boy coils in the lawn
& early air.
grass touching him wet,
smoke crawls from his lips,

into the blue awoken,
or sky before his face.
there it dances like wild life lived
& falls away with breezy.

dearly herb to glossy reds,
he purses, thus to inhale.
sparked ember, spark clench, fist to fist.
life given to life encapsulated.

the sense of it goes steady,
goes patent cool.
he exhales, and looks to the south,
where his legs once were.

To my schitzophrenic mind,
You are all the same.
You are him and he is her,
She has more than one name.

Do not try to ever lie,
Or abet in the foolish game
In order to persuade me,
Or explain why you cannot flame.

I can see the forest for the trees.
The winds shakes their mighty lofts.
When the storm is raging,
Dieing things fall off.

What good is any word without a meaning?
Only those with tear-stained egos disagree.
Nobody wants to hear about your sacrifices.
You aren't the only ones who ever bleed.

In empty pages and stark contrast the storm chased away the weak now alone I stand.
The hero a pawn truth cast aside for others cause .
We embrace solutions where  no problems exist.

May the colors run red from forgotten cause and history be erased for the sake of all that must be forever mundane.

I wish only to drag you to the depths and leave you to linger where nothing but a child's logic can remain
In spider webs we threw are thoughts now tangled the words left to wither in passing days.

May we dance in empty halls to illuminate the shadows and create the ghosts for others to place there hopes of what never shall be again.

To silence the voice is but closing the chapter  to spite the clear view .
Nothing stands a statue for the promise of tomorrows decay and the ******* will parade there ignorance as the simple minded spread a plague to which we are losing this battle.

I write for no one to read and all to judge.
Where's the laughter now the jester  is asked in ruins of a kingdom now simply reduced to ruble.

I remember what you will never taste and you may judge but waters tasted pure beats the stolen verses and burrowed lines of a time I no longer care to understand.


And Time passed me as it will pass you just the same .

May the silence remind you of that which never was to be.

We all will know this place someday.

Like pop rock's
When she saidst she loveth me;
I jumped out of mine body
As mine pneuma went thither the nebulosity.



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

Is this as good as it gets?   'cause
I'm feeling a little bit tricked,
I'm feeling a little bit foolish like
my dream's had it's pockets picked,
I've been waiting to see
if the hands of Fate
have slipped me a hand
that's not mine,
but it's getting late
and while I've been waiting
she's robbed me of all of my time,
my time,
Fate's robbing me all of the time..

She takes her beautiful bones
& carries her woes in her purse

                                                          ­                      the shadow-men haunt her
                                                             ­            the men of the world taunt her
she is both an egg-shell about to crack
& a phoenix about to soar

                                                           ­               she's not asking for sympathy
                                                        ­                  she wants much more
than empty tears
& dry dust in her throat

When I was young
a gypsy woman said to me,
You'll have a life of chaos and confusion
With no end in sight, no solution.
She waved her arms in the air
pronouncing due time must pass
before I'd stumble upon peace, and
more pleasure. And love, all in good measure.

As I think about what she said
I relax on the beach listening
to the waves lapping at the shore.
Watching the children carry their plastic pails
full of jellyfish to a sandy death
before going back for more.

The haze in the sky lets through the suns rays
and I burn slightly contemplating these better days.
I don't look back but when I do, it's not for long.
I turn my thoughts to what went wrong,
then I cast the memory aside
in order to allow my spirit to glide.

Mistakes are still made,
not every card is well played.
I get nowhere if I deny,
and cheat myself with some spun lie.
Change is going to come, it comes for everyone.
I make the best out of what I've got,
sometimes it seems that it's so little
but the opposite is true, it's really a lot.

.
You've asked me how can I see a future when love, in all
Its numinous beauty, is waning?
I reply, the immortal stars still shine above the veil of clouds.
You say, why are the salmon swimming to their pools of origin
Only to die as they spawn?  Only to die?
I tell you their love is unconditional, like mine.
You ask me did the giant sequoia know it was shelter for the burning grasses
When they walked from the seas?  I reply yes they knew.
You question me about the lofty snow cranes that fly over the Himalayas
And I reply by describing
How the priestly flocks, chanting on their mission, honk—
Announcing the mantle steps to the heavens.
You inquire about the elephantine manatees gracing the shallow banks
And wonder if the sea mermaids remember their lives beyond the latitudes
Of capricorn and cancer?
Or you’ve discovered in the wind a new reasoning as to why
The talons of the paired eagles lock in midair as they court?
You want to understand the nimbus garden, ocean slate, of lake Titicaca
Where resides the Andean sea horse gliding above the clouds?
The whales that circle dance in unison collecting krill?
The noetic display of the birds of paradise, the songs of nameless creatures
Playing in the wilderness like a forgotten melody only lovers lips remember?

I want to tell you that true love knows this, that life in its
Prismatic shimmer is all the myriad colours of infinite existence wrapped
In time to the sublime structure of white and bones.  I must tell you
That the flower is mighty in its opening, the humming bird is a sorcerer
Who needles ambrosia with vortex wings weaving his way to the Gods.

But I am nothing beside your disbelief which has arrived, before
I can even imagine the sweet awakening, like doom, my shell is the iridescent
Hollow of the one eyed Abalone, discarded in the deep fathoms
Of the ocean pressures.

I swim the tides as you do, investigating
The endless tendril seas,
And in my chest, during the night, I woke up empty,
The only thing treasured, a golden face
Trapped inside my dreams.

                                                        ­­­          
                                                             ­­                       — after Neruda

( a vision dream )

      1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


      2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


      3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


      4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”