Twisted sheets, mind on stutter
Unable to sort through this midnight clutter
Put it away for tomorrow
But what to do with my gnawing sorrow?
I circle soft blue on color book pages
Hoping the repetition eventually assuages
The raw edged reality of lonely dark hours
Filling the void with Crayola flowers

i.

Without her I
Am naught;
With her
I am all.

ii.

Without her I
Am lost;
With her
I am found.

iii.

Without her I
Am in mine grave;
With her, I am free
Not a slave.

iv.

Without her I
Am in peril;
With her
I canst seeith, speaketh, breatheth, liveth on her holy water.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication

Shake out your shining tresses, Love
Undress their dark contour as the pink stars rise
And drowse around the smoke-ringed moon,
Like roses in a whiskey glass.
Take time to dream a dream, my Love,
Tresses fallen across the curve of your face --
Sleep away the late summer moon,
Spooning the stars asleep in pink lace.

Lay down your weary bones, my dear,
Stretch out on vanilla feather-winged dreams 
My whisky rose petal kisses blown into the night
Finding you on glittered opalescent moonbeams
Grab hold of pink-starred sweet slumber
As  silken tendrils puddle upon your chest
Tangled up in each other's lithe limbs
Our blissful hearts beat together in tender rest

She's in the kitchen
(close the door)
just mixin' up some metaphor;
a true conundrum
through and through
and through to me and thus to you.

Her humble hunger
(forest's slumber)
thunders 'neath a wilting tune;
tuned to too many
to count without
a thought within.

She must profess
(but shall confess)
to any who will listen;
closely she holds
a tragic history
mostly mystery to most.

She solves my soul
(I deny that hole)
which she still fills;
overflowing always
with such unrelenting joy
that is My Love.

She's a skeptic for crystal bones
doesn't believe in God's treasured
          zodiac prophecies.
                         Be jealous
of the wolves we still call sheep.
You were my lover;
now the moon shines
                in utmost sympathy for
all those frigid nights stars bit at
your ears for the choices you've
                     made in cold song.
Stop drumming your heart to
the sound of my sky
             Lupus told me to tell you
                   it doesn't belong a
                         vagabond such
                               as yourself.
If you can't cut off my tongue,
then who are you to silence
                    me?
The moon is flashing like the bullets
                I've been catching between
                 my teeth.
Like all of the night's phases and heartbreak;
The phases of love will wax
                      and wane.
.

I locked mineself
To her leg;
I swallowed the key
I shackled mineself, into her head.

I seeketh not to be free
By wordly standard;
The great architect
Showed me, I'm free with her, tis she is mine lantern.


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

Among'st a non-judging expanse,
Creative clouds dance.

Through fields one might prance,
Find a tree and sit
Or take a different stance.

See it fully or just give a glance~

The clouds, they form in multiplicities,
Reflecting simplicity;
Expanding creative form explicitly.

What'll it be?
How'll it grow?

Beautiful sky of freedom's form,
Modify your figure and break the norm.
Show me what never dies and is forever born~!

And reveal to us in time what is on the inside,
Usually hidden when worn.

I saw this in the clouds today, when I was bored..