Spewing seed and venom, life and death, lust and loathing, we were Marc Antony and Cleopatra
A serpent suicide and ***, poisoned ******* and choking, then we patiently awaited our rapture

When I died I watched you follow, you said "my love I will join you soon."
From your effigy, a malignant magnetic energy floated above the room
We were toxic and intoxicated, dead but full of life
Darkness ensued all but a narrow slit, brimming with shimmering light

I grew to a boy then a man scolded by harsher truths
And then I met you, my Egyptian Queen, so beauteous and full of youth
You asked me for a cigarette, I only had a joint
We smoked and spoke like Nihilists and debated "What's the point?"

For years our love grew again, one day you said to me:
"The vanguard is at the gate and the walls are under siege"
But your battles were waged with ****** not Egypt's enemies
My response rang through history with war-torn lover's pleas

Maybe these lives were insufferable, maybe I hide from the truth
That my only respite was that every night I was coming home to you
Our apartment was just too quiet, soundless and without sentiment
Nothing remained of our candle but spilt wax and the scent of it
The bathroom door was locked, "Open the door, Let me in!"
Under the bathroom's flourescent lights that serpent bit again

Moxie after a short nap,
crescive energy from the
Cream-sugared taste; Java
A-plenty.

                                   Another minute to
                                   Waste; for this life's
                                   Not long enough.

A coy wouldst be nice,
For tis I am human,
A convive with
Scented candles,
Bare feet; none
Shoes nor sandal.

                                    I seekest contemning
                                    Not more doubts and
                                    In tears to be oceans
                                    For swimming; but
                                    Like a newborn, I
                                    Want to be rocked
                                    In one's arm's, and
                                    Fingertips touching,
                                    Two separate souls
                                    Connecting, as mine
                                    Legs cross with one,
                                    Side to side; arm to
                                    Arms. Mine hand
                                    Over ones hips,
                                    Tightly squeezing.
                                    Lips bitten a bit
                                    For kiss, a gentle
                                    Bleeding, two-
                                    Hearts beating,
                                    Becoming one
                                    Flesh, ones head
                                    Resting upon this
                                    Ancient chest. To
                                    Kiss one's forehead,
                                    And sayest (hey mine
                                    Queen), wakie wakie
                                    Mine love, tis the morn,
                                    I made thee breakfast-
                                    Toast with butter, jelly,
                                    Eggs with cheese on
                                    On top; hot coffee.
                                    Id stroke ones hair
                                   Mine fingers caress
                                   One's scalp and head.
                                  I'll just stop before I
                                 Keep going, these art
                                 Just wantings kept un-
                                 Said. I think I'll just go
                                Back to bed. I think I'll
                                Get lost in mine head.


  


                       © Brandon nagley
                   © Lonesome poets poetry

Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots

And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again

When I was still young and fresh
A million years ago
I walked on edges
Always on the edge of something
Something wild

Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Always music
Singing with the band
Dodging the flying glass
When fights broke out
Howling to the moon
Oh, wild indeed were we

All shadows now, alas
Visions from an addled brain
Pubs, clubs and smoky dumps
Leave no turn unstoned was the cry
More fun than fundamental
And fundamentally flawed, it was
A couple of hours sleep 'fore the day job
With eye-lids stuck together
And walking into walls
But still I wouldn't have swapped it
For all the strait laced straight faced
Wealth in the world

                                 By Phil Roberts

He wandered along the Pullman car
As if he owned the train,
And wore the badge of ‘Conductor’ and
A whistle on a chain,
He carried a block of tickets that
Were printed differently,
With various towns and places from
The inland to the sea.

He’d walk from behind the driver, from
The front up to the back,
His steps in time to the rhythm of
The train, its clicketty-clack,
He wouldn’t look at the passengers
Unless their eyes were strained,
But then would pause with his ticket block
To see which ones remained.

And then, as if he divined the stress
Each passenger went through,
He’d tear off one of the tickets, as
He would, for me or you,
And suddenly they’d be on a beach
Or resting in some town,
And making love to a red-haired *****
Just as the sun went down.

The train continued its journey with
Its steady clicketty-clack,
The passenger sitting limply with
His eyes, empty and black,
While ever the train’s conductor walked
Along the swaying aisle,
Dispensing the tickets on the block
For mile on endless mile.

Then once at their destination he
Would blow a single note,
Using that tiny whistle hanging
Chained down by his throat,
And all of the passengers would wake,
Their eyes no longer black,
Marvelling at the dreams they’d had
While travelling on that track.

If ever you board that certain train
Be sure to be aware,
And look long at the conductor,
As he walks; No, even stare!
Then if he pauses in front of you
Think where you’d like to be,
And watch as he peels your ticket off,
Your ride to ecstasy.

David Lewis Paget

Facebook is the place to be
when no one else wants you around.

you don’t need to clean up your ****, nor
feel shame
nor hunger,
nor love,
nor hate,
nor hahaha!

it’s what you’ve always wanted –
a nice little crib for your
"home sweet home" clothes.

get *****.
get close.
you may now speak the language of virtual friendship.

you might find it hard to be sincere,
when you don’t know if what you speak
is remotely related to the truth.

Have you ever been madly in love?

The old man broke my reverie.

On the long faded green bench white with bird droppings
he was peering at me through his silver grey beard
looking oddly out of place in that college squire park
where only the dreamers at the prime of youth
would sit between classes to exchange love notes
and steal a kiss when the passion couldn't be reined in.

Have you ever been madly in love? he repeated,
and then as if growing impatient by my silence
mumbled, pausing between words,
like they stung him like thorns
it extracts a price been paying all my life
living with a void no other woman could fill
a commitment that breeds only pain
yet makes me insanely boastful
of being madly in love.

It was recess hour and the benches were being filled up.

How many, I wondered, would still hold hands
when the classes are over.

There I was.
Loitering in the lobby of her heart, after a long flight the only thing on my mind was rest.
The aroma was nice, stepping in through the double doors.
Following the stretch of carpet to the front desk.
Air conditioner stationed right above the door soon as you walked in.
Almost feeling myself sink into the splash of a fresh comforter.
I stood at the front counter waiting to be checked in.
Didn't quite feel like home.
The longer I waited the more anxious I became.
Messing around with the pen chained to the desk.
Making circles and snake like motions with the chain.
Noticing the dust under one of those small relaxation fountains at the closest end of the receptionist's desk.
The hum growing louder signifying that the water needed to be refilled.
More interesting.
There were no vacancies.
Good that I made reservations a month before time.
Noticing the aquarium over by the elevator.
There I stood loitering in the lobby.
Patiently waiting.
After a while, it sinks in that all lobbies are the same.
An endless void of waiting.
Was it absurd that I envied the fish watching me from the aquarium.
It's a strong possibility that he fell asleep watching me wait as the receptionist hasn't quite made it back yet