Crying because their stomach is empty. A child sits in the dirt hoping for relief. In another place a mother struggles to find money to buy her next meal. Outside of a non-descript building people wait in line to get a bowl of soup as they are drenched by a cold down pouring of rain. From block to block and down rural roads hunger cries out to be fed. Not in a 3rd world country that no one has ever heard of but in the cities and streets of America there is want. In a land so rich and full so many go without a morsel of bread or their next meal. The problem is not someone else's problem and it is not an idle pass time. Hunger is not a game, it is a reality that only we can stop.

Listen

You escape into the heart of dawn

No longer life or a lover's pawn

Your ship is set for distant lands
Uncharted realms
Loving hands

Though Storm and Silence rocks your boat
you are still alive
You are still afloat.

And as the wind sets it's tone- you realize you're not alone
We sail together, you and I

Pay Dusk no matter, WE shall not die
for this wooden heart- will still depart

and no festered crack shall **** your Art!

Hand in Hand even the Caspian Sea
holds no borders for you and me.

Stop suddenly and close your eyes. Hear the wind blowing and the birds singing. Let sound fill you and give yourself to the emotions that are carried in each sound. Stop in to see an old friend and say not a word. Simply sit quietly and hear what they have to say. Release the bonds of this world and listen to children at play. Just stop for a few quiet moments of reflection each and every day. Just listen.

i

Earl Jane, oriental poetess, thou art so down, that's why I writeth this, Earl Jane, best friend of Friend's, thine heart's open as thou doth not pretend, as so many other's do; Earl Jane, thy hand's writeth as a muse, thou art not abjected in mine room, welcomed

ii

Earl Jane, lover of all being's, agone wherein thy heartbreak Sting's, I shalt taketh thine wound's mine friend, kind, gentle, thy charity with none end, thou shalt filleth thy dream's unlike other's thinkest, thou shalt glaze the moon in color's, I'll watcheth

iii

Earl Jane, afoot beside me, its thee I shalt helpeth and guide
I seeith the passion and compassion in thine eyes, as thou art free
Earl Jane, poetica dream, taketh the rope off from around thy neck, ourn savior saved thee, as I'm here for thee to protect.

iv

Earl Jane, I knowest whence thou came: from the before life of this, wherein romantic's met the poetic flame, earl jane, Asiatic bird, let thy anguish cometh out in word's, and jot and scribe thine soul down as it glide's, and frolic for new tommorrow.

v

Earl Jane, is this helping thine sorrow? Art thou smiling now as thou shouldst? Just look at mine face if thou needeth a laugh, we both knoweth its stained, like church rose glass, I knoweth right now that thou shalt laugh, art thou smiling now? Dearest friend...


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/ friendship poem

I have a secret don't you know
One that's begging to be told
Given just above a whisper
Last thing said, don't share it mister

Maybe share with just one other
I'm sure it won't go any further
In my minds pocket it burns a hole
Wanting desperately to be told

Though to share a secret is often free
There's a tremendous cost we fail to see
Holding tongues can be a must
Else we loose trust in all of us

Perhaps it's best kept to yourself
Sharing it with no one else
If you want the secret to hold tight
Don't ever let it out of your sight

Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
one with a pick, two with shovels
all with stories
passing them around
stories, pick, shovels
taking turns
not a single earthworm in this ****** soil
plenty of rocks.

Don is the oldest, at eighty-plus
a good man with a pick
breaking, pulling clods of clay.
After thirty years in a
San Quentin prison cell,
he’s walked across the USA
three times. Big guy, gray ponytail,
not one wrinkle on that copper body,
power of a bronco
behind gentle eyes.

Terry is bald, seventy-plus,
in the Air Force he was trusted
with nuclear launch codes,
then thought better of it and hit the road,
dirt-bike racer, merry prankster,
grinning beatnik, psychedelic dancer,
always good with tools
wields a shovel like a pencil
writing the hole
as a poem.

David is almost seventy,
bearded like a prophet,
wizard of China
raised like a farm boy,
adventures in Alaska,
heroic high school English teacher,
telepathic with animals and teenagers,
can speak to horses
in haiku.

Digging is therapy.
A hard job, the work of death.
A time for muscle and sweat,
our language of grief.
We joke, I’ll dig your grave
if you’ll dig mine.

We agree, each canine
has an individual personality
but also each carries
dog spirit. As one leaves
you welcome another
different, individual
but the dog spirit renews
rejoins your life
making you whole.

On this land already
I’ve buried four dogs, two cats.
Dakota will make five,
good company.
Terry says “When Dakota arrives
in doggy heaven or wherever
dogs go, she’ll report
there are good owners here.”
A good review
on doggy Yelp:
Fear not, next puppy.

Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
among spirits.

I've been kicking round here
for nearly twenty years
I'm a singer no one's heard of
I play for smoke and beers
I'm an overnight sensation
I'll make you smile or bring tears
I've been kicking round here
For nearly twenty years

Right now I'm playing at a place
On cinder blocks and wood
It's not the worst stage that I've played
In fact, it is quite good
The crowd is small, the beer is cold
But, it's the best bar in the hood
I'm playing for my beer and smokes
On cinder blocks and wood

The music is my heartbeat
The people are my muse
I play because I love to
****, man...I've paid my dues
I'm an overnight sensation
Playing what you want to hear
I've been playing for the people
For near on twenty years

The crowd looks up, some clap a bit
Most live above the bar
At least if they don't like the show
They don't have to go too far
It's just me up here, alone and bare
Taking tips in an old jar
I play mainly for my beer and smokes
For the folks above the bar

I've never made the big time play
I hit the road but not for long
I write my stuff, but cover most
Because in truth, my life's a song
I sing old stuff more than glammed up tunes
To sell out, to me is wrong
If I'm not here, I won't be far
I hit the road, but not for long

The music is my heartbeat
The people are my muse
I play because I love to
****, man...I've paid my dues
I'm an overnight sensation
Playing what you want to hear
I've been playing for the people
For near on twenty years

I know I am a dinosaur
I sing songs that drip with age
Most bars I play once hosted folks
Who sang these tunes upon their stage
But, now, it's me and empty chairs
Beer and smokes make up my wage
I know I am a dinosaur
Singing songs that drip with age

I sing County Western
Not 'bout beer, and girls in shorts
I sing about the country
Of heartache, not of sports
I show you what's beneath the crust
Without makeup, and with warts
I sing Country Western
Not 'bout beer, and girls in shorts

The music is my heartbeat
The people are my muse
I play because I love to
****, man...I've paid my dues
I'm an overnight sensation
Playing what you want to hear
I've been playing for the people
For near on twenty years

The window open and I am reminded air is not made of smoke
its a sweet release that captures my mind through senses dulled
I find myself travelling lighter than when the window was closed
my spirit trailing along the horizon of a moment in time, singing, hallelujah's....

I had the companionship of a German Sheppard.
for a large swathe of my travelling.
He took it upon himself to be protective
and we were asked to leave certain establishments.
He took me to places I never would have gone
and I think I am a better person for it.
He died on the road, and I think he would approve
the place I decided to end my days in.

I bite my top lip
close my eyes
& trust my memories
to remember your smell
biting my bottom lip, I yearn
to capture your taste.
I hear myself giggle
& exhale loudly...
"What have you done
      to me."
Inside my head is spinning
&, this
          this is what you do!
My whole world is opened
I saw the debris
   before I saw you
& that's how I knew
that only once in my life
will ever a storm
  that destroys
so much within
       & around me
be the storm landing
that throws my world
  before picking up
   every broken piece of me
& sculpting me into
   a woman without walls.

© Sia Jane

(Deborah) an old style poetic as me, thy words about empresses, kings and queens, is mine sort of style, thy writing is beautiful untamed and shalt never die in any mile. Thy writing like heaven passed down from Shakesperian words himself, true poetic!!!

( Aarvie) thou art a true of truest romantic's, as I seeith in thine pieces of heaven, its good to see other hopeless romantic's as me, I prayeth the best for thee and thy life, continue to loveth in both of thine dreams and reality, and be the king as thou art mate.

( Elsa angelica) angel to all of us, though we've not spoken in day's, just wanted to tell thee, for thee nightly I prayeth, as thou feeleth so alone, God awaits thee, for heaven's thine home, as I've said I've known thee long ago, continue to shine on, dear Angel.

( Earl Jane) dear oriental friend of mine, thy love and heart shineth above the hellish earth, thou was sent to love and forgive, and overcometh the judgement of the one's who art hurt, showeth them amour', smile and uplift as thou doth me friend.

( KetomaRose) miss, thy words lonely like me, I prayeth one day that thou findeth a king, because there's a difference between men and kings, men calleth a woman "woman", kings calleth one queen, continue to be who thou art, and one day. Get that ring!!

( Musfiq us shaleheen) dearest writing champion, thy words like butter giveth flavor to mine tongue, thy artwork's art as gods finger's stroking the sun, class thou hath, and a loving àura I canst seeith shine, like wine to mine doorstep of poetry mate.

( Anto MacRuairidh) haven't known thee to long dearest poetic, but thy word's of love rub me in a friendly alphabetic way. Continue to jot love now, tommorrow,  today, in every way continue to be the genius thou art, and remember, love is real!!!

( Katie) new to h.p, welcome mine friend, thank thee for supporting me, thy words ring across England, it rings the bell of the USA, Ireland, and the united kingdom, thou art kind, sweet, a good soul anyone wouldst want to meet. Continue thy blossoming

( Steven Langhorst) friend, always writing of thy good times and bad, the times that meant all to thee, and times thou hath hadst. Thou art a truest poetic honesty! A man of devout poetry belief, continue to love thy family, and showeth amour to all as thou art

( Victoria) another lass with class, a lady whos great, no questions to ask, thy old soul is fastened on with a pen and Papyrus to scribe thine beauties, thy artwork like movies, dancing the HP scenes, putting realness in dreams, decor thou writeth.

( Toreinss Pinwinkel III) hey good man, don't knoweth thee much, but thou art a comic, a friend of men, an honest lad, like an ex hippy gypsie, or a wonderful lad, thy words art heart forming, thy words mold into treasures that speaketh to me.

( neex) thy amare speaketh to mine soul, as everyone loveth thee, thy lingo like gold, thou showeth bright in this place of h.p . continue to loveth, forget the hatred and doeth as thou doth please, just don't forget like the rest, continue in thy love friend!

( cat Fiske) thou hath known me since the beginning friend, thou hath even made a room called" the poems Brandon writeth for us" meaning for all the girls who like mine work' lol, thank thee dear friend, keepeth thy head up, knoweth God is with thee now.

( Mina) Iranian charmstress, a best friend to me, and a world of loving ways thou art, as thou wilt meet thy king, just remember, when ourn countries and government's acteth as hating brutes, remember God is watching, and he's been there protecting to.

( Matt) this ones for thee prophetic as me, speaking of the economy's ending, friend continue just to trusteth thy God, and in love showeth Christ's love is affectionate, not deadly! Be ready for his coming dearest good friend, thou wilt find thy queen to.

( Jimmy yetts) this one for thee brother, thy word's art comical and at the same time so much truth, thou art a poet free. Not a slave, not In some noose, thine hand writeth what others need to heareth, that's a a prophetic to me, continue on friend of h.p.

( ridicule) I knoweth that's not thy real picture, yet I knoweth thou aren't fake, continue even if in secrecy to showeth thy words of beauty, and showeth thy heartbreak, as thou wilt find thy good king to, continue in love as the rest, ad thou art blessed!

(SweetPea) poetic so saccharine, I promise thee one day thy pains shalt cease, as this life hath pains and dreams, but reality for thee wilt be awoken, God wilt flyeth thee to places unspoken, aloft the clouds wherein thou shalt write. Thou art a dearest of good invite

( its gonna make sense) this ones for thee mine dearest little line writer, thy tiny confection treats art sweet to mine tongue, like pastrys filled with such goodness. Continue to search on for thy king, though only taketh him if he hath armour, a shining knight


( Frank Ruland) madman of writing, as thy jargon is enticing and I always want to take a peep, though dont knoweth thee well either, thy words like Clover's. Hard to find other words. Continue to loveth for thine queen, let words floweth like herbs.

( Nicole) a gentle soul, like a stream that surrounds the lonely banks, let thy words sink into the heart of the lonesome. Continue to shock in awe and inspiration, when thou art down cometh here to gain above. For God watches his children as many doves.

( Helena) the thief of wonder of words, don't worry thy words art heard, as I listen loud and clear. I freely feeleth thy tears cometh out in thy personal moments, like butterfly's thine writings flyeth on to the moon and back, as thou I hath as mine good friend...

One word to overcometh hatred;
LOVE....

©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry