Poetry,
the reason for
and why it has to be.

The dense smoke hides the sun.
Now enveloped in this darkness
I am alone, yet
there is no peace.
Wars ravish the lands,
innocents continue to die.
Is the flexing of muscle
and the want for riches
really worth the lives of children?

Sitting here in my living room
It's early
Kids slumbering in their beds
Wife's at work and dogs are at rest

I've got my coffee and my phone
The television is on, but muted
Other than the din of the freeway
And the gurgling from the coffee ***,
It would be completely quiet,
Except for my thoughts

Yes!
They're a freight train
Steaming
Streaming
Barreling down some unseen track in my mind

Sometimes they come to a crashing holt
When the house settles or a dog yawns
But then they start right back up
Without so much as a warning

They switch tracks and rewind
Second guess
And remind me of something I forgot
They're loud and obnoxious
They're unruly and cacophonous

They slow down
They speed up
Shifting
Swirling
Swiftly and softly moving through me
And then spilling out of me
Out of my mouth into the air
Or out of my fingers onto a screen

Sometimes I catch them before anyone sees
Sometimes I let them hang out for all to see
Sometimes I wish I could take them back
Cast them back into the dark pit they came from, but I rarely do

It's quiet in my living room...but it's never quite silent.

If
a husband hit
his wife
in argument
It's understood
a truth brought
to halt
in
violence.....,

Loving the abstract you

Now that you in flesh are
No longer here

(Many years,
So long)

Your hair unplugs the bathroom

Harsh words
Entail no tears

Your beauty lingers
Burned under my eyelids
And your perspicacity
Shields my fear

Avaunt, avaunt, I want to be,
Betwixt thy kiss, where
Ocean's roar; as
Studded door's
Open to the
Love I need.

An aye from thou
An aye from me;
I needeth mine
Filipino queen.

Thro the sorrow Jane
I'll be waiting, thro
The morrow; this
Heart will be racing.

Pumping each second,
Awaiting thy touch;
Craving thy face,
O' the yearning
Is much.

Time is so slow
When we art
Many sea's
Away;

But I'll get
To thee
Somehow,
The morrow----------if not the morrow;

I'll try again another day.

©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley ( agapi mou) dedicated