A pool of mysteries,
centered by abyss of doubt.
Beautiful red lines criss cross,
the white brings out the beauty in them.

Her black orbs beautify her the most.

I wonder how can he be so perfect.
Each shot a basket,
Every poem is heart touching,
Chords played perfectly,
Lively and amazing dance steps,
An 'A' grade always,
A perfectly curved smile,
And adorable dimples.
Still others say he is ordinary.
Don't they see all this?
Is it only me?

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

Our paths cross every day,
I fall for him day by day,
I love his poems n his prose,
Though he doesn't give me a rose.
I am afraid to confess,
Fearing he may never talk to me again.
Even talking casually is amazing,
so I don't want this to end.
It'll be unrequited love after all.

I live
yet walk upon
my tomb. I long to fly
up there and escape my coffin;
this Earth

i.

Reyna, we art, and thus alway's wilt be, king and queen wreathed by unrevealed novel thing's; A reality, no fantasy nor dream, as ourn amour' steam's and ring's like bell's in chapel holiness.

ii.

Ourn d.n.a is a map of all creational construction, showing God's hand's whom hast created ourn function's; We yearneth for another from afar, mine Jane, mine pet, we shalt soon together maketh ourn children on star's.

iii.

O' from the empyrean, O' from the empyrean we shalt glanceth Mars. Ourn heart's large, as ourn eye's pierce through another; wayfarer's we shalt be in the angelic city. With golden street's below ourn feet, none demonic fearing's nor pity, vesture of the trace of ourn creator's trinity. Viol and harp symphonies, high class and richy shalt we dance, None currency needed. The poor here shalt be standing first, as the greed-seeker's last, no tear drained pain's nor stab's, no mishap's. Just rainbow's that reflecteth garment's and robe's from the heavenly host's that carry sword's to keepeth the fallen fiend's out.

iv.

The entryway covered by rock's that sparkled back on earth in the opulent man's view, though here this scene is for me and thou; for the homeless to, as tis we shalt be renewed in ourn kiss of eternal life, all day here, no night. For God here is the light that the earthling's hath forgotten.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication-Filipino rose

Our earth is turning from green to gray,
Just because it can't say,
"Stop vulgarly harming me
Or you will soon see
Barren wastelands and dried seas."
Nature's beauty is fast eroding,
'Cause we are still enjoying.
Wise humans, don't you see,
We'll soon be left without a tree.
Be a little eco-friendly,
And treat nature more gently.