She doesn't recite poems in the darkish sunset

like golden corns dying to be reaped
she needs a hand to cut her through
reach to where a fleshless lust is still not ember.

Seasons come and fly away.

Her own poems withering
she pines for one simple nest
to rest.

When I was young
And in my prime
I could do it
All of the time

But now I’m old
My hair’s turned grey
I sort of from it
Shy away

Back then I’d bang it
Hard and long
But now I’m not
Quite as strong

I use to take
Those deep, long strokes
But now their only
Little pokes

I’d stroke it deep
I’d stroke it hard
The consequences
Disregard

With no control
I’d shoot and spray
Just used my stick
And flailed away

Then drove it home
And drilled that hole
With that last stroke
I’d reach my goal

But now that I  
No longer play
I will those golf clubs
Put away                                          
BOEMS BY JA 94

In a blink of an eye, it was done
    The cost of souls the Earth has spun

Death upon an uneager heart
     Clause was signed by Death, oh what an art

It's quick, painless, at the time shameless, maiming, and brainless
Rude awakening.

At the very hour of death do you think they know?

Will they cower?
Will they stress?
Will their bodies glow like a ghost?

At the final thought of when they reminisce
Looking at their past existence
Will they understand their fault in the plan
Understand they had every moment in there hand

Realize that if there was a miss, it was oneself that didn't train to block the hit, didn't plot enough to dodge the grip, didn't get heighten to understand that evil exist, didn't realise that materializing got your brain chained like a slave being whipped.
We a trip
for worshipping them idols
stay idle
they say scram out the brain!
keep em dead and dumb
stay idle
everything will be okay
don't move worthless one
the time has come mkay


In a mist of the moment
as it clouds over my head,
I am my own opponent,
every moment,
every moment,
that I sure did not hope to miss,
was my own fault,
falling into doubt

&

stupid idol worshipping,
whether it is something so easy
as playing games

or

  studying for some dumb degree,
or learning how to draw,
for art has infatuated me

even at the moment where I could land a job,
I don't take it
I just leave it

then

I cry cause I ain't owning any of these mobs
of cash
fat stacks

****!

I wish I had that
a dream like all man
who work the land
that we plunder so much
what is the purpose?
why are we on this crust?
what a bunch of greedy *****!

****!

I am out again I need a blunt....

i.

She's the finest
Filipino rose;
As tis as tis,
I loveth to watch her petals shine.

ii.

She's the kindest,
Gentlest soul;
As tis she is
Divine;

iii.

She's the sweetest
Nectar of honey;
O' I'm blessed
With a inamorata of plenty.

iv.

She's mine heaven
Mine earth, and the moon;
She's the life, verily mine wife,
Who awokest me from mine tomb.





©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane sardua Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)

Man hast sought, and wilt seeketh,
Supernal treasure's until the
End of their day's;

I hath found the jewel
They seeketh; not wrought
By men's hand's, nor stored in some cave.

She's mine, all mine
So beast's goeth away;
She's mine, O' mine
rapturous hooray!!!



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)