there is an initiative
on Facebbok
for the Black Dot
to be displayed on a palm
of those suffering with
Domestic Violence
who can't speak to you
because the cause of their angst
is standing behind them
fist raised, aim true
they're not allowed
to speak to you
but if you see that
Black dot,
and their eyes are bleeding
at you, please call the police
if you know them, if you don't
ask for their phone number
which is traceable too.

Supportive entirely
to that end
I propose an initiative
in support of a Blue Dot
a dot on the hand, of those
that suffer just as quietly
every single day
Those that live in denial
those they love and live for
might get better some day
I would like to place
a Blue Dot
on both my palms
and any who see it
on me
would just hold my hand
in theirs
letting me feel a connection
Knowing they understand

Black Dot/Blue
unable to speak truth
there is no doubt
Suffering is a real thing
the coloured dot
needs you to reach out

Just had to cut open
my pack of cigarettes
**with a knife

Ah, four
in the morning
my old nemesis.

It has been
awhile since
our last visit.

I have not missed you.

Yet we meet again.

Four in the morning,
the corpse of time,
the still moment
between life's
dubious heartbeats,
when blood sugar
takes a vacation
to the cellar,
when the blues
were invented.

When Mother Angst
knits copious
black sweaters
for doomed souls,
when you hear
the black snake moan
just outside
your swarthy window
and ghouls roam
the aisles of 24/7
grocery stores.

When the loneliness
thickens enough
to drive a
Romantic Poet
into therapy,
when only the Devil
is awake writing
lesson plans in Hell
and the JuJu waxes
evil and ready
to lead you to
some preordained
apocalyptic surprise.

When Thanatos
smiles and proffers
a deep French kiss.

Here we are,
together again, met
in your tenebrous
Kingdom of Tragedy.

I say we have coffee
and do some catching up
as I hope beyond hope
that we do not meet again
for a long, long time.

Four in the morning,
no friend of mine.

  ~mce

when I dropped
your favourite mug
and it shattered
into a thousand pieces
when I spoke
your name
and only silence
was my greeting
when I played
your favourite song
and I couldn't hear
your voice
singing
when I laid down
in bed alone
I didn't feel your touch
just the raw stinging
when I showered
waiting for you
to peek
I stepped out
mute
wrapped in
aloneness
wishing your ghost
could speak

ⓘ.

Eⓐⓡⓛ
Jⓐⓝⓔ
Nⓐⓖⓛⓔⓨ.

ⓘⓘ.

Hⓞⓟⓔ
Lⓘⓕⓔ
Lⓞⓥⓔ.

ⓘⓘⓘ.

Eⓐⓡⓛ
Jⓐⓝⓔ
Nⓐⓖⓛⓔⓨ.

ⓘⓥ.

Hⓔⓐ­ⓡⓣ
Sⓞⓤⓛ
Mⓘⓝⓔ ⓑⓛⓞⓞⓓ.

©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Hⓔⓐⓛⓘⓝⓖ
Eⓧⓒⓘⓣⓘⓝⓖ
Lⓞⓥⓔⓛⓨ
Lⓘⓥⓘⓝⓖ ⓣⓗⓨ ⓦⓞⓡⓓ'ⓢ
Oⓑⓛⓔⓒⓣⓐⓣⓘⓞⓝ
Pⓐⓝⓐⓒⓔⓐ
Oⓐⓢⓘⓢ
Eⓧⓣⓡⓐⓥⓐⓖⓐⓝⓣ
Tⓐⓑⓞⓞ
Rⓔⓟⓛⓔⓝⓘⓢⓗⓘⓝⓖ
Y­ⓘⓝ ⓐⓝⓓ ⓨⓐⓝⓖ.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry