Roots* will protect your head from the ground

As it falls through light, space and sound

From far up high, from where the thunder rolls

Behind clouds pink-orange, white and gold.

Writing always seems more urgent
When it's written in italics,
Even when the topic,
Is rather mundane.
Consider this example:
I like to eat sandwiches

Furthermore, everything
Seems much more urgent,
When written in bold font,
We revisit the example:
I like to eat sandwiches

...and a step even further,
Writing seems absolutely
Crucial when written in,
Bold font, with caps-lock,
Once again, we recapitulate:
I LIKE TO EAT SANDWICHES

At this point, it seems as though
I am imparting unto you matters
Of the utmost severity, that could
Be the difference between life and death,
...but really, I just like sandwiches.

This amuses me.

The rolls and harrows lie at rest beside
The battered road; and spreading far and wide
Above the russet clods, the corn is seen
Sprouting its spiry points of tender green,
Where squats the hare, to terrors wide awake,
Like some brown clod the harrows failed to break.
Opening their golden caskets to the sun,
The buttercups make schoolboys eager run,
To see who shall be first to pluck the prize—
Up from their hurry, see, the skylark flies,
And o’er her half-formed nest, with happy wings
Winnows the air, till in the cloud she sings,
Then hangs a dust-spot in the sunny skies,
And drops, and drops, till in her nest she lies,
Which they unheeded passed—not dreaming then
That birds which flew so high would drop agen
To nests upon the ground, which anything
May come at to destroy. Had they the wing
Like such a bird, themselves would be too proud,
And build on nothing but a passing cloud!
As free from danger as the heavens are free
From pain and toil, there would they build and be,
And sail about the world to scenes unheard
Of and unseen—Oh, were they but a bird!
So think they, while they listen to its song,
And smile and fancy and so pass along;
While its low nest, moist with the dews of morn,
Lies safely, with the leveret, in the corn.

I shared my love, blindly,
     Only to be covered from her eyes,
Her hand motioned as though
To salute improperly, a shade,
     A visor of indifference.

Lonely as a firebird, I must rise from death
     And bring my ashes to her
Because I know no other way
     To reach her flame.

And with each night, fading,
Greyed out of her dark dreams,
I find it hard to go much further.
     Even the brightest flame
          Will falter.

So we turned into these isles,
     That will never share their tides.
But it would be, only, on this sorry shores
     That she will read this:

"Will she ever love me?
     Will she ever love me back?"*

© 2015 J.S.P.

i.

Sacred art ourn vow's, forever I wilt be thine cloud,
To soak the rainstorm's up when they cometh;
I wilt forevermore be thine hari,
We shalt maketh a distant story,
On the patience we do hath.

ii.

We shalt showeth ourn children
The merriment of ourn smile's;
Being parent's of better style;
Freedom paint's us as the wild,
Godly carved into the rock's.

iii.

Husband and wife
Connecting bones,
Ourn abode, just
One stone's throw;
A castle of kingdom's,
With a yellow rose;
Laughter echoes, ourn
Warming nose, touching
As primal kitten's.

iv.

History remembered,
Amour' notes written;
Jewel's around thine neck,
Tenderness, with full respects,
Thanksgiving given,
Alive, once dead
Blossom's risen,
From ourn tomb's,
We serenade in-
tranquil invention,
Didst I mention?
This troth is infinite;
Surely soon, mine queen
Of soothe, we shalt meet-
In a Heavensent.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose dedicated)

You may disagree with what I say
But
Poetry is supposed to have teeth
And if you disagree
That means I win
Because I made you feel something

You may not like my point of view
But
Poetry is a form of expression
A means to protest
Its not for the faint of heart
Its for the strong in thought

And to be true

The greatest poets of all time
Are the most controversial

At least they were in their own time