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 Jul 2016 NuurSeraph
r
I'm sick to death of me
living vicariously
through meaning-
less words like
a mocking bird
mocking a gull
on a wave-less shore
or a man without oars
(f)or a life (raft) on a lost
ship adrift in an angry sea
and no anchor or eyes
on the horizon somewhere
west of anywhere but here.
Mine Jane, to whom do I compareth thee?
To the moon's, sunset's, star's; ancient sea's?
Thou art the rose of the Philippines, the heat
To mine *****. O' mine woman, thou art the
Divine, the release of dopamine in mine
Dismayed mind; thou art so fine mine dear,
In every calendar season. With thee I laugh
With none questions nor reason's, thy
Countenance is of the ethereal race;
O' dearest, mine pet, one day ourn heart's
Shalt beat in one stage. Darkness shalt be
Trampled under ourn wild toes,
Singing song's, speaking hymn's
Saints do only know. Mayest
Ourn caru grow, mayest god
Bless ourn love, elated
by eachother's word's
Of hope, babes of the
Same yolk; apparition's
Of the same cloak,
Vibrant in color.

©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley, (àgapi mou) dedication
Thee- you
Thou- you
Art- are
*****- has many definitions this one is- used to refer to the chest. Of men and women.
Thy-your
Countenance-a person's face or ****** expression.
Mayest- may.
Caru- welsh word for love.

Day late on Jane's ten month anniversary poem our anniversary was on ninth already made her something yesterday made her a cute romance comic strip that's funny lolll today poem .. least I try though not best lol!!!! Will be posting this to SoundCloud in about 20 mins if wanna hear it at
SoundCloud .com type my name brandon Nagley will find this poem there!
Thanks for reading dear poets!!!!
 Jul 2016 NuurSeraph
SG Holter
An Ode to the Sun


The Mark of Cain upon my every
Detail as I gaze across
The plains, and in the pain beneath
The snow I know the spring

That was -but died again- is waiting
Still, until the winter loses will
To stay, and eases grip to let the
Little things come out and play.

The Mark of Cain, the Curse of Cold,
This winter's getting far too old,
And frozen things all long for heat;  
To feel that heart above them beat.

But see, the clouds are parting now,
The Heart of Sky is high, and how
Its beams, it seems, are rays of gold;
A force to melt, and even scold

That old, tenacious ghost of white
And chase it off into a night that has
Been dark as Death for months,
But now is light with Life for once.

The Mark of Cain I shed like skin,
I too have leaves that rest within.  
Spring, so faint a sigh, now calls:   
Heart of Sky, I feel thy pulse!
A collaboration between SG Holter and Elisa Maria Argiro

Hesitating here, silent edge of this dark forest,
I look beyond me, warm in the white fog.
Seeing your heart, now residing deep within
the ancient wood, is to know it is blessed, loved.

Silver tongue resting now in golden silence.
Palms of soul upon moss and brittle bark.
Animal song; scent of beasts approaching unafraid.
Fierce peace. The opposite of a machine.

In the rising sap of silent trees around us,
our deeply beating pulses listen, dance,
smiling kisses at the shining stars, new planets.
Eyes open, anima and animus press tightly
And distance is no more.

"What language is Yours,"
I ask the still growing giants of
Green.
"Silence and its sister tongues
Such as leaves dancing with the
Breeze," they reply within the
Gap between soft sounds and
Softer ones.
So we speak through breaths
Exchanged, of nothing.
Two souls afloat upon the stream
Of Union with All.
What is Cosmos,
But "home"?
Never a visitor.
Never a stranger.
Nowhere has anyone ever been
Lost, or
Away.*

Humming your essence into my veins,
in tune with the wordless languages
of green lives and wind, listening
among delicate flowers, sleeping here
on the forest floor, wakeful and awaiting
the next sound of your voiceless voice,
wind words blowing
through my long, curling hair,
feeling the intention of your
untouched touch,
at home, just being.
Copyrighted by ©SG Holter and ©Elisa Maria Argiro
(as a collaborative poem)
 Jul 2016 NuurSeraph
Onoma
Roundabout--
bottomless,
ceilingless...
yet the well
calls a name.
Who could
mind the
drop, as soon
flying or falling.
Round a pinprick
of light?
 Jul 2016 NuurSeraph
Onoma
Picking up,
where you
left off...is
like dropping
the universe
like a cold
plate.
 Jul 2016 NuurSeraph
Onoma
When life
leans in to
get a better
look at you,
what feels
violating
transforms
into acceptance.
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