the July sun stabs her cheeks pink rose.

where is that wooden bridge i ask her
some way more she says some way more

she never forgets.

the bridge was half finished the last time we came
left us longing what mysteries the other side held.

i think the water has eaten it up
tides are so fatal you know

no way she says only some way more.

then it shows up

six months of wooden planks
six months of waiting
now proudly hanging on the river in spate.

let's go on the other side she cries
in wind scattered voice
her hand upon my shoulder rests.

her way she never forgets.

Everyone wants to have
The look of the poet
Yet noone these day's,
Wants to be real poet's....
Everyone wants to be a rock star
Or movie star.
Or even an athlete.....
But the poet,
Is one not of this world...
A poet
Is one unearhtly
Celestial in his way's.....
A poet doesn't follow the paths of this world......
The poet followeth his soul,
Which cometh from God....
And no rock star
Or athlete,
Couldst match up to that....


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Trolls may rant and trolls may rave
But they have hollow minds and little do they gain
I've not yet seen a single troll get the daily poem
Perhaps it's their ineptitude caused by stagnation of the brain
They choose a victim without conscious thought
Then attack with words of bitter bile
But then forget the Wolf bites deep
But still retains his smile
Now trolls are big and ugly
With the foulest words and breath
But, oh yes trolls remember
THE WOLVES ALL RUN IN PACKS

( Poem follows below after this short introduction) So this is a warning for anyone who believes in mental illness & thinks that psychiatry is helping them rather than harming them & to remind them how it is a potentially dangerous tool for oppression & medicalization of normality. In 1850, a US Doctor came up with this diagnosis to claim that slaves that wanted to run away/ran away were mentally ill because he a) believed black people were inferior to white people b) that any desire in a black person to be free must be mental illness as they were born to be enslaved. I am not kidding. This really happened.

Drapetomania

So you see it has a name
this singing in my veins
the wish to be free of my chains
is apparently insane
for by my skin I was born to serve
those who would whip me
those who would trick me
of my birth right
to stand free in the sun
No, apparently, if I run
I am sick
tell me quick
doc what do I do
& tell me how do
you sleep at night
being so cruel
to your fellow man
is there a name for what
you do, I could think of a few
I can only come up with
' *******'

Savage beasts roam the streets searching for prey so that they may feed hunting the weak clutching their necks within their teeth taking their lives without a second thought tasting the iron blood on their thirsty tongues to them the taste is sweet sleeping on full full stomachs and empty hearts the guilty have no remorse

Tis the lightbulb went out
The sanctuary's gone dim
Mine vitality ****** from under me
Hell grabbed be in its abyss;

The burning is underneath me
Henceforth burning mine lashes
Mine screaming canst not be heard
Mine liquid fired to Ashes....

Mine bulbed lenses
Singe inside mine sockets
Buck naked for all to see
No shirt, sleeves , nor pocket's.....

Just agony of death,
Clinching it's underworld teeth
Until I saw an entity
Put the life back into me....

This same lass bypassed
The portway to anubis
She hadst taken broken bone and glass
Just to deliver me from Satan's whip....

She tooketh me from crevasse gulf
She granted me just one wish
I wished I couldst serveth her the rest of mine day's
And from her to get one kiss....


She saidst thy wish shalt be granted
And she pecked me on mine cheek
Leaving angelic dust Mark's
As tis mine legs went weak....

Mine health returned to me
One hundred fold in a flash,
She crossed the lines of hell
Just so mine life couldst last....

So now I go
Unto her throne,
And sing for her as her muse
And when she's down,
I cometh around,
And play her romance tunes......


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Elsa  Angelica dedication

No poem sorry

Worry can make you stressed
Worry can make you restless
Worry can make you loose sleep
Worry can eat you alive at night

It's easy to say to someone stop worrying everything will turn out alright

To many nights without sleep
My Bucket overflowing with it need someone to get me out of this hell hole my eyes are sore and my head hurts am in despair need to get out of this night mare.

Edifice erections surreal mistic heights
Wayward excursions and catenary's bight
Communal collusions of harmonies site
Ethereal subsistence on exsertion's light
Lingam and yoni are indefatigably tight
Exponential overload was communities plight

Semantic regalia is myriad temptation
Finite being a mutual oblation
Vicarious recalcitrance an obeisant sensation
Conception's vastness like incalculable equation  
Ephemeral effulgence is indomitable pervasion
Treacherous traverse and eternal occasion

Succinct salience is symbiotic allegory
Fecundity's verve a transcendent promontory
Imperative ascension the conjunctive's divinatory
Audacity's exigence and fertility's invocatory
Erotica's erectile like mentality's trajectory
Futurity's fatidic and inherent delusory

**** it fell right over like categorical imperative's contradictory

I've learned we can't push ourn love on anyone that were in love with, because when we push the ones we love to wanna be with us, we art just being selfish not selfless, and if one just wants to be ourn friends, we should be blessed to even know they want u as a friend. Of course were still gonna be madly in love with them and still want them to wanna be with us, though we canst never maketh someone want us back, we canst hope and wish for it... But the fact is if they need a friend, don't walketh away from them... Be there for them for help and guidance. Because that's what true love is. It's being there for them and for another.. And putting aside ourn own wants, needs, and yearning's, we art just blessed to haveth them want us as friends... And friends are a blessing from God