I was seeing many girls
when she stormed into my life
broke my run with her resolve
to find her place as wife.

I was seeing many girls
when she came reined me in
halted me with all her force
determined to win.

I was seeing many girls
my dream was up to stars
when she arrived fully knowing
this man was soon to be hers.

I was seeing many girls
none of them could be wife
she knew it when she came
I would stick on her for life.

Just a little doll
Wrapped in blankets,
Dark lashes
Pillowed on milky skin,
Still warm to the touch.
Only white lips
And eyes,
Not quite closed,
Giving lie
To the belief
That you're sleeping.
Be at peace little man.
Be at peace.

You see no scars and laceration

But it doesn't define that I'm not wounded

I smell and looked great to you

Hey! It just my make-up and perfume



But If you really want me

Caress me no matter what season

Stand firmed for your reason

Love me as I am

Embraced even my demons



2-2-2016

Mysterious_aries

There are railroad tracks
That run through my town
And at night when I finally receive
The silence I wished for during the day
I can hear the faint whistle
And hum against my bedroom windows
I hear the whistle now.

All my life I have heard the trains
And I find beauty in the fact that even when I'm not listening, they are there
The trains carrying coal, chemicals, lumber, and the better parts of my childhood
As a child I loved the idea of the caboose
Allowing any stretch of rail
Any length of land
To be your home
Your bed
And it was probably through this my wanderer spirit grew.

All my life these trains meant something
Escape
But not without possibility of return
I romanticized the long web of rails connecting all the land and Souls in the American night
I have always loved such pieces of antiquity

So in the latter years of my childhood in high school it's no suprise the love I had for Steinbeck, Sandburg, and Woody Guthrie
I would lament to friends that the trains became too fast to hop, but I never tried
I always sat back and watched
Or listened on quiet nights

Now my childhood has passed
I am nearly 20 but wrapped in my head is the idea that the young boy who had train posters and pictures covering his walls was nothing but a stranger or a character in just another awful coming of age rerun
But deep down that child turned to Ginsberg who wrote of boxcars boxcars boxcars
And Kerouac who followed the long stretches of road to the western edge of America
And it was through Kerouac I found
Thomas Wolfe

I feel I have Thomas Wolfe in my bones
Thomas Wolfe who left home rejoicing train rides to the North
Then realized he couldn't go home again
Thomas Wolfe who never wrote a bad train scene
Not all of Wolfe is in me
Not the 1900s Southern prejudice
Or the raving accusing of friends of great treasons, only to have to apologize the morning after
But I can feel his need
To write all I can
To never take away
To add add
To never reduce because who tells Van Gogh "yes yer paintings alright but I need you to reduce the amount of stars by 30 and I expect it on my desk Monday"
I won't take anything away from myself
Only add
So at nights
When I hear the train whistle
And soft rattling on my window
Thomas Wolfe is with me
And he loves the sound too

i.

Feral escapees, from captivity,
Created with wing's, born to
Be free; not of society.

ii.

Jungle madness, surroundeth
The tree's, foliage of wed-lock,
Thou and me.

iii.

Accentor's creepeth the thicket,
Caples we rideth, babes of the
Cariole; astrology inside us.

iv.

Bimarian aqua, to overfloodeth
The dry, boscaresque detail's;
Rainbow's in open sky's.

v.

Brabreum of a sound,
Musical citharize; I'm
Far aloft the ground,
Psychic's; clairvoyant's
On incline.

©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated