Languishing, diaphoresis immerses me, into fatal search
Hoping for a grand entrance, of a companion in mine worst;
A devotee to mine whole being, not just to mine poetic Verse
A chapel to sayeth mine deepest confession's to her, purity given.

Swaddler to mine racing pulse, I'm going into convulsion
Mine limb's tied off, the clot is forming, I'm aching for touch;
I'm dying slowly, I feeleth none there, I'm just a freak, though who shalt let me enter, into her kingdom, of dry eyes to meet?



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

when did i last spend a good time?

a second, a minute, an hour, a day
one undiluted, unmixed, pure, and raw,

a good time, truly good, without a flaw.

was it those moments of ******* height
when sans one sense, all else was dark night

or the time spent brief in her warm embrace
seeking her moons reading map on her face

it could be the while when a gust of joy
made this heart shine like a boy

a flashing streak of event that lit up the soul
from pieces of fragments revealed the whole

getting from a girl her kiss of innocence
drench with her in first summer rains

reaching a heaven from far firmament
by a smile from the boy a dime i lent

turning that page of a now lost time
when this mind first chanced upon a rhyme

they rush like tide set me to brood
from the budding child to the aging manhood
where in the memory now thick with grime
lies hidden the passing of the last good time!

I feeleth a calming tranquility
Coming over mine lid's;
I left mine body completely
I'm alive whilst dead.

Whilst dead, I'm a child
Reborn from the ash;
Critic's art forgiven
And I'm smiling in bask.

No definite task's, for to do
I'm freely engulfed, by amare so true;
With the shaman, and the falcon feather to
Prowling the countryside, the hills as mine muse.

No threatening combinations
A key and no lock;
To enter the straightaway
Breaking the box.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

•
Friends are blessings,





                                               ­       But when we don't choose wisely,




It becomes a horrendous Gehenna.




                            © Earl Jane
                             ♥ E.J.C.S.

One Clan
A Poem by Eclipsing Moon-blood red


holiday season is on us again





One Clan



There is thunder in the sound of a horse’s hooves



And crackle of lightening in the crisp, clear breaking



Of a morn on the tall peaks.



Alas the reverie of the season is tried and found to be wanting.



All amiss of buttered *** and candy canes.



Saturated with the intensity…



Of our remembered Holidays, past.



Do you find a value in this our most way-laid Happiness?







Let us conjure the spirits of a truer time …



Snow on the ground and earth mothers feeling



Of the all -encompassing hug



Of Being one in kith and kin







One Clan

petals of the wind,
like lilies unfolding
in the water.

Death awaiteth us all
Waiting for us to trip up;
To slippeth fast
In the bask of the universal law.

And whilst the reaper calleth
"Brandon cometh here mine friend"
I swayeth over in slow step's
Awaiting, knowing mine end.

Though on the other side
Dearest amour, and truest friend's;
A feastful party of uncorrupted
None beast's for the homestead.

With a romantic who's hopeless as me
None longer hopeless, but taken by her sweet;
She'll be a comet, of heavenly treat's
She shalt be mine queen, I hopeth to meet.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

An ancient tribesman
In the amazonian jungle
**** and raw, as a ghost.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry