Broken tears
The hope of war
Hard hearts beating
The burning bed
Maybe hands and heads see eyes
And devils magic
mad love can never be happy
Little fallen moon
The deeper ocean
Children and monsters
The red star
Maybe hopes and dreams see faces
And dancing moments
Still
Mad love can never be happy
A hiding hell
The new cold fire
Imagined angels
To bring you death
Maybe love can't bring you joy
Its just illogical longing
Mad love can never be happy

He bought his house at an average price
And lives there with his average wife
In his average car with average miles
He ferries around his average child

He'll be the first to admit
His labrador is average thick
In an average job he's kind of stuck
He used to smoke and then he gave up

His average cat has an average tail
Through his door flies average mail
Occasionally he does aspire
To something grander, something higher

But average suits him quite alright
In fact it's really rather nice

like many stoutly claim
    as members of some Christian faith
love our neighbors as we love ourselves

then why do we look down on those
    of different creeds and cultures
    skin color, clothes, or hats
suggest to keep them out by building walls,
suspect them of barbarian ways,
let them drown,
put them in camps,
build fences,
stop them at our borders,
prefer
   in short
to have them elsewhere

maybe we should love ourselves much more
so we can better love
the tired, hungry, and the poor
who come to our shores and borders
     in search of safety and shelter,
     freedom, and human dignity

let us remain easy, and truer
to the spirit of our Liberty,
remembering our heritage
     and that of our parents
     and their parents
most likely immigrants from somewhere
looking for a better place
    to have a life and rear their children

it helps to see our neighbors as our friends
rather than enemies
and love them like we love ourselves

Lambent lassie, how I needeth thee today,
I wilt be thy loving man, doing all that I canst;
To make ourn contour's swirl in a dance-
As we pass betwixt the seraphic
Trace. Chaperoned my darling,
Head resting upon head, inner-
Being in rapt, none feeling
Of dread. Mine pinkie do
I giveth thee, lock onto it-
And hold, rest thy fret inside mine chest,
Taketh a breath, inside this soul.
Kindred spirits way back from old, living young,
Homeward bound; igniparous by ourn kindling sound's.
O' fortitude wilt I hath when the time is not yet for meet,
Yet verily mine lass, tis one stroke of an hour we wilt greet.
If I hath to crawl the pit's of the abyss, slithering through the deep, if I hath to waken to a strange cosmic minute, or dieth a death of sleep. If I must endure the second's away from thee, only but for a lifetime, I'll patently awaiteth mine Jane, an eternity with thee by mine side. To glance in thy eye's and to hold thy hourglass waist, to kiss thine honey like a bee to a bloom, to maketh ourn bed upon white roses wherein spirituality is in tune. A bride and groom of times afore, we entered in by the portal of Yahweh's door, never to turn back; ahead we look on. Planting ourn pip's to what lieth ahead, happiness up upon the hill of ourn homestead. None alas expressions, for this place we art meant, together to be, mine baby, mine treat; of the patience we built up, ourn amour shant be in rent, as with the finest of spices I shalt lather thy feet.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication

I really need only two things
to turn me on
Nature is one
and your mouth is two

Nature provides the perfect backdrop
The moon and stars are the perfect lighting
The crickets and cicadas provide the perfect music
The lightning bugs dance around for us
A soft breeze cools our hot bodies off

Your mouth
I just stare at it
Watching your words
Drip down and fall
all over my body
As your tongue licks them all off
Soft and sensual and **** as hell

Actually I lied earlier
I do not even need nature
I only need you
Nature is just an added bonus

Did you see them take the green fields
one by one, now line by line on hills in echelon?

Still, holding ground held holy by their sons;
no longer marching to the smoke and drum.

Where bugler called the day to final rest,
now silence grows like lichen on the stones.

For those who gave their all at our behest,
our memories alone will not atone.

Do you see the fires burning at a distance,
and more hallowed ground broken day by day?

Each new stone laid a fading reminiscence;
each new boquet soon fading into gray.

What better way to honor sacrifice
than to pause and speak their names aloud.

Until the gods of war are pacified;
until our flag no longer serves as shroud.