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 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
Sourodeep
Why do I feel lost I do not know.
In middle of an ocean in a boat I cannot row.
I have been passing my days in slumber
did not care too much apart from hunger
for I know, time is what I did swallow

Lonely in this room I grab my pen
But I am no Lion, resting in his den
golden rays roar from behind the cloud
when the sun shall set, was always a doubt
for I know, love can never happen again
some random thoughts and blabbering, dunno what caused what in life
 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
brandon nagley
i.

Every poet here, every poet here is a breathing soul,
Every poet here, O', every poet here, is a living whole.
Every poet here, every poet here is that fine grained gold;
O' every poet here, every poet here is an ancient mold.

ii.

Every prophet here, every prophet here prophecieth,
Every prophet here, speaketh love pain and fear;
We all liveth, and thus we dieth.

iii.

Every minstrel here, O' every minstrel here, hath shed tear's,
Every minstrel here, verily every minstrel here, ageth in year's;
Every minstrel here, O' every minstrel here hath felt anger,
Every minstrel here, verily every minstrel here, hath seen danger.

iv.

Every writer here, O' every writer here,
Shouldst put away, the hate, anger, and
Fear's, and conjoin into one, a poetic dream,
Coming apart at the string's, by hatred under
Ourn sun. As we only hath one life, to maketh
Purpose of a smile toward's another one.
Puttest away the poetic gun.
Every poet here, O' every poet-
Doth thou heareth?


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
This is just a reminder to all poets... To support one another... Love another. Cherish another despite views, ideologies, idea's.. Beliefs... Writing is the souls expression. A freedom of any one man or womans words... Not to be tainted by others... As this place has become one of hatred... Name calling. A place rather of clownishness, not poetry. A place of hatred. Not friendship... As noone not one single soul here. Should have to worry about being attacked by others who want to inflict misery, and fear. and hatred onto the web. Because it's easiest to hide behind the screen to attack others.. When in reality... They'd know better to not do it in person to the people they are attacking... So as poets.. We must ignore the hatred that is going on. as I've seen many poems on trolls lately. Hatred. People getting made fun of so on and bullied... The biggest gift to those who are doing this stuff we can give is to love them. Forgive them. Not talk bad behind their backs as they do us... And to show them ( what real love is) because in actuality... As case shows throughout history!!! True love always ALWAYS conquers over evil... As Ephesians 6:12 said.. In the bible I read. Yes glad to say I'm a Christian an improving one, as noone is a flawless being. It reads.

12For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.

And this is truth! Satan is very real. As are his demons. I know personally being attacked emotionally spiritually and more than that ( physically by them) with physical proof. They do exist. As this world shows an example of them working on people right now. Swaying many. But me. They will not sway. I will overcome the hatred and darkness that hates the light. One problem.. God is of light. And darkness cannot be the light of God... So as one not just because I believe in Christ and God. But as how I was made to be. One who knows not hate. And can't fathom ever hating anyone mineself personally! I choose love.. Forgiveness... And letting things be. And hoping the hatred stops and certain others may just find love, and overcome very real demons overcoming them... As we must overcome darkness with light..
Thanks for reading followers. And if ones talk behind your back or call you names. *** at you. Spew out hatred towards you. Our goal as human beings is forgiving and loving another... For we shall all be judged one day. And have no right judging others.. For when we ourselves aren't perfect beings... Though God wants his creation to love another. Now will you love all beings? And forgive?? Choice is your own...
Thanks for reading poets...
 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
brandon nagley
i.

O' Filipino
Rose, thou
Shalt alway's
Be, the petal
To mine soul.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
GaryFairy
check out my eye piece
I can see to galaxies that are free from pain
acceptance is my beast
I fail to see the fallacies that are mine to blame

within my earshot
whispers that translate to only shame
the ear that hears not
is deaf to the gesture of speaking in vain

check out my eye piece
it helps me see through the ones who are all the same
exception is my feast
I refuse to take up the ways that they feign
 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
A Dash of Red
Everyone wants to be a superhero.
Or a supervillain, in some cases.
Everyone wants to be special,
To defy the norm,
To be loved,
Praised,
Worshipped.

I’m one of the lucky few who got what they wanted.
But here’s the thing about wishes;
There’s always a twist.
A glitch in the code,
A setback,
A call to reality,
To make us pay for our selfish wants.

What’s my power, you ask?
It’s certainly a good one.
And my curse?
It’s a doozy, I’ll tell you that.

I can’t fly,
I can’t communicate with animals,
Can’t breathe under water,
Don’t have super strength,
And I can’t see through steel.

I have the best power of them all.
I can become Invisible

I can easily slip away from anything without being noticed,
I can watch the world unfurl, completely unaffected.

Thing is, I can’t become visible when I want to.
My power chooses its own schedule.

Meaning…
I’m completely alone, 80% of the time.
I can’t make friends,
Because they can’t see me.
I can’t have conversations,
Because no one wants to talk with a ghost.
I get left behind,
Because no one knew I was there in the first place.

I must be strong.
I have to be.
Because no one will be there for me.
No one wants to care.
No one can.

I talk to myself,
Or watch the world like a show,
Craving to be a part of it.
I know it’ll never happen,
But it’s always fun to dream.

Of being loved,
Wanted,
Noticed,
Acknowledged.
Heck, I’d even settle for being hated,
If it only meant that I would get to know what it feels like,
To be looked in the eye.

Have you ever felt the feeling,
Of being looked through?
Like a window,
Or a spirit?

It starts to get to you, ya know?
You start to think about it,
Start to stop seeing yourself as well.
Suddenly, you don’t even exist.
Not to anyone,
Not even yourself.




Oh, yes.
I am so,
Very,
*Special
Sincerely,
No One.
 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
A Dash of Red
How do you do it?
How does one take an abstract painting,
And interpret it as words, sentences, stories?
How do you give a color an emotion?
What language does a line speak?
It's so hard to personify something that was created,
To remain a mystery?
So hard,
Yet so naturally human
Why can't I do it
Like you?
When it comes to this phenomenon of abstract expression,
I put the b in *dyslexic
Unfulfilled at 10:19 A.M.


Sorry for being gone so long, someone smashed my jigsaw puzzle brain, and I've been trying to put the pieces back together.
 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
The Dedpoet
Naked
 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
The Dedpoet
My eyes cover you
      With a warm rain
Of stares,
     The morning comes
Like a singing spiral,
      Your body of foliage
Opens like a meadow
    As you arise from bed.
The gilded light
    Sifts through your blouse
And your body burns
    Through the silhouette.
Coffee,
          The vertical hour awake,
Your laughter is everywhere,
      I take your hips of light
And make love at the cliff
     Of the day......
Hello darkness my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
I watch you come and go like rain
From feeling empty to knowing pain
Take my hand I'm glad you came
For it takes patience
to love my name
Reference: The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkle
 Jan 2016 Skaidrum
littlebrush
[A prose poem]

I need to tell you about someone you should know.

She never uses her index finger.
          Well, that's not true anymore. She gave up on the quirk, and now uses the fullness of her thin fingers. They're wounded though. You have to know her hands.
        She picks the skin on the borders of her nails, as if the lack of red were mediocre. She needs passion, she does. And roses. They cascade on the right wall of her room.
        See, there's something about people who tape roses on their walls. I can see her scarred little fingers, pushing adhesive on the flowers.
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