hiding in the siren silence
within sight of invites of violence
in the sky the plight of tyrants
righteous mighty fighter pilots

biased bombs in flights of guidance
goliath might, the fire of giants
without a fight or try of defiance
set alight in frying alliance

in the final piles of subsidence
the dying cries of compliance
the price they paid is the highest
the siren silence finally quiets

i.

autumn’s leaves
scattered in pools,
a cloud of fine gold.

ivy scented skies
break free.

ii.

trees conjure dreams,
flow like a night breeze.

iii.

the sun is remote,
the fires of a wild sea,
damask shores
where we sink
to the floor....

iv.

sink further,
where quiet walls and skies
pierce our yearnings,
uncover a naked flame.

A poet Jot's word's
Even whilst being broke;
A poet writeth his last stanza
In his deathbed whilst he chokes.

A poet in the living
Beyond his death;
The poet recites Poe
Whilst quoting Macbeth.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

The moonlight trips
Over the still lough
And the sounds of the night
Are silenced with awe.
She is the priestess,
Listening to confessions
Bred on the dark side
Of the moon.
Absolution is found
In her purifying light.

Lovely Spring,
A brief sweet thing,
Is swift on the wing;
Gracious Summer,
A slow sweet comer,
Hastens past;
Autumn while sweet
Is all incomplete
With a moaning blast,--
Nothing can last,
Can be cleaved unto,
Can be dwelt upon;
It is hurried through,
It is come and gone,
Undone it cannot be done,
It is ever to do,
Ever old, ever new,
Ever waxing old
And lapsing to Winter cold.