Arthur McKnight was a powerful man and New York was his playground.  Not that he ventured out anymore at night now that he had met Evangeline.  The long days of mind-numbing numbers he crunched managing Wall Street hedge funds had taken their toll on him over the years, but becoming intimate with Evangeline had saved him, had changed him in ways so fundamental that for him she was all that mattered.

     Arthur no longer noticed these subtle differences.  He daydreamed by the dim LCD light of stock tickers, craving the touch that only his woman could bestow upon him.  He had surrendered completely to her bliss.

     These days when he woke to her already gone from his Upper West Side apartment all that was left of her presence was a lipstick kiss on the mirror and a bottle of Sally Hansen Tangerine Orange nailpolish.  The quiet was deafening, but that bottle of Sally Hansen left on the bathroom counter held the promise of Evangeline's return.

     It was just after 7 p.m. when Arthur made it home and he could already sense her.  She was coming.  He strode with purpose to his master suite, spying the black thigh-highs and silky red dress he had laid out for her arrival.  The waiting was unbearable, and Arthur finally broke, needing Evangeline so badly he could smell her perfume, could taste her in his throat.  It was time; no more waiting.

     "You look lovely tonight, Evangeline," Arthur croaked aloud as he pulled the first of the thigh highs onto his shaven legs...

(Dedicated to my mother, Juna Marie Nagley- happy mother's day momma!!!)

O' Màthair, Màthair, from whence I birthed.
Best friend, mine Angel, mine guide; Disguised
As a lady at birth; it's from thine womb from
Whence I arrived, this is a thanking thee, to
A flawless seraph, mine Màthair, mine Màthair-
To thee; whom do I compareth?

Anglamotharia, thou hath always met mine need's,
When mine knee was scraped, and when I got sick;
Thou wouldst alway's protecteth me. Eyne blue as
The sea's, hair blonde as the street's thou hath
stemmed from, Anglamotharia-Jehovah's chosen
One, mine host of host's, guardian from the ghost's
Who always tried to hurt thy own son.
Anglamotharia, from whence I am from-
Latha màthair math; angelic one.

(Second part is a mothers day dedication to my mother in law Evangeline sardua- Earl Jane sardua my Queens mother....)

Adlaw Malipayon inahan, dearest mother-in-law, the Apple to Jane's vision, hardworking, gentle-calm. I thankest thee for showing Jane the right way's; the way's of God, the way's of love, O' heaven knoweth thy name.

Adlaw Malipayon inahan, woman who knoweth none time, for thine family is thy priority; thou cookest and cleanest, thy labor hath heavied over time, mayest the Lord bless thee and keep thee, and the Lord make His face shine upon thee. And be gracious to thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee,
And give thee peace. Mayest thine abode be a blessing from Mount malindang-west unto East. Mayest Yeshua guideth thy feet to where dangerous travels cometh and goeth. Mayest the word of God always from thy mouth appear and floweth. Mayest this mother's day, be a remembrance to thee, Evangeline; thy love hath not been forgotten, this is mine gift and thanking to thee.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©mothers day dedication to two special mother's ( Evangeline Sardua, janes mother, and dedication to my mother juna Marie Nagley, ) happy mother's day to both of you and may God shine his face upon you!!! With love Brandon!!

To a cat in a cul-de-sac,
she's a stone rose,
malaise with no remorse and a penchant for suicidal grammar.

Backsassing and backroom massaging
her way from Tanner, Illinois to Irving, Texas --
her interstate veins and her data plan brain
catered to the orifices of the weary,
and soothed the spidertongued and sleepy.
In the last postcard, she signed Evangeline,
the number of name changes: 23
in the Sunflower State alone.

A dive bar in Ulysses, Kansas
beamed as a brilliant model of
"Starved wives and stray dogs," Evangeline explained.
"I found the dark side of beet farmers
and the redemption in callused hands."

A letter came from Pryor, Oklahoma:

"Recognize the perfume?"

The only line.
Printer paper close, inhale --
my mind drifts to my former
high cheekbone'd bride, Skye.
Evangeline bedded her spindly body.
Spite, spite, spite.

Confused, I answered her call on the
first morning of December.
Tent living with a retired acrobat on
the growing shoreline of Lake Texoma,
she downed a mixed bag of his sleeping meds,
and sleeping by his side, she fantasized about me.

"I think you drank too much in my dreams.
I woke up dissatisfied."

Once she arrived in Irving, I mailed her
my edit of her suicide note.
A call to say it looked good,
and she'd let me know if she ever had
to use it.

I never heard from her again.

Evangeline,
your words run honey
down my mouth,
dripping in the sweetness
your honeycomb hair
has left behind.

Evangeline,
your Angel tones
glow halo's notes.

Evangeline,
your smile is wild,
dangerous,
carefree.

Evangeline,
dandelion soul
sailing through the wind,
a girl I haven't met
but know
from
within.

Keep your honey tongue on your lips.

Evangeline.

In looking for that someone
To make my life just right,
Hope it won't be like Evangeline
Who will past me in the night,

One that will be just right for me
In size, weight, and height,
I've looked far and waited long
Could they have passed me in the night?

“Hineni, Hineni; I’m ready, my lord.”  
(For Evangeline Ruth Hope)

<>

”Hineni is Hebrew for “here I am,” and is the response
Abraham gives when God calls on him
to sacrifice his son Isaac. It is also the name of a
prayer of preparation and humility, addressed to God”

<>

what you do not know
is that this word,
was spoken with a fist beating
a pin into the praying man’s chest

recited daily,
shades of hopeful, reverent resonance,
a shaded resolution, disguised as a quavering variable,
a statement, a questioning, an unsteady surety,
all of the above

this word, rooted in my genetic consciousness,
been ready repeated since my first whispering

was I ten years aged?

first time, full on bowing
on the synagogue floor, not fully understanding or
ready to confess my selfish need for forgiveness,
my forehead resting on my stubbed fingers resting on carpet,
worn thin by my predecessors ancestors,
who now comprehend more, but then, never enough

these same fingers, that write this collective,
                                  Hineni,
a word repeated oft, flavoring of the who
of who I am, a training in soul fracking from
early childhood, its import, powerful beyond
today’s identity revisionist empowering

let me plainly speak, in the original language
taught to me with that other tag along, English,
a lingua franca, a dialect that can never capture
a soul presenting himself in substantiated readiness

for the whatever exists in between
hallelujah and hineni, where the rubber soul
hits the road, stumbling on hands and knees
on a forest path of roots and soil, where sunlight breaks tween
branches, are road signs to look up, look down, look within

I know your name,
Evangeline Ruth Hope
analyzed its components,
cleverly constructed Greek and Hebrew rooted,
bearer of good tidings, following Ruth in, to hope,
you a Moabite in Mormon Utah, preparing
yourself for exposure, practicing humility
unceasingly seeking

good

that is how it should be

cannot translate well enough
what was this gift given to me
learning as a youth, a wanderer, tribal member
where beseeching is second nature,

and accepting personal responsibility fully cardinal,
fiddling prayers while standing unsteady on
the roofs of extreme shakiness

hineni is then but this:
a prideful admission of strength

ready ready ready, here I am,
completely unready for the unknown future foretold,

hineni I know

here I am,
ready or not,
find me so I can be found,
cease, help me cease, my foundering,
confident in my willingness to
find a way

netanel
9/12/19

Deep in the village of Darkling
Where the Squires and their Ladies rule,
No-one comes out in the eventime
Unless they’re a brazen fool,
The Hunt is rallied for after dark
And they wear the hood and the cowl,
Roam far and wide through the countryside
While the ravening hounds just howl.

They say that they’re hunting foxes,
But I know, that just isn’t true,
That blood they seek at the end of the week,
They may be looking for you,
They take their cues from the Magistrate
Who leads the Hunt through the grounds,
His word is law, and he sets the score,
They call him the Master of Hounds.

Sir Roland Bear has an awful stare
As he glares at you from the bench,
The lawyers do what they’re told to do
And offer little defence,
If you poach a hare from a Squire’s land
Or take a fish from his stream,
And you see him add your name to a list,
You know it’s your final scene!

For once outside in the courtyard there
The peasants will stare in dread,
They cross themselves as they pass you by
For nobody speaks to the dead!
You can’t go hide in your cottage,
If it still has a window or door,
Though you’re locked right in, the hounds of sin
Will come up through a hole in your floor.

The light of my life, Evangeline,
Was married to Percival Shroud,
He beat her once with a riding crop
To keep her bullied and cowed,
She worked all day in the Dairy,
In a barn on Percival’s Farm,
And I said one day that he’d have to pay,
I’d not see her come to harm.

She stared at me with her worried eyes
And she let me believe she cared,
We’d hide together beneath the hay
At the height of our love affair,
But one day soon, her burly groom
Had seen us going to ground,
And hauled us before the Magistrate
While our legs and our hands were bound.

‘There isn’t a place in Darkling here
For the likes of a pair like you!’
Sir Roland Bear, his pen in the air
Considered what he would do.
‘You’ve wandered outside the marriage bounds
Brought shame on the vows you swore,
While you have sullied her decency,
And turned a wife to a *****!’

He put his pen to the fabled list
And he wrote two names in there,
Then ****** us into the courtyard so
The folk could shame and stare.
They cut our bonds and we heard the hounds
As they howled and yapped for blood,
So we went trembling, hand in hand
To hide ourselves in the wood.

The Squires were grim and remorseless when
The Hunt pursued its fare,
Their Ladies thought it a festival
When they rubbed warm blood in their hair,
I’d said I’d not let her come to harm
But Evangeline had cried,
I broke a branch and I sharpened it
To defend my shattered pride.

They came at us like the hounds of hell
In their cloaks, and hoods and cowls,
Along with a pack of hunting dogs,
We could hear their approaching howls,
Evangeline was safe in a tree
While I stood guard below,
My fear was clear in my trembling hands
But I stood so it wouldn’t show.

A rider burst on out through the trees
And he roared, ‘Now pay for your crime!’
I waited until he rode up close
Then I ****** my stake in his eye,
He screamed just once, and fell from his horse
And his cowl, it floated wide,
I saw I’d killed the Master of Hounds
As the dogs tore at his hide.

The Squires looked down with little remorse
At the corpse that lay in the mud,
While the ladies leapt from their jittery mounts
To dip their hands in his blood,
We made our way unseen through the woods
Escaped from the killing grounds,
And Darkling now is free from the spell
Of the evil Master of Hounds!

David Lewis Paget

when Evangeline tells you that you’re dead to her,
you feel as if you are chained to a sinking ship,
permanently trapped at the bottom of the ocean,
and drowning has never seemed so sweet.
as she leaves,
you realise that this is the closest blessing you will ever receive
from a god that you don’t believe in anymore.
because if she didn’t walk away,
you would drag her down to hell with you
before you’d even consider letting her go

Oh my Cassiopeia
My queen; queen of Aethiopeia
Yours is an unrivaled beauty
No one can complain about your vanity

You love me
I love you more
Cepheus your king, how I wish I would be
To be with you forever and sit beside your throne

No, I'm not Cepheus; he probably is yet to come
I wish I'm your Cepheus, but I'm not even an Adam
But I can be your Cepheus if you let me, yes I can
Though I can't see your constellation from where I am

You can boss me around
Toss and turn me upside down
You can throw tantrums, those I won't mind
Forget being king, I'll be fine as your servant

You're a constellation, still I'll make a wish
Can I wish forever? No? Then let me love you at least
Let our love blossom, 'til my last breath vanish
Maybe I'll also become a constellation next to you, like what happened to Ray and Evangeline