
Ah, J.
A love I hath excitedly longed to find,
A love t'at previously had no name.
J.
A love too thrilling for my sights to feel,
and perhaps th' only love t'at couldst make me thrilled;
A love so genuine and benevolent,
A love so talented and intelligent.
Ah, J.
A love t'at just recently landed on my mind;
And made all my lyrical days far more splendid;
A love t'at briefed, and altered me more and more;
A love so chilly and important, with subt'leness like never before.
Ah, J.
My very, very own J.
Perhaps my future king, my precious, but at times villainous-darling.
Oh, J.
And perhaps I am just not as virtuous as I might be,
But t'is poem shall still be about thee;
For thou art-within my minds, still awkwardly th' best one,
With a pair of oceanic eyes too dear; and a civil charm so fine.
J.
J, o my love.
If only thou knew-how oceans sparkles within thy eyes,
And 'tis only in thy eyes, t'at any of t'ese complications might not become eerie,
And then t'is destiny is true, as well as how truth is our destiny;
So t'at any precarious delicacy is still faint-perhaps, but not a lie.
Oh, J.
A bubble of excitement t'at my heart feelest;
But if consented not, shall be the wound no blood couldst heal;
Ah, J, if the heavens' rainbow wert fallen, t'an thou'd be purer;
Born as a sin as us all humans, thou art cleaner to my heart still, and canst but love me much better.
Ah, J.
If only thou knew-how madness floweth and barketh and drinketh from our spheres,
But even th' devil cannot spill its curse on our strangled love;
At least until everything is deaf-and we duly cannot hear,
As skies descend onto th' sore earth; and our dumb sins are t' be sent above.

J.
How pivotal thou art to me-if only yon foliage couldst understand;
If only t'ose winds were not rivals, but one-or at least wanted to be friends.
Ah, J, even only thy words filled my comical ******* to th' brim;
And as far as heavens' angels canst hear, I am no more in love with him.
Ah, J.
'Tis cause my verses are seeking thy name, and his not;
I may create th' words, but thou deviseth my plots;
Ah, and him, the bulk of egotism, and whose frank misery;
Are but too disastrous to me, and in possession of too much agony.
Oh, J.
Thus thou art th' only one who remaineth solemn;
Th' one to remain ecstatic, and as less aggressive as calmness;
But of the broad thoughts I used to think of him, I feel shame;
He is just some unborn trepidation at night-though on fine mornings, he is tame.
Ah, J.
Let me disclose th' egress of thy journey, and tellest me now-is which towards mine?
Ah, thee, thou who art so bounty, and deliciously fine;
And t'ese thoughts of thee-are often tasty, and oft'times generous;
'Ven when thou'rt mad, and thy chanting is vigorously serious.
Ah, J.
Thee, a soul of painless blood;
Whose disgrace hath been buried;
Whose vanities hath been laid off;
Whose miracles hath been lavished on.
Ah, J.
Thou art one bright portrayal of my merit;
I fell'n love with thee in a single bit.
Thou bore my tears, and scorned away my guilt;
And in th' swaying summertime, thou wert my protective shield.
Thus my, my very own J.
My gale-like, and unutterably luscious poem;
About whom my thoughts are jolly, but mindful and insensible;
Ah, J, I wish I were more frail, paler, and gullible;
Ah, but if only being so couldst make me more compatible.
Oh, J.
And compatible, compatible with thee alone;
Fleshly be thine whenst all is borne on thy own;
Be thy only trusted companion, and thy eloquently verified wife;
Be thine, and thine in wifery only, throughout and for th' rest of thy life.
J.
All Let me then guess but the tranquility of thy thoughts-hath thou gone mad?
Behind us are rainbows, and thus thy songs should not be sad;
But even though they were sad, I wouldst lend thee my heart;
So t'at no summer sunshine couldst further tear us apart.
J.
Ah, J, why are th' blue skies far too impatient in thy eyes?
Just as how thy deep scent is febrile in my air;
Thy gushes of breath are thick in my young weather;
As buoyant as yon summer itself; as voluptuous as lingering daisies.
J.
And t'is ****** scream, within my heart, needs indeed-t' be fulfilled;
And its vulnerability t'ere always, to be killed;
Ah, J, t'ere is 'finitely no poem as beautiful as thee;
T'ere is no writing yet as such, as trivial and distant-as my eyes canst see.
J.
Ah, J, darling, and my very fine darling; is chastity to thee virtuous?
About which my soul is hungered-and t'ereby curious;
But if 'tis so, I shall be merry-and ever meekly laborious;
I shall make it tender, and maketh it a reliant gift, to thee.
J.
Ah, J, and thou came to me one aft'rnoon, with a sweet muteness;
For to thee, poems are far more pivotal to a young poetess;
Yes, and far prettier t'an a beastly bunch of words;
Whose curse is whose sweetness itself-and whose whole sweetness is curse.
J.
Ah, J, so shall I be thy pure lady t'en?
For purity is a curse-and related not within t'ese walls;
Walls of discomfort-irresolute and at certain times foreign still;
Walls t'at shun us-and be ours not, due to t'eir own reserved castigations.
J.
Oh, querida, my random rainbow-but still my dearest querida;
My poetry in th' morning, and th' baffling flute, for my evening sonata;
And as it is sounded, I shall be thy private lonely prelude;
But th' one who maketh thee singular, and nevertheless, handsomely proud.
Ah, J.
And thy perfect red lips are th' stillettos of the sun;
Critical but radiant-all too agonising in t'eir inevitable shape;
So t'at kissing might be just too much fun;
And from which, o my love, t'ere is no such a famous escape.

J.
Ah, J, thou knoweth not-I am asleep only within thy remembrance;
As how I am awake only in thy life, and partake of my justice, in thy glory.
Ah, J, but if satire were the only choice we had, shalt thou be with me?
Ah, my J, for be it so-I shall never regret anything, I shall never say sorry.

J.
Ah, wherefore art thou now, my love? I am now cursed. My dreams are mad.
I am now crawling out of whose realms; I wanteth but'a stay no more in my bed.
Ah, J, but in my dream thou wert too miles and miles away, and indolently anonymous;
I hatest sleep t'ereof, for t'ey piercest me so tiringly, with a harm they deemest as humorous.

J.
Ah, sweet darling, and in our dreams, t'ere is no strain, nor piety;
Even thou-in th' last one, despised my pyramids-and my chaste poetry;
Ah, querida, I am but afraid our loneliness shall be gone 'fore long;
For its temporariness is not sick, and canst work its way along, with a belief so strong.

J.
Ah, love, but t'is loveliness itself-is indeed tyrannous,
And its frigid poetry is randomly perilous,
As how th' daydreams it bringeth forth-which are luminous,
But as love is innocent, by one second canst all turn perilous!
J.
Ah, J, thus our story is brilliant, and in any volume real' magnificent,
With curves palatable, but with some greyness too fair-and too pleasant!
Ah, J, if passion dost exist, and thus maketh it all real;
And at once I shall understand thee; and listen only, to how we both feelest.

Ah, J.
My very, very own little J.
My dearest J.
The harbour of my ultimate love.
My most cordial, and serene spring of affection.
My most veritable nirvana, my vivid curiosity-and shades of frankness.
My dream at heart, and my sustainable ferocious haste.
Th' love in which my ever fear shall subside,
And be overwhelmed by its unfearing light.
J.
Oh, J, my glossy, exuberant darling.
And as more winds sway, and amongst the green grass outside,
I canst but feel thy eyes here watching;
Thy eyes t'at widely grinneth, and flirtest with my poetry itself;
Thy eyes t'at forever invitest, yet are all more daring than myself;
Ah, J, even though t'is love may be a secret scene,
But I hath felt, even vulnerably, not any provoking passion so keen-
For though they couldst my flowed veins hear,
They were still delicately unseen-with a serenity t'at was ne'er here.

That fella to seemingly false gods
Giveth his entire devotion, worshipping
Carved and graven images and idols
Instead of the Lord Almighty in heaven.
Even the witches in their chosen coven
And Satan himself are to God bowing.
Idolatry filleth God's heart with sorrow
Like adultery bringeth to a home woe.

Mine lily of the valley, mine lotus of the unrestrained.
Mine Senna alata, mine allay of human angst;
Mine Kalinaw in mine Stygian juncture's,
Mine Kaulayaw aloft the extraterrestrial
Structures.                          Mine Paraluman that giveth me these word's to writeth, the one that bringeth me excite;
In mine core thou art invited.
Mine Kundiman by which I replay in this skull,
Mine hand of time, mine angelic mind-
That I do learn from.
Mine Makisig precious stone, undug from the clay,
Mine, all mine, I canst sayest it all day.
Mine past, present, future; woman of now, forever's our's
Mine Jane. O' how Dalisay, O' how Dalisay, doth ourn water run sparkling; Only because mine love, we sip it as queen and king. One time soon, to shareth wedded ring's, wherein the pain's of the now; art gone and unforseen.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry'
©Earl jane sardua Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedicated

When in her presence,
I humbly drop to mine knees....
Not just because she's mi amour,
But because she's mine queen...

And whilst holding up by mine forearm's
I seeith her night-gown floweth,
As the tiera on her head
Maketh me fall when it gloweth...


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

i.

Tommorrow
O' tommorrow;
Bringeth me closer to mine love.

ii.

Tommorrow
O' tommorrow;
Telleth Jane I'll be looking from above.

iii.

Tonight
O tonight;
I prayeth to seeith mine empress in mine sleep.

iv.

Tonight
Wherein it's mine soul;
She doth keep.




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)

Amain I want to maneuver
Onward into her incandescent
Cloak, as the igneous smoke
That arises. Mine eye's art
Tired and crying; as I just
Want one fragment of her
Skin to feeleth. O' as a man
For I'm weak, as an extra-
mundane being mine thought's
Come out faster then mine
Word's canst speak. I wilt
Continueth not in the flesh,
For the flesh burdeneth the
Soul; though in patience
And spirit, ourn long-
Suffering shalt be made
As the finest of gold. O'
Loveliest Jane, thought
Of mine thinking's, red
In mine brain, How the
Day's and night's art
Long, though I wilt
Still continueth in
Prayer, hymns
Song. Giving
Glory for what
I do hath. In happy or
Sad, good and bad; I'll always look ahead.
To the morrow wherein mine frown wilt be laughter and the roses I shalt giveth thee wilt be of rose loving scent. O' soon mine tear's shalt be dried, and mine phantom wilt no longer be in rent.
As I giveth gratitude to ourn Potter who maketh all thing's new,
Who bringeth water, with droplet dew, who maketh bird's hath nest's, and babies hath homes, in places of peacefulness. O' if the morrow doth for some reason not arrive; I'll send thee an engravement on mount Malindang, With the ring that never
Made it to thee; and mine kisses to spell thy name.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( pookie dedication)

i.

O' dear lord, how gracious thou hast been to me, as thou hath undeservingly given me, Mine Jane, mine queen.

ii.

O' dear lord, how merciful thou hast been to me, I was in the mire, on earth's ground I tired; thou hath saved me from the fire,
And revived me from deathly sleep.

iii.

O' dear lord, how great is thine love, I hung in the shadows, wherein death didst battle, taking me underneath, as thou were above.

iv.

O' heavenly Father, born a sinner by nature, I seeked to do thine will later, as tis it needeth done now.

v.

O' Yahweh, Elohim, Jehovah, maker of mine Savior, bringing saccharine taste to all flavor's; thou gaveth me the talent to jot down upon paper, the door that thou keepeth open for all mankind.

vi.

O' holy one, supernatural, divine, mayest thy word's like eternal honey drip, upon the poor and Meek's lip's, mayest thy reign over-taketh evil; as it soon shalt in it's time.

vii.

O' mighty and magnanimous king, mayest Jane and I singeth with thine angel's wherein the tranquility shalt ring, as a million Bell's overcoming hell, freeing captives from their cell's, keeping widow's in thy help, making penniless to hath abundance, keeping material's purely redundant, bringing peace soon upon this desolate place of trial's, none more telephone's or technology, none man-made thing's to better one- as tis they only maketh it worse, let thy comfort be upon thy church, and even them that knoweth thee not. Let the homeless find their abode in thee, bringeth lights as humans to preach in thy holy place, and in metal cities, let the Opulent findeth worldly wisdom, for their riches shalt be naught. Let their treasure's forsake them, as I knoweth to; salvation and true amour' canst not be bought, let the ancient dead arise, as tis the word's cometh up hither soon I knoweth shalt arrive. Let the depressed and those of suicide seeith inside thy eye's the affection thou hast for them, mayest thou comforteth friend's with Friends, and those of none kin. Mayest thou purify me, strenghten me, in past and present sin. Mayest thou blesseth me and mine Reyna in light of heaven, and during this sphere's minutes coming to slim. Protecteth me and mine lass, as the time's art coming to pass, wherein Satan shalt plot against us to win. Grant me and Mine empress matrimony before the time If thou wilt, if not on this globe, in thy kingdom itself.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication

Mine pet;

When coming to America, I shalt showeth thee
All fifty states, of the United States
Mine queen....

Alabama; Down south, the place of the little river canyon national reserve, at the top of lookout mountain, where bird's canst be heard.
Alaska; A place far out west, a wild domain, a place untamed, where thou canst let out thy wildness.
Arizona; a place of ourn beloved poet ( soul survivor) a native American land, where cacti run the land's, and dirt is bright red.
Arkansas; To hot spring's national park, where beauty canst be seen in the dark, and soaked in through the warm bubbled water.
California; A place redwood tree's and Sequoia's, a land for the strange, and weird thing's, where all cometh together.
Colorado; where mine oldest brother liveth, where the crystalline water as a drink it giveth, and the *****'s peak highly amour'.
Connecticut; A place of Eastern sandshores, where we canst walketh in ourn galore, holding hand's, I'll sayeth me more!!!
Delaware; Delmara peninsula where we canst seeith awe-shocking elegance, where we canst travel in all remembrance.
Florida; thither mine middle brother's terra firma, a place of alligator's, swamp's, ocean waves, surfer's and hot sun drop's.
Georgia; The place where slave's fought hard, Atlanta city, a big place of life, fast and slow.where rich men go to liveth large.
Hawaii; Tropical island like thy own, not connected to the mainland though, swaying tree's like thy own, heavenly splendor.
Idaho; Where we canst get the best potatoes, I'll make them mashed, with gravy, chicken and tomatoes, I'll feed thee good.
Illinois; Where the huge city of Chicago sit's, large skyscraper's, and city bliss. Where the water sparkles the view.
Indiana; Marengo Cave National Landmark, where we canst sneak inside the cave's, then to Indianapolis, to wander through the shade.
Iowa; To Pikes Peak state park, where the Mississippi and Wisconsin river's meet to start, a beautiful picture indeed.
Kansas; Off to Rock City, an odd place where two-hundred boulders rest, then to Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center to explore a place of knowledge, learning of the new, and happiness.
Kentucky; To Mammoth Cave National Park, in strangeness we shalt walk the dark, with lantern's to carry ourn shadow's.
Louisiana; Also the well known area of New orlean's, where jazz music doesn't stop and the people art it's scene. Where people overcometh!!!!
Maine; To get some of the best seafood around, the eastern wind shalt bloweth us around, as love thou shouldst bring a coat dear.
Maryland; Where Edgar Allen poe was born, where the Raven sung and mourned, though the sunshine shines it's people.
Massachusetts; The land of Many Irishmen and fishermen, settling thee down in Boston, where the accent of the easterly go loudly.
Michigan; The state just above me, they haveth natural lake's and the chill is breezed, the soul's art kind, and people dream, their alive.
Minnesota; where the snow piles to thy ride, the whitened picture is Christmas to thy eye's, as thou wilt need to dress warm.
Mississippi; Deep down south, where the language changes, word's art more southern and slang it clingeth, onto thy lip's.
Missouri; First to the St. Louis arch, it bend's to the sky and is six hundred and twenty five feet from thy heart, as high we shalt view.
Montana; Western freedom, wherein nature is painted, horses roam, thing's aren't tainted, guileless and natural.
Nebraska; Betwixt the corn stalks and field's, farmer's work hard and people art real, as hard work like thy country is known.
Nevada; To Las Vegas the desert Oasis, light's art big, as room's art spacious, different is here with a million face's, gambler's taketh their chances.
New Hampshire; Near Lake Winnipesaukee, a sensible area where being's doeth their best, eastward again, bringeth hot dress.
New Jersey; To Atlantic City on the boardwalk, a place of tales and beach defined walk, sunshined day's where lingo talk's, and the traveling shalt be sweet.
New Mexico; Dusty native land, the dirt is grained, the pinnacles of silence is maintained, by God's still voice.
New York; Aka- The big apple, where immigrant's once cameth through, immigrant's as me thou and you. Meaning were all the same.
North Carolina; Blue Ridge *****'s peak the entry, ancient places here art serene, tranquil relaxing is here mine queen!!!
North Dakota; farther again out west, talk to the Indian's to get the best, they'll giveth thee information to inform the rest.
Ohio; Mine state, the heart of the country, I mean by it's shape, were surrounded by all, we sit on a lake, we hath cornfield's, barn's, southern Hill's, northern star's, kind folk's and fancy cars, mixed with great stores for shopping, as I'll buyeth thee as much as thy heart canst be enlarged.
Oklahoma; Indigenous territory, creatures art relaxed, no need for no hurry.
Oregon; Where tree's groweth big, rainfall is the normal, and wild children art the kid's, beautiful scenery is blossoming mist.
Pennsylvania; On the eastern edge of the Appalachian Top's, green none make believe, the quietness is beauty, a part of God!!!

A name, a name
What be in a name?
Forsooth, more than I had attended.
Montague hath borne me, yet unto Capulet tombs do I bestow myself.
This pestilence of a name, oh!
What sorrow has it brought Romeo!
Yet I do not beshrew my name this wicked Fate.
My Juliet, mine own love,
could Death have yet to claim thee?
Thine cheeks, rosy as summer
thine skin, warm as sunlight.
Could thee truly indeed be Death's paramour?
Would not it sur-prise me, for thine beauty is oft coveted.
'Twas not fault of mine nor fault of yours that hath led us to such accursed Fate;
'twas fault of our blood, flowing in hatred; marry for many a year.
Long did Montague carry coals from the lips of thine cousins, and Capulet from mine.
Alas, to reminisce does one no good.
I shall tarry not long, my love!
Bitter apothecary, thou bringeth me upward to St. Peter;
to the glimmering gates of the Promised Land where mine Juliet awaits!
...But behold how her eyes flutter; my heart stutters in reproach.
But fight can I not!
I succumb to the arms of Death.
Follow on my heels, dear Juliet.

This world was not
Meant; for an angel's
Display, the angel only
Cometh, to bringeth light
In dark day's.

The angel's only
Place, is from the
Star's wherein they
Came. The angel's
Art of God, not of
The world's hate.

The angel's art the
Bringer's, the messenger's
Of life; they cometh O' they
Goeth, they leaveth by the night.

The angel's art fading
Dying in mystical wind's;
Their partially human to,
For they've indulged in
Worldly sin's.

The world was not
Meant; for an angel's
Display. For an angel
Only cometh, to giveth
Light to empty flames.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

To the saints and faithful brethren in Christ which are at Colosse: Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

3 We give thanks to God and the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, praying always for you,

4 Since we heard of your faith in Christ Jesus, and of the love which ye have to all the saints,

5 For the hope which is laid up for you in heaven, whereof ye heard before in the word of the truth of the gospel;

6 Which is come unto you, as it is in all the world; and bringeth forth fruit, as it doth also in you, since the day ye heard of it, and knew the grace of God in truth:

7 As ye also learned of Epaphras our dear fellowservant, who is for you a faithful minister of Christ;

8 Who also declared unto us your love in the Spirit.

9 For this cause we also, since the day we heard it, do not cease to pray for you, and to desire that ye might be filled with the knowledge of his will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding;

10 That ye might walk worthy of the Lord unto all pleasing, being fruitful in every good work, and increasing in the knowledge of God;

11 Strengthened with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness;

12 Giving thanks unto the Father, which hath made us meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light:

13 Who hath delivered us from the power of darkness, and hath translated us into the kingdom of his dear Son:

14 In whom we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of sins:

15 Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature:

16 For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him:

17 And he is before all things, and by him all things consist.

18 And he is the head of the body, the church: who is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead; that in all things he might have the preeminence.

19 For it pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell;

20 And, having made peace through the blood of his cross, by him to reconcile all things unto himself; by him, I say, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven.

21 And you, that were sometime alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now hath he reconciled

22 In the body of his flesh through death, to present you holy and unblameable and unreproveable in his sight:

23 If ye continue in the faith grounded and settled, and be not moved away from the hope of the gospel, which ye have heard, and which was preached to every creature which is under heaven; whereof I Paul am made a minister;

24 Who now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh for his body's sake, which is the church:

25 Whereof I am made a minister, according to the dispensation of God which is given to me for you, to fulfil the word of God;

26 Even the mystery which hath been hid from ages and from generations, but now is made manifest to his saints:

27 To whom God would make known what is the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles; which is Christ in you, the hope of glory:

28 Whom we preach, warning every man, and teaching every man in all wisdom; that we may present every man perfect in Christ Jesus:

29 Whereunto I also labour, striving according to his working, which worketh in me mightily

i.

We were sewn together
To be an example;
To the ghost's lost
And forgotten.

ii.


We were made together
To be sweetened host's;
Betwixt the devil, graves,
The evil and rotten.

iii.

We were called into existence
To bringeth into remembrance;
That life, tis life
Is precious.

iv.

Once separated
As tis when ourn spirit's found fleshly bodies;
Though back together again
Peace, serenity, heavenly surrounding's.

v.

Now sewn together
Once again as aforetimes;
The same heart, brain
Soul, blood-stains,
Golden mind's.

vi.

And now until
The passing of time's;
Shalt me and mine Reyna
Spreadeth ourn wings called amour,
And fly.

i.

On this Halloween children art given load's of sugary treat's,
Whilst demon's roam, spirit's unseen and unknown,
Lurk around each abode, across the street;

ii.

Whilst the innocent adolescent's art having the fun of their era
Satan bringeth down the land of the free;
Through "tradition" and terror.

iii.

Not knowing the mask's meaning, the small one's put on,
The babes weareth Satanic horn's, with cutsie adorn;
As the lamented art more than alive, just beyond the dawn.

iv.

As tis this land worship's darkness, not knowing it's own becoming; blindness cometh out on Halloween, the night of false fun and adult strange release, a night to worship the unliving, as whilst they enjoy it not knowing, whom or what they praise is the beast.




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

Bon anniversaire, brother Eddie,
Continue in fondness;
To those in hurt
And blood
Shedding.

Felix natalis, compeer in Christ,
Showeth his mercy, love,
Sacrifice.

eyd mawlid saeid, man of God,
Like the Messiah hadst died
For thee; dieth for other's,
Spread the gospel as seed.

Charoúmena genéthlia, Edward
The star, a light amongst the darkness,
The soul to those lost to death's kiss;
Teacheth who the man was who hadst
Come in the flesh, to hath his hand's
Nailed, and head crowned with thorn's;
Mocked and scorned, his heart
Didst mourn, giving up his
Holy ghost, for thou and me.

Penblwydd hapus, disciple
For Yeshua, mayest another
Year of thy birth bringeth
beatitude not curse, as
Yahweh is thine church,
As the spirit is thine weapon.
Against Satan's doubting's
And question's, against the
Lonesomeness and heaviness,
Against the sin's and burden,
Against those who know thee
Not, whom hath not loved thee,
But thee they forgot, remembereth
Dearest saint, one day thou shalt
Hath a Robe pearlescent colored
White as snow, knowing heaven
Is thine place and home. Happy
Birthday O' happy blessed birthday:
To thee man of Yeshua ha'mashiach.
Man of the creator, creation and rock,
Wherein thine foundation is built
Upon stone and not sand...



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Edward star birthday dedication

Like to the bird that singeth
    To woo a ***** make,
I sing; and yet it bringeth
    Upon my throat an ache.

For one who cannot hear me
    Is one for whom I sing:
I sing for one not near me
    Of loneliness and spring.

^ ^

i.

Atop her head, she weareth a crown
Tis, once was dead;
Though now alive, I've been found.

ii.

I was buried,
Verily; in the
Ground;

iii.

I mourned
For age's;
In a coffin compound.

iv.

Though by the grace,
The mercy of mine
God;

v.

I was restored
Inside mine
Amour; once
a cadaver, now
I've entered a
Door, a door that
Bringeth life, love
and reflection. In
An upward flight;
I've been saved, by
Queen Jane's invitation.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)

Mine Jane
O' mine jane;
How I canst not waiteth
To seeith thine face.

Mine Jane
O' godly jane;
Ourn bones shalt locketh
Inside, between ourn hand's.

Mine Jane
O' darling jane;
When we do meeteth
I shalt removeth thine old stain's.

Mine Jane
O' angelic jane;
Douse me in thy slaver
Showeth me that amour, thou hath written on paper.

Mine Jane
O' **** Jane;
Bringeth thine leg's closer
Maketh me beg, pull the blonde on mine head, be the chauffeur.

Mine Jane
O' goddess jane;
Throweth me down, back to the ground
Jump on me, childplay.

Mine jane
O' Filipino Jane;
Calleth mine name
I'll yet back louder, us both bursting in hott flame's.

Mine Jane
O' masterpiece jane;
No word's, hush love
Taketh me again.

Mine Jane
O' mine Filipino rose;
Who careth what other's think
The whole world already knoweth.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication

A hidden key
To unlock this soul
A Victorian queen
To confine mine home

An ancient lass
Druid class
Unpolished
Uncorrupted

I seeketh one to give me all
As I her
Two words
(King and queen)

To be the apple of her eye
Bringeth me back to life
Push the red soup back in mine arteries
Light the alpha and omega torch!!!!

Scorched!!!

By ones petting upon mine countenance
A cigarette of Aphroditus
A holy plus and sacred minus
A positive and negative so attractional!!!

Her long darkened locks
To zephyr across mine chiffonier
As she drenches me in cartoon weird
A delighting smear of two bodies in the swelter!!!!!

Unplugged
Raw
Unkiltered
Filthy animals in rawest mold!!!

Antediluvian souls!!!!

Her slaver
Uncustomarily
Her quiver
I tasteth as dairy

Unadulterated by man, plush by god!!!

Yet its a lost chimera
Laughing back at me
There's none that standeth at mine gate
All a whimpering dream

A fantasy of hopeless romantic!!

Why chase the treasure?
I see no chance
Still a dunce
Of high school dance

As I'll sit in the bleachers glancing the crowd!!!!

i.

Like a dozen saint's
Echoing in ethereal song;
The ringing of her voice
Awaketh me in the dawn.

                                             ii.

                                             By midday, her company bringeth calm
                                             Her tranquility is serenity;
                                             She's the thirst of mine tongue.

iii.

The church in the sun
Unrevealed to humanoid tradition's;
The periapt glued to mine synapse
O' how the firmament is glorified by her winged extension's.



©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication-filipino rose
©Lonesome Poet's Poetry

i.

Mine Filipino rose
Didst thou knoweth;
When thou art gone
Mine worry doth showeth.

ii.

Mine Filipino rose
Doth thou understand;
I'll waiteth for thee
Forever to be, in thine arm's and hand's.

iii.

Mine Filipino rose
Mine angelic being of glow;
Meeteth me at the show
In the kingdom of ourn endearment abode.

iv.

Mine Filipino rose
When thou art not near;
Mine stresses and mine fear's
Bringeth sorrow and tear's.

v.

Mine Filipino rose
As thou knoweth, we aren't an illusion;
We art conspicuous in ourn fusion
Forgiveth the jealous one's of their intrusion's.

Mine Filipino rose..........................


I loveth thee more, mine Reyna......


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication

Poetic,
Thy beak can speak words of sensual charm,
But canst thou speak of what's to cometh?
Poetic,
Thy words do flow and run,
As a waterfall, tumbling hummus!!
Poetic,
Thou canst shape lives by thy wittled crippled fingers,
Yet canst thou show thy action? Like thy hero's and singers?
Poetic,
Thou canst bringeth life to thy surroundings,or death to thy foes,
Yet wilt thou giveth all thou haveth from thy back? Or steal poor men's troves!!!
Poetic,
Thineself can waketh one to splendor,or putteth them to sleep,
But cans't thou heareth them? Rub their bones when their weak?
Poetic
Poetress
Poets
Tis I do believe!!
With thy words,
Thine self could make seeds to eternal beautitude,
Or everlasting damnation!!!!

I'm a stoic,
For mine words art mine action's!!!

Art thy own?
Poetic.....

to hide, to lie
to string dangling participles
along on metaphors

use poetry
where lips won't work
and mind can't find
The Way

let crystal crimsom flow
from serrated wrists

obscurity allows for
solshimmers of the ineffable
so don't eff it in the a
like a persie Snap channel

in the event that may potentially be a thing possibly occurring perhaps I dunno and I don't know what I don't know but it sureasshit would be nice to because me and truth are like this [crossies] and on occasion it comes and knocks on my door so the Uni bringeth and I laugheth all the way to the wet sodium facepalm speaking of which I don't like the taste of that **** I like my truth rare and still mooing would you believe I'm a vegetarian tho but still **** ******* like it raw crunch munch nom noms even though I slurp soup like there's no phoking tomorrow also down af for digressing and running onward and sideways stories from where the sidewalk never ends and I really don't think ours does plus it sure is the weirdest neatest thing ever did you bring the proper shoes darling I sure hope you can keep up in all the ways and FYI my door is not blasted off the hinges it's wisened and slightly ajar and I'm standing over threshold with eyes wide and slightly red because I waved goodbye to sunsets left for mf good but never got to see our light rise so just know that these wrung hands are actually open palms crippled from reaching and being singed on handles that seemed oh-so cool from my limited optical view like a mountain of honeycombed Dixie Crystal dust knees that you had been on yours praying for but gave the **** up on long before he walked in and changed EVERYTHING and I am so grateful but I am sad and I am hurt and I am confused but I am not scared like I once was of you and All our tea leaves foretold but scared I am of never really knowing you and the accompanying truths so please give it to me dagger deep I meant what I said and I said what I meant I like my men sharp and penetrative 100% and if you can't handle being earnestly struck by your own syntactic constructs direct in the ******* whinging outta my sometimes salty sacrosanct then me and you just won't do since that happens to be my forte as it were and maybe you're not up for the uphill to heaven with this mystical inferno but if you think perhaps maybe your life will never be the same without me in it someway somehow then let's fill the grey unnamed with a foundation of friendship where all is safe and found and all that means to me is everything so if you trust me to know the things about love a.k.a. the holy mystery which you ahem did as I recall with glowing warm curled around my formerly shaking cold then don't worry about getting back to it there's no such way to a thing it's there - always was, is, will be - it's just we're having this hooded entourage over for dinner first and honey I don't know if we have enough chairs but I'll sit on the floor with you and we can laugh and cry and eat sixteen courses of humble pie until the holy ghost enters the room which she undoubtedly will do and leave periodically only to return when we get all cozy and still or maybe upon the exodus of tears when all the walls have been torn down and we finally see clear through that one room has indeed been forged from two

or whatever

Blessed is the man that
walketh not in the counsel of
the ungodly, nor standeth in the
way of sinners, nor sitteth in the
seat of the scornful.
2 But his delight is in the law of
the Lord; and in his law doth he
meditate day and night.
3 And he shall be like a tree
planted by the rivers of water,
that bringeth forth his furit in his
season; his leaf also shall not
wither; and whatsoever he doeth
shall prosper.
4 The ungodly are not so: but
are like the chaff which the wind
driveth away.
5 Therefore the ungodly shall
not stand in the judgment, nor
sinners in the congregation of the
righteous.
6 For the Lord knoweth the
way of the righteous: but the way
of the ungodly shall perish.

i.

When all else faileth
I'll be there;
When this soul shalt leaveth
I'll be there;
When thou feeleth numb
I'll be there;
When this heart succumb's
I'll be there.

ii.

When thou feeleth empty
I'll fill thee up;
When there's not plenty
I'll giveth thee all I hath left,
More than enough.

iii.

When I'm sick and anguished
I'll giveth thee mine breath's;
When I'm dying and famished
I'll bringeth life into thine chest.
When the pain's overloaded
And distance is to much;
I shalt still hold on
To think of thy touch;
When thine eyesight gets blinded
And thine hearing starts to fail,
I shalt giveth thee mine eye's
And ears to heareth,
Musical detail's; and when the thunder roll's,
And the lightning strikes the land
I'll still be waiting amour',
For those valiant wedding plan's.
Because we wilt dance
In this life and the next
Eternal soulmate's
Living eternal life's best.



©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry

A flower tucked inside mine ear
Turquoise to paint mine eyes
A squash blossom to feed mine lips
To await me when I die
Writings on walls
Footprints to mine name
The universe to bringeth me home
To God once again!!

Tis a question of time
that bringeth my words
simultaneous or vanished
I wonder the worlds
Tis it here or there
now or then
hath it gone away
or doth it play again
I hath sought reality
to ask which one
would it be tomorrow
or that which is done
Must it be one to suppose
a looketh upon lines
choosing thy path
amongst many of a time
Millions of possibles
thou has in thy hands
or tis but a chance
or of thine own plans
and what reality
twould you play
a destiny
or thy own
I ask thee
is it preplanned
the winding road
home?

thy power furled and unfurled,
as if a being,
god or fiend could reign at once,
so wicked,
foolish,
and insane,

while air of space and time's full river flows,
bringeth through this pool of time and space of rivers end,
new heath to this flesh,

while the bones and muscle becomes stronger once more,
this flesh with blood so weakened by age,

let wicked deeds be met with fury,
grace from one where wickedness fell,

child of mother,
to mother of child,

strengthen me thrice for wickedness done

by scarlet rose

i

This temple is broken, lonesome, and old
It's leaving this place, the world's not meant for Good soul's;
Whilst good soul's art meant, for heaven not purgatory nor hell
No longer shalt I be trapped, or treated like some beast in his cell.

ii

I've seen prison before, and I dealt with that iron bar hand
The structure, the flames, the brute animals, and the pain;
They biteth til thou bleedeth, again and again, wings to expand
Expansional shift, I'll taketh mine flying arm's and I shalt uplift.

iii

Leaving suddenly, as they do sayeth, for only the good do die young, I shalt breatheth more easily, none more hatred, for the amour of the light I'm going to, I shalt succumb, mine senses wilt be ten fold the more than planet destruction earth, rebirthed.

iv

None more seeing war on the television screens, none more untruthful words, for others to bringeth me, none more reptillian like Creation's to killeth mine dream's, none more scream's, none more for those to breaketh me, a serene scene, of alien planet's.

v

None more hopeless romance, for I shalt haveth all the hope given, none more having to write on paper, mine soul shalt write by the dust trail's so splended, to be the cherub's inspiration, as cheribum shalt listen to me sing on set, this place for me to forget.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry