Oyster white knights of the avenues
Of cloud laden repositories filled with
silver'd showers , of blown flowers begging for
green lush ground
Bicycles , pedestrians , stiff March breezes
Front porch neighbors , paper boy deliveries
Purple , pink and red skyways of dusk
Robins returning from the south , smoke returning
from neighborhood hearths , gas lighting o'er
manicured lawns
The first born star to call my own
To follow home* ...

She was the ocean
Humming enchanting song
Temperamental
Often wrong

He was the wind
Gentle but strong
Effortlessly Kissing her
As the day is long

She complained of her flaws and all that had gone
He told her he loved her all along
She dismissed his words
He didn't understand her rage
He was flawless on every new page
You don't have rips or breaks nor tone
You are the wind so strong and bold

My love you misread what you are told
I'm only strong when you are mad
I'm only bold when you're sad
My strength comes from you
I'll protect you from your storm
I'll hold you close and whisper your name
Until you feel safe in my arms once again
When you are calm and glistening bright
I'll tell you it's all going to be alright
I'll never tire of your changing moods
For I am the wind it's all I allude
I'll tell you I love you till the wind is no more
And the ocean has dried up revealing the floor

fallow winter does not bring
peace to the restless soul
finger-licked, waiting
on subtle winds shifting
for the tropical taste
of exotic droplets of rain
a salt-stained remembrance
in this time of dreaming

red-light ladies hatch
in raftered minds
a mass awakening
beneath hardened shell
freedom awaits wings
a collective opening
an essential
transformation

The Devils popping the bubble wrap
Hail is bouncing off the front door steps
Blustery tree lines wrapped in sheets of lightning
blue , rivers forming at downspouts , thunder
growing louder
Cars come to a crawl
Peace and violence are poised to draw
Suddenly showers stall , a lull ensues
Quiet resumes , the night is rescued
The treefrogs strike a tune , the June bugs swoon
The timid moon looms , the insect musicians balloon
The oboes , the clarinets , the piccolos and the cellos
Sweet voices , the harps , the guitars and the pianos
A whippoorwill calls the orchestra to order ,
the thrushes , mockingbirds , the katydids , the cricket
chorus , the coyotes , the bobcats , the hoot owls and
the sprites
The jays , the cicadas  and the songsters of night
Goodbye Old Man Squall , may the creatures of the eve
now come to call , may the maidens of the forest render
ballads of rest , may the fledglings of the morrow lay
peacefully in their nest* ...

Lonesomeness hits after the midnight hour; as the more
Lonesome it gets sitting still
As a flower, wanting mine
Petals to be felt.

Wanting mine spirit uplifted,
Aye, mine smile to return.

Still a boy I am inside this man,
A creature who hast seen
Prison cells, where devils
Cringe and yearn.

An afterhour bard,
With a cloudy wind
Creeping betwixt his
Window pane.

me synchoreíte,
The child inside me
Is peeking once
Again.

©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry