i.

heretofore bygone week's
Tis I was layden in mine outgoing's;
Incapacitated, mine feet's step's unknowing.

ii.

Dolor rolled as Boulder's
Down mine emptied innard's;
Jinn filled with hate and sin, tooketh over.

iii.

They tried to possesseth me
And diluteth me by their fear's;
They scratched, and bit, all didst spit
Yet mien reine reigned in by chariot flares.

iv.

Mount Mayon, in southern Luzon
Volcanoe's surround her citadel;
She snatched me from the barbarian's
In heaven, whence in hell.

v.

Manila in the concentrate
Between the thickness of it all;
Is where mine rose, her face didst gloweth
Her virtue's were one, of the prophet's and high law.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/Reyna/hari/soulmates

Any writer canst writeth word's
From their tongue's and their lip's;
Though canst thou speaketh
From thy soul?


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

there in
a cobweb corner sits
an old grand piano

not used to play
any note in four years
and probably out of tune

her strings loosening and covered
in silk, no hammer has touched
or fallen away as quick

all the soundboard does is warp
under a stress of thirty tons and four years
alone

Fulfill your dreams,
Then and only then you shall die in peace

Best are those whom you meet by chance
when you cared less and free from heart
everyone stood equal and no one apart
it was easy moving with flow with no draft

through the happy and through the sad
from chirpy loud to silence
you withstood by me
immense patience bottled inside you had

nothing did I leave to not turn you upset
out of mind and puzzled in my own quest
like a rock in cold and night
I am indebted with your gestures of not taking a flight

I have never seen discontentment in you
you had been so constant in my life
Words fall short to explain somethings
so I'll just say a Thanks to you



Manisha

Come on ! Come on !
Let's go ! . . .
row upon row
do the red poppies grow

Red ! Red !
the petal fed
taken from the lives
of the young and dead

The white bones
bleached of dreams
and forgotten sins ,
everything

Row upon row
of white the markers go
drenched in poppies
the dead in red grow

Bleached bone dreams
no breath
no whispers of "dear"
that death's spear pierced

Their's , no longer
the years , the fears , and tears
where the red poppies grow
row upon row

I take out my old pen
And begin to write to you
Scribbling, pausing, wavering
Of us, and life, and time, and us.

I dip my pen in fairy dust
And write to you
A message
Of two seas meeting, and two breaths mingling,

I dip my pen in time
And write to you
A song
Of slow minutes, long hours, quick heartbeats

I dip my pen in tar
And write to you
An elegy
Of raging pasts and lingering remorse

I dip my pen in water
And write to you
A scroll full
Of doubts and worries;  headless snakes

I dip my pen in blood
And write to you
A promise
Of forever and always

I put my pen away
And sit back, sigh deep, rocking gently
I sign my words in kisses
And cross my heart to you.