The riveting heart feels
the weight of trouble
The rebel is like a watchdog
sentinel
Whats in our Bible?
Things change to make the
difference

"Like a new invention but there is interference"

The Castle you hear
a rattle wasn't a baby rattle
Minds settling or quietly dazing
No defeating over the rainbow
It's like running then you stop
You look at his watered fingers
Of the great lakes, he's admiring
your lady's fingers

Lips divine as one like us
The gold rush collection
Just a secret hush affection
A treaty concession
Picking out the candy
          Skittle
The pivoting flying shy like a sky
riddle
Him or Her piloting its time
Two sets of eyes world of exploring
Not to keen
on exploiting

Her dress movie flowing prayers to
be answered so vain
Heads Spin city flaunting
Defeats us haunting
Who loves us
Who will help us
       SOS
Like a delicacy one of a kind
She's the rebel let her guess
Such a rarity smile with
dignity dressed up doll
she is dainty
To many disguises to face the
mirror of vanity
Rebel Rebel David Bowie
He is a genius of music
Shines a world gigantic

Rebel world of cults and sanity
What was heavily Tis
To be blessed
Rebels of hearts of Madonna
Greyhound bus

Our scorched finger heats
Riding the *Porshe Red firehouse
A beat something rare but overly sweet
Robin risque I  need more clues
Braveheart Riding hood in the woods
to be saved in her rebel shoe's

Queen heads up with the Dean
 Her embossed gold letters
Of a spell, forever mean
The heats on rebels defeat over
Modern time the "Dell"

Rebel wish from a deserving well

Computer and devil decipher
Compelled to love her
The Dark Shadows mansion
Angelique scarlet fever
Dark inside her label dress
What did he deliver?
"'Who lives by the standard rule messy is ****"
Rebel rebel look at your bloodshot pupils
taking things for granted

Freakish odd things posted
Are bizarre even her brassiere
Mean as a *Manchette
We are not as one
normal read the Gazette
More rivals and feather
pen of forgery
What a hard act to follow like surgery
Every molecule being
dissected to poke
A love primal no
common ground
This isn't a joke

Everyone tantalizing tribal
Creatures not in direct sunlight
Defeats us like rebels at night
Being inconsistent rebels
lead the way but far away
distant

We are not realizing what defeats us
Endorphin releasing our energy
Lifting our orphan spirits
Moon worshipper climbers
We are the simple people
Nothing too explicit
Or razor sharp to cut us

The Messiah
Solomon Torah of Isreal
Old Testament Jerusalem
Everything is way too ****** red
Like Salem
What defeats us
Voodoo or Christmas Hoo Hoo

Santas gift got stolen and snatched
Having a fight with a door latch
Magic somehow not in our favor to match
Tragic music rock or swing jazz of a glitch
But everything defeats us
Psychic third eye
She is so tragically hurt
So Manic not the
brave rebel flirt

Like the limited edition
So many of us are uninvited
Not the VIP pass
Ressurection new rebel convention
Unique kind of communication

The last time I saw you on vacation
Relic hunters the lightning
Hells Angel rider conjuring
What mouths to feed of thunder
Nazis all  our undivided
attention pictures
They snap having a field day
of paparazzi
Priestesses devil wears the
Prada dresses were out
of designers
I wonder why to travel heretics
Such treachery and butchery
Being grilled like steaks but
not a Dynasty
Too graffitied feeling fried
How loves are taken like the fools

The business arrangements
Foreign exchange groups
Rebelling their way
through college
Time is the essence of
being mutual
beneficial much
higher potential
More spiritual rituals
We need more Gods of top
rank **Generals
General Mills cereal at least
not the serial killer

I have no wit, no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears.
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is in the falling leaf:
O Jesus, quicken me.

My life is like a faded leaf,
My harvest dwindled to a husk:
Truly my life is void and brief
And tedious in the barren dusk;
My life is like a frozen thing,
No bud nor greenness can I see:
Yet rise it shall--the sap of spring;
O Jesus, rise in me.

My life is like a broken bowl,
A broken bowl that cannot hold
One drop of water for my soul
Or cordial in the searching cold;
Cast in the fire the perished thing;
Melt and remould it, till it be
A royal cup for Him, my King:
O Jesus, drink of me.

Walking down the street
your hearts are skipping the exact same beats.
A unison that anyone would wish for.
He came out of the darkness
as the most unpleasant surprise.
Reeking of demise
he stole her from your grasp.
One hand over her mouth and one hand over her heart
he sprinted
but you boy, you ran after her.
You ran and ran until your stomach screamed;
until your feet began to bleed.
Oh how you cried.
That man, he took her to a isolated place
so that she would have to face
him. And only him.
Her screams, were insignificant because at that moment
she was no one.
The look in his eyes as he undressed her was
mortifying.
She tried to run, she tried to scream but he was in control.
Then he plunged; breaking the skin that kept her innocense so beautiful.
& he plunged; scraping the walls of her ****** making her bleed.
& HE PLUNGED into her heart, soul, and mind
making her cry.
Oh how she cried.
And you boy, you heard her screams.
But they were hushed by your own dreadful sobbing;
Bawling yourself into an unconcious state of failure and loss.
And that girl, she was paralyzed with pain;
Drenched with the strange white substance that filled her with
s h a m e.
Her ****** had been bruised and scarred by the monster.
She said, "God.. God I know you can hear me. Help me. You are not going to let me die."
That man he turned around and laughed.
Smiling as he said, "Girl. Sweet, sweet girl.
I am Anastatious and this is your sacrifice."

i.

Into her oriental soul I crept
Quiet and cozy into her warm nest;
She grabbed me by the tie
Unfastened mine vest;
Released all mine unease
Freed me from disease,
Gaveth me a plate
And filled all of me.

ii.

She beckoned mine being
O' Brandon mine king;
She whispered, she glimmered
With a wave of starry mink.
Hypnotized I was, whilst in her presence
I kneweth she was mine, whilst in mine state of evanescence.

iii.

Her islander essence
Dripped through the phone;
Her voice, her speech, her laugh, her tone.
She was the one, mine blood, spirit, and home;
I'll dieth for her today, and again tommorrow if thou doth not knoweth, for her do I groweth: in limelight connection.
She is mine path, mine whole- and other half,
She is God's apostle to me, tis she's mine purified direction.
She is mine Queen, empress, Earl Jane nagley mine bliss, the ultimate ressurection.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley ( Filipino rose)

7

The feet of people walking home
With gayer sandals go—
The Crocus— til she rises
The Vassal of the snow—
The lips at Hallelujah
Long years of practise bore
Til bye and bye these Bargemen
Walked singing on the shore.

Pearls are the Diver’s farthings
Extorted from the Sea—
Pinions— the Seraph’s wagon
Pedestrian once— as we—
Night is the morning’s Canvas
Larceny— legacy—
Death, but our rapt attention
To Immortality.

My figures fail to tell me
How far the Village lies—
Whose peasants are the Angels—
Whose Cantons dot the skies—
My Classics veil their faces—
My faith that Dark adores—
Which from its solemn abbeys
Such ressurection pours.

When the seas, all seven, align and combine,
To form one tide, do you believe we have a selection, to
Reside, hide and remain alive?
Or is that our mind tryna confide,
In our own made lie, afraid to die?
If the angels rein down a path to heaven,
I wish to accept, find, listen and abide,
Until I arrive.
Once I’ve arrived at my final destination,
Only then will I quit the investigation,
Quit the pacing,
Where thoughts are constantly racing.
End of days where I communicate,
Debate and question every nation.
An owl of silent observation,
Mixed with a perfection I can imagination,
To relate,
To create,
And modulate,
An exhilarating answer to the allegation,
Fact or fiction,
Which is resurrection?
Such unbelievers, who claim afterlife is an illusion,
Unaware that they are too, just bait,
Heading straight,
Into the great,
Hands of fate.
The weight of the truth,
And proof,
In representation of resurrection,
Cannot be ignored, just like an antique china plate,
Or a mate,
Who’s at times, difficult to tolerate.
It’s inevitable,
So renumerate,
Your pure self, and reinstate,
Circumnavigate,
To the Golden Slate Gate.
Enter your new estate,
Where you are enchanted with the power of illumination.
Before you can await,
The glorious one who turns death into rebirth,
Giving your soul a chance to resurrect,
Recreate, and once again illuminate.
  

-me, myself and I

It's too late
They said as her petite frame
Spiraled then plummeted into the sea.
She's already ascended like a dove,
They felt no need to hesitate
At proclaiming the unfortunate's fate.

Always quick to hate
What they cannot annotate
Yet so eager to love
The greatest of us
Reborn from our ashes.

She took the leap
Not to cease
But to breathe -
Through airborne lungs
To see-
The greatest moments ignite
To fuse-
With an infinite moment in time
In one fleeting hope:
After the waves
Drew her lifeless limbs away,
After she slept
On the ocean bed,
Her words might eminently thrive
Though no one heard while her lips held life,
Their once-deaf ears would at last listen
To a phantom's composition.

Whose resurection is this
                                anyway ?
Has anyone seen the messiah today ?
There is never a messiah around when
You need one ?
Perhaps I shouldn't speak of th?ese things
Lightly

But what can be done ?
Have you ever smoked a ******
In a temple ?
Do you know what these kinda words
Resemble ?
Did you ever think life is just incidental ?
I can picture druids hovering above sacred corpses
Laughing at their impunity,
And tripping on their vulnerability
It's not a long way between Jesus and sin.

Y'know
Y'know
Having *** whilst wearing a strait-jacket
Is better than having no *** at all
I always echo the optimist's call
But I'm tied to a spastic cross
Were I present my loss.

All theses thoughts came to me
Much later in history.

My beloved,
        The night is orange with the oppression of city against cloud.  I sit outside, staring blankly at the exposed brick of another building as mosquitos prey upon my distraction.  My heart cries out for you as I do - we ache together in the solitude of our nights.  I do not know of the future, for all I feel is the cold knife of your absence.  All I own is hope, hope in the anguish I hold, the longing that serves as proof of the intensity of our love.  Though I know we will be together soon, I hold our nightly funeral, guarding our ashes and awaiting our ressurection.  This death that is worse than death consumes me, yet day forces my face to change into one of complicity.  If those who surround me could only feel how much I yearn for you, they would leave me silently by our tomb. However, I stand alone, a woman with her eyes upon the horizon, searching always for her sailor.  I touch the Atlantic with the knowledge that it is the only obstacle that stands between us, and embrace it as a friend rather than a rival to be conquered.  Soon, this sea will deliver me into your arms, and soon I will no longer serve as sentinel to our funeral pyre.  Your hand will touch my shoulder, awakening me from this reverie, a long-forgotten dream of the past.