To you these are simply few words with little meaning, scribbled on paper.

This art is made up of blooming thoughts.
Once remarked, then glorified.
Recognition of the amazement in ourselves.
No longer an outcast
Just a vessel of beauty.

Never will you know how much these words mean to me.
You are blind to me.  

I am lined paper torn up and thrown on the cold floor
You’re oblivious to the steps you take.
These words are endless thoughts with no magnitude.

My soul is in disguise, between faint blue lines, hidden but alive.
Thriving, with the pain of no gratitude.

I’m sorry you cannot see the beauty in paper.
I’m sorry you cannot see the beauty in me.

Ahh, shady lady says she’s shy
And insecure
As it were,
I say sure,
Sure, she’s a bit demure,
But that’s only part
Of  her
Allure,
I too am shy and raconteur.
Ahh, I always worry
Cuz faces are blurry
I never remember the names;
I hide behind a graffiti covered wall
Standing tall
Feeling small
I guess I’m just part of the games
People play
All day, they
Deep freeze you,
Mess with you, then
Bless You when
You sneeze,
Ahh, get down on your knees
Please, and
Beg for mercy
Beg for pain,
Scarecrow needs a brain,
I’m begging cuz I got nothing to gain
Ahh, let me explain,
Nothing to gain, nothing to lose
Wouldn’t refuse,
A new pair of shoes
Mine are old,
Have a hole in the toe
The laces are broke
And tied in a knot,
What you got,
In your store,
You can give to the poor?
Or for a switch,
You can give to the rich,
Ahh, relax,
They pay the tax,
But, I ain’t no Robin Hood, or
William Tell, whose
Overture to the pits of Hell,
Didn’t sell,
Until he licensed it to the Lone Ranger,
Hi ** Silver, ask a stranger
If it takes a silver bullet,
To **** the wicked witch,
*****,
Lies underneath the house,
Curling toes and ruby slippers,
Dreaming of all the zippers
She unzipped, then walked away,
Ahh, it’s a brand new day.
So if the IRS calls
Tell ‘em I’m dead
Or went to bed
I’ll sleep it off till noon,
Now you got the name of this tune
I’m howlin’ at the moon!
I’m crazy as a loon,
See you soon.
See you soon,
See ya,
Soon,
I’m leavin’ in a hot air balloon,
Ahh, there’s no place like home.
Or Rome,
If you get the chance
To dance,
With the Pope,
Or if you want to see the lions
In the Coliseum,
You can see’em,
Having lunch,
Captain Crunch,
The Tin Man needs a heart,
Tear me up,
Tear me apart,
Ahh, you were all there,
You, and You, and You,
For certain,
You were all behind the curtain,
Ahh, MGM,
And the lion roars,
The End
Phil Lindsey 1/13/17

Goodmorning,
precious nutcase.
Which side will I face today?
The neurotic one, to my dismay.
I can never tell which one you truly are.
I know, it seems bizarre
that after all this time
still I’m
so painfully unaware.
And I can’t force you to care.

How I hate you, Kerouac,
you made me believe I can live
with the crazy ones.
Oh how wrong was I.
After all this time
I still can’t tell which one’s the lie.
The one that l have to beg
and twist my arm out
to get attention
or the one that sends me
'I miss you's
etched in the sand.

O' agrestrial daisy, don't lose hope; for mine love is not fading. Ague hast hit me, thirsting to touch just one finger from thy hand.

Im a child within a man;

Im weak, hurting, eyes worn,
Drowned in no time,
One pocket and a dime,
As I seek out thy soul,
Mine soul wails and mourns.

Seeking a vessel, to sail the sea's,
I'd do anything, to get to mine queen;
Anything tis, tis I'd do, even if still far, I love thee mine muse.

Dost thou not seest, mine heart beating quick; it quiver's, it aches,
From the fears that I get.

The fears tis I get, to be thine own best, even in mine sorrows,
Darkness, distress.

I smile to impress, to show thee warmth, because O' how I love thee; even in mine own hurt.

Even in mine own pain, with crooked teeth, and an ancient way; im a soul of the past, not one of today.

When thou art cold, mine hair wilt be thy quilt, when the world try's to hurt thee, I'll take all it's filth.

When the cloud's overcome thee, I shalt be thy sunlight; when thou only knowest wrong, I'll make it all right.

When the bird's no longer chirp, i'll be that baby bird; that whisper's it loves thee, even in all of it's hurt.

©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©earl jane nagley dedication