he grabs my hips- and I'm by his side
he traces my skin- and I'm shrinking inside
he tugs my hair- and I'm convinced this is love
he bites my neck- and I'm high above

purple & dark blue
when I close my eyes,
ache and regret
when I tell them the lies

why did I let him
convince me
he was worth my time

why did I let him
touch me
cold hands marking every inch of me

why did I let him
see me
his crystal blues watching my every move

Prometheus gave fire
to humanity and had
his innards guzzled
by vultures for it.

You gave me the sun
and I
unduly set myself
wholly
to the task of tearing
apart your insides.

Top to bottom, I stripped you
strip you,
will strip you
of all that makes you you and
I don't know how to stop
turning your yellow
to orange
to purple
to black
like my innards too. See,
I too once gave fire
to people and lovers and friends and
then
I set myself to the task of
tearing up apart
those various necessities that made me
me. Things like basic human kindness.
Simple rules like don't
involve yourself with so many girls
that you lose count while never losing
count. That sort of
thing, y'know.

Do you know how long I've been
trying to write you a poem called
Darjeeling? I've been trying  for
so long that I drink coffee now.

I've been trying for so long that
when the restaurant menu finally
reads 'Darjeeling tea' for so and so
price, I don't pay it and order
some mediocre hot-chocolate instead
(and even a Strawberry milkshake. What
does that say about me, I wonder?).

It was lukewarm. It didn't scald
my tongue like you did.

I suppose it never will.

Uncle Sam sometimes whispers a little bit too close.
I’ve felt so many scraps scraping against my cheek-
those numerous numberless things he carries in his
beard by ‘accident’. So many things get stuck there
and I feel them all, whenever he dares, and he dares
often, to whisper alittlebittooclose. One time the grey
beard leaned in and touched me in my sleep and
planted in me strange dreams of faraway gothic towers
passing off as libraries: Harvard dreams, Princeton
dreams, Yale dreams: I haven’t quite slept since. The
shaggy scraps stuck to the forest of strands on his face
would never let me. They scratch away at me often
even in the brightness of day, and claw jaggedly in the
darkness of night. Little heart of mine has lost its own
beat. It beats to the beat of a beat on a beat from a beat
with a beat by a beat which beats those beats and beats
beats that beat not of my beat. Little heart of mine, when
did you lose your own pulse? Why won’t you tell your family
that Uncle Sam’s whispers are more than whispers? Why
won’t you tell your family what Uncle Sam does to you
in the brightness of day when everyone is smiling as Uncle
Sam pats your shoulder? Little heart of mine, why doesn’t
your family know what Uncle Sam does in the darkness
of night as he whispers whispers under your whispers and
what he does beneath your skin? Didn’t you know, little heart?
They have laws that say that greybeards shouldn’t be digging
into little boys’ insides, don’t they.

(Uncle Sam has travelled
far and wide, far and wide to tell me lies.
Recall that this is not the first time…)

But little heart you know why. This is not the first time.
It is the natural progression for a Coconut like you:
darkness of night on outside and brightness of day on inside.
Your skin doesn’t matter; you all taste the same.
Cut you off the homeland-tree and cart you all away.
Then, in this way we can say and say the homeland is “Rising”-

Uncle Sam tells the world of his diversity in selection
of little boys to touch with strange dreams.
And I like the feel of the scraps in his beard. Maybe
I can become one of them. One with them.

i.

What occupies thy soul and being? Worldly knowledge, book's, gold, material thing's; Diamond's, jewelry, ring's, automobile's, weapon's that ****, Poison's that we put into ourn spiritual bodies.

ii.

Where is thy heart? Into plastic, stuck in a casket, pulling apart?
Art thou striving to a life of just surviving, or actually living life;
What cometh first? God, family, friend's, or earthly trend's?

iii.

Whom doth thou serve? The thought's of the devil? The grave and the shovel? Art thou on another level? Or dying to get rich; Living as a slave? Choked in a cave? Giving all, as all the lord gaveth thee.

iv.

What doth thou fearest? Mankind? With bomb's that shineth, and gun's to smoketh? Or thy creator whom hold's the key to life and death, art thou like all the rest laying thy treasure on men's step's? Or in Jehovah's kingdom? The great architect's ringing the doorbell at thy being; ding ****...... Ding ****... Ring. Ring!!!!

Wilt thou let him in?
Or serve the world and men?




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

I have told you these things that in me you will have peace. In this world you will have many sufferings. But take heart; I have conquered the world.

She is not weak, she is not fragile.
She is the wind before the storm, she is the tide before the wave.
Respect the girl with lightning in her palms and tsunamis in her veins.
She is as precise and delicate as the details in her eyes, she is as deadly as the weather she causes.

Remember it well do I  ~
Third eclipse of second moon
on Wrote-Clishhen Five

Saw your eyes; full of the force, did I
But full of Love ~ they were ~ a higher power
yesss. hmmm....Delighting everyone

The Cutest nose had you ~ and ears...
Oh ! ...And smile did you
like a thousand light-sabres, was it.

But your way ~ your way, it was
~ that made me love you
Many times laughing, spend, we did

(Yo-da one that I want - joked - you did
~ the best joke ever, thinks I )

Until, intervene and consume us, the Dark Side did;
Tears replacing laughter and hate; Love
Our friendship, to die, was meant to be

But swear I do,
On my six stubby toes !
Forever love you I shall

yesss ~ swear I do...

- Forever... love you
                  ...I shall

Once upon a time,
In a almost perfect world.
There was a girl.
She was happy.
She laughed and played
And smiled all day, with a lovable smile
And her sparkling eyes.
One day, i checked behind that cheerful smile,
That sat so sweetly, among her rosy cheeks.
It was real.
She was happy.
Then she entered reality.
         PLOT TWIST
Alice was no longer in wonderland.
Wonderland to reality.
Crazy insanity.
She kept her head down.
And forced her smile.
Soft, frightened whispers escaped her
Blood red lips as she spoke.
Dark, Dull Madness
Her genuine laugh lightened,
The sparkle in her eyes
Washed out
And was replaced
With pain and darkness.
She WAS happy.
Once upon a time.