I
A flower that smells of pure bliss keeps an ear to the ground
It's a serene one sitting beneath the stars down on earth
The moon, far, far, seven seas away, loves to drop into her lap.

The Bay of Bengal billows, music has gotten beneath the skin.
The leaves furl out off the deep wood with the birds
singing out to the top of the trees, rhyming with the leafy dance.
Heavensent, that was in one sanguine day in the spring.
The Mother’s Language Movement in 1952 sprouted like this
on the eighth of native Falgun month—oh magic did it unleash!

On that day our beloved brothers were shot dead
They could swallow the bullets with smiles but won’t give up
demanding the official status for the Bangla mother tongue.
Angels wrapped round the martyrs amid lamenting mothers
Laid them on Falgun’s perfumed ground bleeding corpses
Seas of roses bloomed and blew them out red, red kisses!

They are gone not the stone wall of consciousness they raised
Ah, at the sprout of the spring what were they echoing?
Ingrained deep in the soil the pre-designing voice in the planning?
Who can tell? The world gels on February 21 in celebrating!

The angels then snapped up our martyrs’ souls off the land,
placed them on a piece of Heaven where they can hear the jingle.
Down on earth, a nation springs up, has gotten its wake up call!
Stepping on the sweetening arc of the mother tongue melody
the stone turns a flower, all in a butterfly moment soaring to victory.
Thanks to the movement - Bangladesh itself later comes to be!

II
The sun comes down to the rose painting on the land
In the heavenly Falgun hues it nibbles some wild summer dreams.
“Serene songs of earth stirring the water,” like it comes into play,
rowing the cloud bubbles singing in southern breeze.
Ah, a walk on the sun-kissed kaleidoscope land is a pure bliss.  
Every blossom spray of the wind is soothing sweet
Hop on and play straight to the ruby heart, as if it's a flute.

Mother tongue means speak free, fearless, in full streaming.
Speak the heart to the world without the fear of losing the cloud
that will listen, bouncing back on the brink of the sky river.
Then what did one say, hear, or was awed by in the blooming Falgun?
Could it have been the spring humming in her native lingua
or King David singing in mother tongue by babbling brooks
what in any other language, even with a silver tongue, isn’t possible?

Allah has listened to our martyrs’ crying mothers and fathers
The martyrs’ souls whisk through the galaxies and starry fair.
Soar high over the clouds, take the rainbow's *** of gold away,
like a hue turns 360-degree in the colourwheel bask into the colour.
still, dip the toes in Bangla mother’s soil salted with perfumed art
like Himalayan water swirling down melting deeper deep down
this magicland is polished for everyone be it you, a fairy, a star
or off the ploughed-out barrow a walked out wonder!

A pristine voice duo’s voiceprint gleans to the spring in muse,
Pops in a beauteous scurry and speaks in the mother tongue!
Hidden within the earthy depth, only emerges with time,
only dances in tangent, that day slipped out with the butterflies.
And finally the blue nymphs take the plunge drop down the sky  
that day the mother’s voice triumphed, whose is the most original!

i.

Sacred art ourn vow's, forever I wilt be thine cloud,
To soak the rainstorm's up when they cometh;
I wilt forevermore be thine hari,
We shalt maketh a distant story,
On the patience we do hath.

ii.

We shalt showeth ourn children
The merriment of ourn smile's;
Being parent's of better style;
Freedom paint's us as the wild,
Godly carved into the rock's.

iii.

Husband and wife
Connecting bones,
Ourn abode, just
One stone's throw;
A castle of kingdom's,
With a yellow rose;
Laughter echoes, ourn
Warming nose, touching
As primal kitten's.

iv.

History remembered,
Amour' notes written;
Jewel's around thine neck,
Tenderness, with full respects,
Thanksgiving given,
Alive, once dead
Blossom's risen,
From ourn tomb's,
We serenade in-
tranquil invention,
Didst I mention?
This troth is infinite;
Surely soon, mine queen
Of soothe, we shalt meet-
In a Heavensent.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose dedicated)

A hazy morning light drifts lonely through branches
Shadows of silence cower undertow
Wilted flowers whose beauty lingers,
Rocky soil.
A thought of the past pulls at me.

Rivers of hot wind push me further away
Like breath, stolen
Lifeless and unending it finds me
The scent of flames

Charred thoughts linger
Hot futures come
Silent shadows scream
Cloudy skies ****.

i.

Elated, I'm afar from the aqua sphere beneath mine toe's,
I've been taken up by flight, an angel in the night;
A woman, a queen, a mystical paranormal beam,
God heard mine weeping, and with her he sent,
She dried mine Tear's clean.

ii.

I sniveled for eon's, with none hopeful lover's future
Mine joint's were weak, from the lack of nutritional feature's;
At mine lowest point, after imploring mine lord for help,
He sent me mine other half, Earl Jane Nagley, an Asiatic path,
Mine beloved, mine darling, mine seraphic helper.

iii.

I found wholeness, the other purpose to mine sustenance,
She's not for sale, she's not a slave, she's a cherub; not some anecdotal tale. She's not one to taketh man's bribery, she's not a peasant sold and payed for rent: tis she's heavensent- the answer to mine prayer's, she's delicate, she's an empress doth thou seeith, I was birthed for her, as she for me, both made for another, to cherish each other, on cloud nine we shalt be seen.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication-Filipino rose

Your are an occult soul
     within your resplendent
     and impeccable anatomy
     that Heaven has bequeathed me.

You have revealed all those
    mysteries of love to me,
    that I was incognisant of.

Now tell me, O Master of love;
    What love shall I veil to you?
    And what love shall I not ask for?

i heard your clear deep
                           voice     (singin’)
last year in
                 evening san antone
bleeding from truckstop P.A.
where i                                  bought cactus burritos &
                  1 basket
                                  heavensent peaches &
thanked you
for ev’ry one b/c only
someone like you could                              send a gift

so humble
    .

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder I told her
As her knees trembled from the weight of the compliment I bestowed her
Often benevolent
Clearly Heavensent
If God truly has say in the matter
Awkwardly eloquent
She reflected pretentiousness
Yet never projected the latter
Her eyes luminescent
Her body quintessence
To a hedonist, a lover, or sculptor
She beared the essence of loathsome life lessons
So there lay apprehension
When I vowed to properly love her

foul weather friends creep in with the clouds
misery keeps company on the inside looking out
    “i’d pull all the teeth from your open mouth
before i’d ever let you frown”
it's all gore from here on out
heavensent friends descend from the clouds
hiding fangs behind kind hands
you can hardly hide your smiles
    “i’d rather see the frown torn from your mouth,
than ever think i’d let you down”
friends from above, keeping me from looking up
i can’t ever be like them if i don’t learn to stomach blood
    “you could be happy, smiling with all your teeth -
but then why would you need me?”

Anodyne eye's
Narcotic lip's;
Analgesic kisses
Tranquilizer hip's.
Soporific eyebrow's
Lashes Heavensent;
Skin anesthetic,
Relieving me of
Death. Morphine
Amour', ***** bliss,
Painkiller door's; to
Thine soul I feedeth.
Thy voice a sedative,
Thine hair calmative,
As thy nose maketh
Me warm when I'm cold,
As an expensive wine, or
neuroleptic. I'm higher then
The universe, inside of thy
psyche; it's cozy there, none
Place to compare, I'm at home,
Simply: wherein all is right.




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

(Greek translation \version)
i.

Ischyró, sígoura
tha aposvestoún
pétra.

ii.
Parelthóntos, en afthonía,
lefkí stefáni tou
xediplotheí.

iii.

paratiritís kípou
Pýli tou katóchou;
Chrónos ágnosto.

iv.

Ékti aísthisi, Pra shatrent,
Eyne tis astrapís;
theóstaltos.

v.

Ái tis pragmatikó, ái
tis símaine. Pántote
i feeleth; zontanós
kai to periechómeno.


(English translation)
i.

Puissant, certes
whittled on
stone.

ii.

Yore, galore,
white corolla's
unfold.

iii.

Garden watcher's
Gate keeper's;
Time unknown.

iv.

Sixth sense, Pra shatrent,
eyne of lightning;
heavensent.

v.

Aye tis real, Aye
tis meant. Aye
i feeleth; alive
and content.

©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou)

**** being an example, I'd rather be a warning
Because while you're bored in Heaven I'll be in Hell burning
While you're growing up I'm just a punk forming
so I can join in on the rioting and storming
**** the government
and tell them they can get bent
just because I'm not Heavensent
and I don't believe
don't pray for me or grieve
because I'm not just an average steve
or Adam
Christians are just members of a huge fandom
God didn't do ****, everything is random
For respect I won't ask, but I'll demand them
give it to me
and let me free
unlike you
but I can be a decent human being too
I'm not a sheep or fat cow so I won't baa or moo