Avaunt, avaunt, I want to be,
Betwixt thy kiss, where
Ocean's roar; as
Studded door's
Open to the
Love I need.

An aye from thou
An aye from me;
I needeth mine
Filipino queen.

Thro the sorrow Jane
I'll be waiting, thro
The morrow; this
Heart will be racing.

Pumping each second,
Awaiting thy touch;
Craving thy face,
O' the yearning
Is much.

Time is so slow
When we art
Many sea's
Away;

But I'll get
To thee
Somehow,
The morrow----------if not the morrow;

I'll try again another day.

©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley ( agapi mou) dedicated

I'm reading poetry at the cremation ghat
amid chanting of God's name
while ferrying and burning the dead.

The noise unsettles me a bit
as sets me thinking of my own death
that by all means seems closer than farther.

Yet I get the relieving feel
reading poems would heal
all the agonies of my flesh
and take me to that spiritual level
where I would take death as
passing into another dimension.

I'm not much of a religious person
but have always felt devoted to my kindred
seeking transcendence through them.

The best thing I'm hoping right now
is when I burn
someone would amid chanting of God's name
read poetry at the burning ghat.

There's a poem coming

Something about mountains
And voice

Conversations
Are waiting

Maybe something
About being trapped long years
And finally
Seeing a light
At the end of the tunnel

There is definitely
A poem coming

Maybe we will write it
Together

Somewhere in the realms
between transcendence
            and desire
where the power of change
always takes us higher
there walks a poetess,
who writes in spirit's muse
her words curling up and out,
                    wisps of smoke
                        in celestial hues          
She walks slowly
through the heavens
bringing down
slices of enchanted spells
and we can feel the pull
of her grounding chants
right down to
        our very cells
Her words reflect the workings
of a potently spiritual mind
connected to emotions
in a binding so divine,
into darkest ocean depths
she brings forth points of light
and wherever she steps
no matter where she goes
one feels her soul, so bright
as it lifts us up into the spheres
of music and words,
spiraling in whorls
where dust
             and magic merge
and as she walks through green,
through mountains, rivers, forest
her essence often glows
in heat and coolness,
in rush of creative flow
And yes, while we feel
this journey, these seeds
being so beautifully sown
we can take those
words of wisdom
and apply them
         as our own

in a tea house
a jasmine girl
plays a piano
shimmering a
song of soft keys
to a lotus blush
of fine infusing leaves.

morning, the jewels
of dawn’s filigree nets
a summer storm
in a wintry sky
coaxed out of
a melody of
incense, trembling
to the infinite
blossom of
tranquil, arching
skies.

your poetry, the
cadences of the sun
unwrapped,
the light of the
ocean
breathed
in,
beautiful moons
that weep for
life’s joys,
wild summer
in our hearts.

"I may not say thank you to all who
like my poems.
Please don't take it to heart.
I'll try my best to start.
I love you all, and the art you do.
To love a strangers work,it's a
dream come true.
The world can bring so many down, but
when a poem is read, it can turn around
their frown.
We are gifted from above.
The Lord allows us to think.
We put his words on the "Paper Wall", for others
to stand up and speak.
They speak to others with all that we have
to say.
It give's them a life with a smile, finding them
enjoying the brand new day.
So please forgive me for not saying thanks to you all, but
Love  me as i love you, and keep writing your mind
on the "Paper Wall."

Sometimes I feel
that what I have
so closely
right next to me
is so very far
there is distance
that cannot even be
named
while inside me,
a wildness
that cannot be
tamed
and I long to
break free
travel to far-off lands
get closer to
myself
as I take the spirit-reigns
into my own hands
And all the while
as I wait
trying to find that
perfect moment
for escape
I gather the warmth
and light around me
wrap it around as one,
close energetic blanket
let it charge me up
refill the spots
that have become
empty
rejuvenate that
private inner sanctum
that so few can see,
those who know
and understand
the irony
for on the circular map
marked in cities, towns
and roads
are the ones physically far
who hold me so very close
the ones who know my mind
the workings of my heart
who help gather me into wholeness
when the seams threaten
to rip apart
They know
the meanings of the ways
that this heart spills into verse
and I see how physical proximity
can be a blessing, or a curse
because when it's an illusion
it cuts right to the core
stirring up pure loneliness
bringing longing to the fore
a heightening of confusion
when the door slams in your face
and you wonder why, in your home
you can feel so out of place
And so I bless this map
mark with pins my states of love
countries and landscapes of kindness
felt through the airwaves above
and with my own love in return
I immerse all the beautiful souls
We all share the struggles and victories
provide calm
when it's out of control

I cast forth my heart to you
Let it crackle through the wires
its electricity connects
and like magic,
sweet
love
          transpires

this palate is an anvil
this tongue a hammer
forging the edges of words
reversed

dating a poet is fun,
and you'll learn things about yourself,
that you never knew.
but when you leave her,
you'll be the one who's broken.

you see,
she'll break you down
into bits and pieces-

she'll carve rhymes
into your rib cage
and
she'll make your kisses
into pentameters.

your voice becomes her rhythm,
and each color in your eye
forms a stanza.

you become pieced together
and poorly stitched,
because she's taken out
the very best parts of you
and the very worst.

she's taken you,
and cut out her favorite parts,
and she'll promise to put you back together,
but the funny thing is,
she never learned to sew.

I don't belong here,
Got to get away;
Poet, close your eyes:

The fire at the head of a verse
Takes me where verbs and stars
Collide,
(And the girl whose ancient name
Is fire)
Black rose consoler of sorrows,
My worries ride the sky today,
      Brilliant nocturnal fool
      I can see all the words escape
      A collision with atmosphere,
Flocked with hope
It gathers steam towards
The kiss of the quarter moon;
Your name is HOPE.
   I nail my dreams to sky black
   Bridging the gaps in the abyss,
   I catch a ride with the tail
    Of a comet's tears
   And endure its loneliness like
   A broth of nourishing sacrifice:

     "Take my hand dear poet,
    Your words are embers
     On a midsummer harvest"
    And the world froze beneath
     It's cylindrical tail
      As the wheel of days did not
     Revolve;

I became a solar sorrow,
My dreams burst into sunflowers
In a flame of words
Bursting itself from my soul,
Each night as the world
Becomes too much,
I escape and the poem takes
Me away.

I tear at the flesh and cut the skin away. I pull out my life's blood and let it drip on to a page. I pour my being into the words I speak. I let that which lives in me give rise to imagination. I bear my soul to the paper and pierce my arm with the quill. I let the blood become my ink and let the pen do it's will. Putting the essence of myself into each word and phrase. I give from my beating heart that which courses through my veins.

We speak the true tongue
a language formed
in the deepest trenches
of the earth's oceans
those places where life was formed
where the elemental heat
of the planet
expresses itself
in steam, confusion
and eruption

We sing in the true tongue
music that is blind
yet sees all
its rhyme set to rhythm
a motion of flesh-hung bones

We stand against every fate
yet our song will endure
it will be the last song

And we paint
with a palette stolen
from the sky
on the day of the most perfect dawn

We are God's thieves
stealing a line here and there
dipping a sad bucket
into a river of stars
holding it proudly aloft
the heart shaped into a song
perhaps a poem
nothing more

Yet more than nothing.
And more than enough.