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I fall and fall
And don't hit the floor
I crawl and crawl
And can't reach the door
There's no way out of here
No-one gets out alive
After all these broken years
I should know better than try
So I wrestle with my fears
Until the day I die

                                    By Phil Roberts
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.
at the burning ghat by the Ganga, 2.15 pm
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
Avaunt- away.
Aye- yes.
Thou, also thee- means(you).
Mine- my.
Needeth- need.
Thro- means (through )archaic wise.
Morrow- next day, tomorrow.
Betwixt- between.
Everybody's heard about those rose-colored glasses
the ones that make the world look sweet.
If I had to choose between roses and RayBans,
the roses would win in a heartbeat.

Whatever you look for is what you will find:
cold and dark or sunny and bright.
I'll take the rose lenses every time,
to see my world full of light..
copyright 2015 by Michael S. Simpson
All rights reserved by the author.
comes the
time
when
mist
must
ask
with
delicate
tongue,
"please
whisper."
from my fridge magnet poetry, 2014
I wanted to
come to your
door
and
urge you ,
"lie with me."

I wanted to
undo your blouse,
release your
*******,
feel your *******
brush my chest.

I wanted to
deeply
kiss
and tenderly
caress
all of
you,
holding you,
my beloved wife,
so very
close.
I want to
feel your pleasure.
I want to
be your lover
once more.
I desperately want
you to
love
me.

But
I didn't
knock on your
door.
I was
sure
you'd say
"No!"
and turn me
away
to lie
alone
again,
adrift
on the
empty
raft
of our big
wedding bed
as I do
every night,
longing for
the closeness
and love
you say
I
have destroyed.

Instead,
I finished the wine.
There was just
one last
glass.
I sipped it
while I reviewed
my good
old songs.
The wine worked,
I felt like
singing,
and I wondered:
what am I doing
here?

I have no
idea
what I have
done
or not done
to alienate you,
my most beloved
alien.

For me
you are the only
woman--
so
righteously
angelic,
yet
so
cruel
in your
truth speaking.

Is it time to mourn
That never again
will you hold me
inside your
soft
sanctuary,
never again
will we share
the breathless
convergence
of flesh and
spirit?

Though
I may not
deserve
your love's  
benediction,
it is what
I most
ardently
desire
now
and
for which
I will
long
forever.
For S., 2002.
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson.  All rights reserved by the author.
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