Each human searches for the passion that suits them best,
to feel at ease and happy with their lives;
they need something,
just something that is beyond them,
an aim out of reach.

For a woman, a man,
for all religions, a philosophy,
a leader to worship and adore, follow and copy.

When in love this is the same passion
that guides our feelings
and establishes so deeply the sense of love,
that it lasts forever, or doesn't.

The same self-suggestion of passion we nurture,
cultivate, breed in our minds and lives,
because it gives us meaning, an aim
and at the same time sensations of joy
that are unsurpassed.

It creates great arts,
great expressions of man's wonder at the universe
and all its explanations that,
greater than ourselves, pace about this little planet,
out there in the unknown depths of nowhere.

Of course we exaggerate, enhance what is of pleasure,
shun that which is of pain,
yet those two define each other,
without them they wouldn't exist, we wouldn't even exist.

This kind of enhancement can take many forms
using the whole gamut of human methods of expression,
passion and powerful intoxication,
not unlike alcohol or drugs,
we do not become more intensely intelligent
or aware under their influence,
quite the opposite, we loose ourselves, our rational minds,
and plunge into the depths of this other world,
parallel to our own mundane existence,
into the euphoria of pleasure.

Throughout the history of man
are numerous examples of this over indulgence
in things, seemingly giving high pleasure
to our minds and bodies.

To take only one example, the Romans,
we all know how the fall of Rome
affected the world of pleasure seeking human beings,
and yet we would not be without it.

It has produced everything we have created,
it is close to the spark of life that generates life at all,
we may look at all things with seemingly
rational, serious researches and make exact machines.

But in the end it is the leaps of intuitive creativity
given birth from passion,
that produces the wondrous machines
of our industrial existence.

Forced into this concrete, iron, built up world
by our own choices,
we long for the simplicity of nature's
own ways of existence, and look to her to yet again.

Embellish our chimney'd cities
with things almost forgotten,
our longings can turn to nature,
to discover the such-ness of all things found on earth.

A direct contact with the spirit of the world
which clothes itself in mysterious theories,
or expounds itself yet again in religious ceremonies,
all trying desperately to find
the hidden gem that explains it all.

This we shall never find, because we are what is,
only our minds weave patterns never ending,
thoughts and fantasies, dreams and visions,
Utopias's and heaven's,
hells, gods and fiery demons -
oh what a rich and magnificently
embroidered life is this life we live,
on this beautiful blue planet.                  

Margaret Ann Waddicor 2011

The altar in my church rests invisibly beside her lips and I begin all my prayers inside her mouth. This is where I worship the divine. And this is where I feel most at home. While kissing, I can feel saliva waves splash our senses. And everything takes on the quality of water.

i.

Heretofore, I impetrated for mine one and unseen dame,
I knewest not where she wouldst cometh from, though I couldst seeith her hair and face.I mewled out to mine God, even whilst with other's, knowing other's weren't mine soulmates, as tis me and them werent made for another;

ii.

I wrote letter's in prayer form, sending the prayer's to heaven. I asked the Lord, to send me mine girl, mine darling, mine lass, the one missing from mine past.

iii.

Tis, the past I kneweth her, in spirit form reality, we were two spiritual amour's, we got separated when I was thrown into the flesh, being born in sin, and fleshly seed.
iv.

Parfay mine faith, and in Jehovah's good time, whilst not feeling home with other's, as mine body broke down to slime. As tis all the tears I cried, and the year's that I hath waited, the lord answered mine wailing, and mine question's and debating.

v.

I sawest the face, I hath dreamed of many ages, I knewest her face, and recognized her taste, her hair midnight black, her eye's white as poetry's pages; I heardest her voice, the same one from afore, it was mine queen, her name Jane-MI-AMOUR'.........

vi.

I was waiting in purgatory, tis then God opened the door, mine angel flew through, I certified her allure. She was mine kindred soul, the other half to mine explores, we were eachother of old, as tis hell went neath the floor. Mine purpose was once fufilled, it came into sight, I was reborn again, the Hello-poetry night. Happiness hadst wrapped me, like a child so tight. Tis God answered, O' mine father answered, he responded with Jane, the lass of mine past life...




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

seconds  tick  and  seconds  go.
tell  me  where  for  I  don't  know.
I  call  to  them  don't  go  so  fast.
but  they  continue  racing  past.
one  day  they'll  stop  for  me  alone  
and  then  ill  know  where  seconds  go.
keith Wilson 2015.