I am was will be a ways
varying from my species normal range,
shrew , a way too far from water or meadow,
holed up in dry grasses,
a darter from Europe common there
an oddity.
purebred American
  red race horse.

O' amour
How radiant thy petal's art;
O' galore,
For what's in store
Shalt be noble
In novel art's.
Statues to tower
The children we
Create; none minutes
Nor hours, an empyrean
Place, a tribal face times two.
Restored, renewed. Amour' tis
True. Gushing water's of life-ever-
Lasting....
The ripples art ourn soul's, exploding
Chalices of old, expertise is awe-striking
In the deathly livings over-passing.



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

The word escapes me
Hidden in the death and Carnage
Je veux pleuer pour Paris, Je suis Enraged
Shot Like Cattle at Slaughter, in a
Strange Night in Paris amid the Bistros
Voulez-vous etre mon amies Parisians
In the Night a Rose Cries Tears of Petals
Its Scent mingled with the smell of Gun Shells
And after all the feelings...the word escapes me


All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

Baby girl, if there’s one thing I would tell you right now, it’s that you truly drive me crazy.
Don’t get it confused, I was always crazy, but you drive me more so. You push me past the levels of my normal mind and force my creativity. You open my vocal chords unexpectedly and take on information as if you were the processing unit of a computer.
I feel I can tell you anything and everything and you wouldn’t judge.
I feel like I can do nearly anything and you won’t keep a grudge.
But, who knows, maybe I’m wrong. Could it be that you’ve got ya boy kickin’ the back of his heels with the tips of his toes? Could it be you’ve got a brotha blockin’ thoughts of thots that you think he’s got?
You said I had too many crushes, said that that was a problem. But you also admitted to having crushes even though you were taken. How Ironic.
But you also said you were pained in your past, and you said you were interested in the intimacy of someone who could provide it.
Well, I can’t make any promises, but I can at least try.
I was a rusty spirit before I met you, and, no lie, baby girl, you’ve destroyed that layer of rust and brought the poet back.
Unknowingly, you gave me an inspiration.
So I can’t wait to talk to you, can’t wait to hear that pretty voice with the southern accent, or see those pretty eyes brightened with an eternal flame that not even your past trials could extinguish.
Can’t wait to be with you again.

Love letter 22

day 43
28000 miles out
isolation no longer imagined
small specks floating, floating.
outside the window... space
and so very distant
home...
blues, greens, brown
almost perfect, almost
the marble of earth ....
plaything of gods
                             and mere mortals.