Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books;
Or surely you’ll grow double:
Up! up! my Friend, and clear your looks;
Why all this toil and trouble?

The sun above the mountain’s head,
A freshening lustre mellow
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! ’tis a dull and endless strife:
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music! on my life,
There’s more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
He, too, is no mean preacher:
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless—
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by cheerfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which Nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things:—
We ****** to dissect.

Enough of Science and of Art;
Close up those barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

I may be just another star in your sky
But the thing about stars
Is each one shines bright

Water
under
the bridge,

rolling
and tumbling,

kissing
the river's
edge.

Trees
bend
in the breeze.

The
lonesome
moon
calls out
to the stars.

His *****
strikes
the earth,

overturning
a crawler's
night lunch.

A bottle
of ***
shared
by two

who steer
clear
of the fire's
orangey
fingers.

Fingers
to fry
the catch
under
the night's
sky.

Queen in crystalline
A king in black,
Taking a mansion
Or sleeping in shack's,
Loot doesn't matter
In their humbled abode,
Dressed to impress
Eachother ****, with none clothes,
The world doesn't exist to them
O glorious light,
They maketh love to the moon
And the sun awaketh their sight's,
They flyeth to Neverland
Up aloft the blue orb,
A child of a boy
An adolescent girl,
Shaker's and tambourine's
Piano for sound,
They waltz in the bare
With their feet in the cloud's,
Their amour' bounces
The cosmic wave,
Unbound to the celestial
Freakish romantic's in a cave,
Isolated from the new age stress
She layeth her head on his stomach, her hand on his chest,
All the best, though tis a dream all to me
Laying here alone; none ancient queen....



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

I want to skip,
Skip class,
Skip school,
Skip life...

Skip around like the inner child in me,
Screams out asking for,
Daily,
Nightly,

When ever things are bad,
Just,
Skipping around my issues,
Like people skipped around me,

I think about skipping out,
If all the bad things,

But what if I miss,
Something good,
Because I was too busy,
Skipping.

Wiling away someone else's
restless hours as they serve you
your elegant cafe au lait
you're flicking through newspapers
or maybe waiting for a friend
or a lover
or maybe contemplating
your next masterpiece
scribbling or drawing
on a folded napkin
or in a notebook
& watching someone
get out slowly out of a taxi
as someone rides by on a bike
& the first umbrella goes up
& it starts to rain
& the music is jazz
or blues & you're
dreaming of something
just people watching
& the hours pass
by almost invisibly
as if afraid to disturb

I haven't been myself.
I haven't bled in two months.
I haven't wrote in over a month.
I haven't exercised in three weeks.
I haven't picked up a book in two weeks.
I haven't had a panic attack in five days.
I haven't slept in three days.
I haven't cried in two days.
I haven't missed you in...