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 Nov 2015
K Balachandran
An enigma always surrounds her cool countenance,
Reminding a silver cloud surrounding a mountain peak.
Only on  her mirror I loved seeing myself,than in any other,
Yet it was a permanent wonder; what was the secret of her mirror?

A fine, clear mirror, she hands me over, hand crafted,excellent!
Every bit an example of her impeccable taste, that made me hers.
In it I reflected positively different from the way I imagined myself.
Suddenly dawns the ZEN:She makes the real difference in my life !
 Nov 2015
brandon nagley
i.

Gyrating on the foam of love,
Ancient aisle's of white;
Passageway's, of midday
Blaze, mine queen and I
Art high in flight; we shalt
Maketh amour', in unknown
Door's, we entereth on inside;
We connect, on glory's speck,
In chariot's we blossom, on
Twilight rise;

ii.

Dancing gypsies, united eye's,
Cloud's with sun, rainbow shine.
Perfect harmony, O' wondrous
Heaven, she's the half of me, the
All of me, the number of God's
Daughter, the number seven;

iii.

Fulfilled I am, pleased the more-
With mine Reyna, O' Jane, O' Jane,
Mi-amour', I'll taketh that journey,
To thine Asian shore's, with a bed
Of silk, with gate's as door's; with
Pearl's that shineth, and rubies
the more- friendship, soulmateism,
On prism's that evince, who careth
Of the world mine lass, or whether
Their convinced; we shalt leaveth
Print's, of ourn hand's and feet,
They shalt discover ourn love,
In a treasure map keep. And
Whilst the globe sleepeth, we
Shalt be making amare; as newborn's
In a thunderstorm, the rain of passion
Strokes ourn hair.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Gyrating means like swirling around- like when dancing...
soulmateism - really isn't a word lol though seen on Google some use it as like a hash tag thing, im making it mine own word. As meaning soulmateism meaning two soulmates uniting in their relationship (:::
evince means- reveal the presence of (a quality or feeling).
Or also be evident of, or to indicate...
 Nov 2015
ryn
.
•my
arms point
to the sky•
a gesture
                           frozen in                 eter-
                                 nity•un-                fazed as
                                   the clouds                whisper a
        lie•                 rumours of                 rain that
  never               came quickly•            prickles
protrude             menacingly            •threaten-
ing all who          would stray         too close•      
baseless            gossip that   masquerade    
as pleasant-   ry•to deviate me from      
the path i chose•still i stand            
here...duelling the sun          
•in a land scorched            
barren•search-  
ing for hope
when there's 
really none•
here i stand...
lonely and
drought
stricken•
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
­••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
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Concrete Poem 11 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
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 Nov 2015
brandon nagley
i.

Soaring, exploring,
Holding onto her
Pinion's;

ii.

Glory O' glory
I'm inside her
Dominion;

iii.

On the third story
Inside of her
Heaven;



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
 Nov 2015
brandon nagley
i.

Atop her head, she weareth a crown
Tis, once was dead;
Though now alive, I've been found.

ii.

I was buried,
Verily; in the
Ground;

iii.

I mourned
For age's;
In a coffin compound.

iv.

Though by the grace,
The mercy of mine
God;

v.

I was restored
Inside mine
Amour; once
a cadaver, now
I've entered a
Door, a door that
Bringeth life, love
and reflection. In
An upward flight;
I've been saved, by
Queen Jane's invitation.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
 Nov 2015
Darbi Alise Howe
The teenagers of the bayou look down to their pocket God, summoning validation through divine vibrations;
heads bowed they pray for the prey, for the sensations of meaning, refreshed each second,
filed and cast aside,
except on thursdays, or maybe fridays ‒
for these are the sacred days reserved for nostalgia, for last weekend’s cigarette taste,
for those cheap-gin glances, lacerated by and filtered through the teeth of crocodile tears,
for the lovesick night sweats and the mouth of another, for the break from chronic ennui,
all captured in thirty-three unearthly flashes;
The teenagers of the bayou look up from their pocket God and stretch their aching fingers upwards,
exhausted, habituated, unquestioning
of the heaviness of such emptiness
within
their starving hearts
 Nov 2015
Mysterious Aries
My days at Penlandia definitely reached its afterglow
Now it’s hard for me to find my rhythm
Hopefully, the soul of some of my poetry will find their mark
If not unto someone’s head, then to somebody’s heart

I hope my words are not just vandals on the wall
Nor merely a stain on the paper
I created them to touch, stab, **** and make love
To bring peace unto hell and create fire in the sky above

It’s up to your eyes now, my dearest readers to magnify
Hate my stuff or love them
What's the reason why I’m inches away on parking my pen?
Voices from the other side echoes within my ear again and again

That’s why I’m writing this poetry as if my last
But if one day you’ll see me deploying another poem
I hope you enjoy stories with an unexpected ending
Besides, even the afterglows have a little radiance remaining

Mysterious Aries

11/19/2015
 Nov 2015
ThePoet
There are no limits within a dream
Insanity at its most extreme
Imagination aged the child
It made me strong, it made me wild

I have ocean secrets growing deep
They're mine to ponder, mine to keep
Creativity taught and raised the kid
It gave me hopes in the places I hid

©
 Nov 2015
ThePoet
There is a world of blessing  
that is awaiting to surround me,
but piles of dust and ashes
are the only things around me

There is a world of beauty
that is awaiting to find me,
but this prison of darkness 
has locked and confined me

©
Unburdens the dusky river

dreams of flow dead in the bog of hyacinth
harvest burnt in the scorch of aridity
ripples robbed by the silt of dogma
sunbeam denied by the **** of creed


I was meant to reach the sea,
now I would never make it.


I pick the river's shattered pieces
with my own from the wintry dusk.
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