Chartreuse wind walkers
Traipsing sunny lanes
Painting grassy plains
Locked in airborne rectitude
Melding seasonal swan songs

Windjammer thistle , dandelion and corn furrow
Portulaca masterpieces , solenaceous Princess's
Buttermilk skylight portals of cottony white
and Winter blue
Red leaf Maple with Gardenia perfume

Song of August greenery
Miracle of piedmont scenery
The call of Autumn attainment
Of Red , Yellow and Brown works
Of soft , reflective frosted tincture

i.

Gramercy, it hast been one year now, one year of smiles, laugh's, cry's; growing together, growing
Wing's in ourn flight.

ii.

Fain I am, to seest thee at night, slumbering as a newborn, queen
Of orbiting light's, woman of mine
Insight; sagittiferous to mine
Burden's of life.

iii.

Let me clear away that vultuous countenance mine girl.

iv.

We art namelings, with ourn letter's hewed into the highest realm, noscible to the Angel's; we
We're recorded on God's
Film.

v.

Perantique we art, as we battle the being's that fell, they've broken their iron locked doorway's; to make their way out of hell.

vi.

Stand close to mine side, I canst heareth those wedding Bell's, I canst feeleth the earth to swell, as the labor pain's art now.

vii.

This place shalt sway and moan, like a drunkard without a home, the living in Christ shalt rise; with the dead already rose, silver an treasures shalt come to naught,
Home good's and store bought,
For men won't grasp their own
Thought's; as the misfortune
Cometh upon them. Lover's wilt
Love themselves, they'll seeketh life
In the devil's Lip's; for the lies he speaks art quick, powerful,
Deceiving, cunning.

viii.

Look on high mine Jane, ourn lord is coming, the globe is spinning to the drum of celestial prophecy;

None stopping wilt be, yet we art free, a king and queen with a heavenly home, with mansion's
To roam, streets followed with
Gold, with like-minded souls;
Awaiting ourn entrance.

This one year wilt lead
To an eternal precipice,
In which we shan't miss,
As all wilt take focus;

For we hath life, mine Jane
Ourn hope is this;

One son of God
Who goes by the name
Jesus; ourn hope and ourn
Reason even more to be one,
To showeth another and all
The Savior's dying love, and in him
Salvation alone, fret not mine lass, soon we shalt go home, soon all ourn waiting wilt be gone, and ourn hand's shalt hold.

Two spirit's to be;
One love,
One soul.

look up
Look up

The time is now close......



©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane sardua Nagley dedication ( agapi mou)
© Lonesome poets poetry

The  first  signs  of  autumn
are  appearing  this  morning.

The­  sky  is  a  paler  blue
with  ominous  dark  clouds  all  aroun­d.

The  birds  are  much  quieter  too.
although  I  did  hear  ­a  pair  of  mallard  ducks  crying  out.

The fleeting sun across the lawn
Is quite pleasant

The  Invasion  of  house  flies
seem  to  have  subside­d.


Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.

What am I if not human?  
Am I monster
Who roams the empty city streets
In search for love to devour
And spit back the bones
Defiler of young dreams
Wrecker of lives
Am I a monster
That preys on the weak
One for every day
My primal urges
Urge me to take part in these
Biological
Natural
Irresistible
Wants and needs,
Am I a monster because I suppress them ,
Or am I human?

I hate when I am static,
I get lazy and a muffin top
the dishes pile up
and words froth up like suds
take over my chores
with hope
legs become  swollen
and seize up
until I hit them
with a trip to
the bathroom
and the hard tile and quarried stone
surfaces
resonate with thoughts
laughing at human
conditions
knowing they are in their places
for a good  long time
no nutrition
or feelings  needed
and the commode
his round shining face a
perfect display of innocence
****** on
seems to smile

Here I wait among the dead
within the shadows, seldom seen
with mind as silent as the grave
a nightmare tucked within a dream.

Though my soul be scarred and flayed
by secrets deep and wounded thighs
There sits a withered hope within
to be the girl from days gone by.