When we were eighteen
sang the three women in chorus
and the bus burst into Spring.

When we were eighteen
they giggled and sang

the bus was a garden
the seats swings in the wind
the passengers angels and fairies

When we were eighteen
sang the three women
men beamed and the women blushed
as they broke into chorus
when we were eighteen

the ride was free
and they all stood up
their bones bellowing the chorus
their skin shining in the Spring

the child grew into eighteen
the old descended into that golden year
never knowing when their stoppage came
when one after the other they got down
and again it was a bus on the road
but with the whiff of Spring
eternal in the crimson blush
of the sun setting and rising
its engine and axle and tyres whirring in chorus
when we were eighteen

Ere poesy was born, was born a woman we came to know.

A poetess, with word's that fit
A kingdom's grip; Her
Writing's lift.

Her writing's lift the cloud's from rain, her soul thou dost know; for her heavenly glow, can
Ease all pain's.

She gives herself, for everyone else, her books should be stacked upon ancient shelves, where memory don't go, and love won't fade.

She's the sunshine of the morn,
The Poe of women's floor's;
The Poetess of old that's
Become to be welcomed
And known- her literature
Raised up And shown-
Where the dead walk and talk
Where corn is picked clean of
Their stalks, she's the girl that creates wonders from the stars that is her home.

She wanders poetic streets, a pencil and paper her nightly meat.
Her mind goes past time:
Beyond thought, the world she greets, she needs no dime-
She's rich in her kindness,
In smiles she defeats.

An archaic beauty of the woods and the streets, where no shoes she needs;
To dance in a wild poetic style.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Vicki bashor birthday dedication

When a person is loved
That doesn't define him
But I wish my love defines you
Or at least tell you this
You don't always have to change for the person you love.

Let my love for you remind you
That you're beautiful
You're strong
And you'll be loved
Because you're you.

Let this great love
Reflect who you really are
Bring out the best in you
Give what you deserve
**Let my love define you.

In thine aromatic causeway,
I wilt peregrinate thine
Soul, which is a hallway
That leads me to a railway
Of amour's finest tastes;
If tonight's the last night
Of mine, I seek to seest thy
Face, hold hand's, with
Grand plan's shaking
Rhymes as cosmos
Trace. Doing mine all to please thee-
To showeth thee mine many reasons;
With thee I am so graced.
I'm sorrowful mine dear,
Mine tears as year's stack dust to
Bones that waste.
I feelest out of place; out of thy arms.
I need thine enjoin, bring me close that I may feel thee, a warmth of charm. I want to be sent to heaven's stars, a place to fly and float, no devils or ghosts; nor any drunkard's bar's. Fain wilt I be to hold thy arm,
As the burn burns hard, and nothing negative may enter in. Babes of old, washed clean of sin, nothing to loose-all to gain and security to win. Making music with the sound's of ourn snoring.................

Under mystical spiritual willow trees. Heads aside another, connected brains of information-
Souls alike, forever a blessing. Love to flow wild, from the celestial beyond's dressing.

©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Love,  be gentle and kind,
take that rusty gun from under
my pillow and shoot me twice
in the heart so I can feel the hurt
from the first time and the pain
from the second again;
but don't bury me in the dirt
beneath your bare feet,
just burn me like the memory
of your brown soles I saw
running away, oh, so long
a time ago, I can't even remember.