SHUTEYE

IN THE LAND
OF THE SACRED
COMMONER

& other poems

110 pages, 7.00

self published and available today on Lulu

(book preview on site is book entire)

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some poems, from:

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{untitled}

the robot is a ******.

the baby
it goes
from baby
to baby
with no
message.

-

I want your work to matter.

~

{keep}

the laziness animals have, that kind of panicked longing…

and brevity, the faith
of insects

-

my shadow, of course, afraid of its borrowed blood

-

that barn
in the middle of nowhere’s haunted eyesight

-

the invisible
after-hours
birth, and the woman

who keeps the baby
despite
its perfection

-

this quiet in the redneck’s
library
of forgiveness, this thunder…

-

the agony of the boomerang’s maker

~

{******}

the cigarette
the worrier’s
flashlight

the past
a widow…

deserted childhood, electric eel.

if poor
put mouth
where mouth
is

~

{untitled}

the baby contorts as if it might become a chair

its mother is saying

wind
I will pray
for you

-

its father is fashioning

from some god’s
idea
of a stripper
pole

a dollhouse

totem

-

the baby itself is nonsense

its head
bruised
by a rattle
would brain

a parrot

i.

Society keepeth their amour' in a box
Hidden, unrevealed, secretive, locked;
Me and mine Jane, shalt be open as a flame,
As on mine knee's I peck upon her toe's;
Again and again.

ii.

In the midday hour's when her back and neck get's sore
Mine fingertip's shalt caresseth her epidermis;
With sultry emollient, from her head to her feet.
I rubbeth in deep, as tis she shalt falleth asleep
As the best massage she's ever hadst,
Put's her into a trance in mine hold:
In peace she slumbereth,
Into a romantic kingdom
Stacked with ourn affection's gold.

iii.

Over an hour-plus thirty minute's,
Mine sweaty Palm's art tender;
Though it was all worth it
To mine queen mine soul surrendered;
Entering in her shuteye, I entered in locking ourn leg's, head's, arm's: closely cuddling-pillow's feathered.
Here at this moment, nothing else in the world mattered.



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

When I was younger
I slept in the top bunk
over my older brother

- Pretty soon we’re all going to die -
he was fond of saying
while we listened to Credence
Clearwater Revival on an old turntable
with a penny he taped to the arm
to make it sound like a $100

Pretty soon he got me saying the same
words, like moon, mosquitos and darkness
were in his ear, he’d have dreams of
naked women washing his feet
and sparrows looking out of his eyes

He hollered at old man death
when he was wanting some shuteye

- Nobody on earth is like me -
he’d wake up shouting not meaning
to disturb my sleep

He said - I am the white piano
they threw off the bridge -
- the snake bed and the shade tree -
- I am something, yes-sir-eee -

- I’m something not everybody wants
to believe - he’d say sipping on whiskey
bought from a woman up the holler

He told death to - kiss his white *** -
then holler at me to get out of bed
and go trim the grass around the stone
angels planted up in the high pasture.

I don’t mind, not at all,
just place your head on me,
let yourself become
immersed in my comfy haven.

Every night I am yours
you are mine, a relationship
that has lasted many years.
Many more to follow.

We never talk, we just lie
enveloped in darkness.
I care more than you can know.
I will never leave,

cheat on you when I have had enough.
Do with me what you like, turn me over,
drool over me, move me into
whatever position you fancy.

But then you leave me. I become
cold and alone once again.
Not to worry though, because I know
you'll return when you need me.

We're stood on a blacked out highway going to who knows where. A floodlight shines on a group of workmen in road, slow. A passive aggressive sign says "Slow, My Daddy works in here". Gaz, Frank and Jim are gathered under the floodlight.

"That ****** lads dad never worked ere! That's bosses lad!"

"Mmmm..."

"Anyway, what's this hole for do you reckon? Gas? Telephone? Electric? Dead bodies? Haha!"

"Hope not"

"Hopeless more like! Why ARE we digging it anyway?"

"We? I'm digging! You're just talking ****!"

"******* Frank! What about owd Jim over there? Old ****** never does owt!"

"Grunt"

"Leave Jim alone! He's seen it all and done it all a million times! Poor guy must be knackered! If I still have to work at his age I'll ope you young uns gi mi some ****** respect!"

"Respect?! *******! Who's getting respect ere?! Not me! I'm in the middle of nowhere at night digging an ole in a highway for god knows what reason!"

"Look, Gaz, 'oles need to be dug. It's not our job to fill em. We just dig em up!"

"Yeah, but don't you wonder why? Like, we seem to be diggin up constantly! Same ****** area of the same ****** highway! Dunt anyone plan it oot so thi can do it all in one go?! Water, cables, all of it?! Its like we're makin work for t sake on it!"

"At least you've got ****** work! There used to be 20 odd of us on this stretch o road. Are you gonna dig or what?"

"Keep yer air on frank! I'll ****** dig, but I'm only doin it for you!"

"Well ****** me! I'm honoured! Shut up n dig will ya?"

Scrape, heave, scrape, heave

Sigh

Scrape, heave, scrape...

"Yer know what else...?"

"Oh, for ***** sake!! What?!?"

"These shovels are ****!"

"You're ****!"

"Nah mate! Look, handles are loose and shovel bit's weak as ****! If you lift too much thi just bend! It's like thi want us to ave to work twice as ard for t same bleeding job!"

"Well there's no worry o that wi you is there?! You lift ****** all!"

"Whatever..."

Heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave ... crack!!!

"Told you!"

"Shut up smart ****!"

"Don't ya get it though?! We're nowt t them lot! Thi just use us n **** on us! Wi dunt even kno' where this place is do we? We just get a lamp post number and go! Where does this ****** highway go?!"

"Look, I don't give a ****! I just want to dig this 'ole then go ome and watch some TV and maybe get a **** before bed! There's a ****** sign over there anyway..."

Sign reads "He..."
The rest of the sign is broken away, probably hit by a car.

"Jim. Jim?! Jim!! ******* I think Jim's dea..."

"Consarnid!! Thundering eejit!! I int banna be deed, tha ****** loony! I wor banna geet some shuteye! Tha lod banging on abaat ****** why thar ****** shovlin *****?! Carnt tha led an owd bloke sleep?!!!"

"Sorry Jim. Just worried mi for a minute there. Are ta alreet?"

"Nah am nod! I wo avin a reet dree-um befoore tha wakened us! Megan ****** Fox wor sat o mi fay-us!"

In unison - "Hahaha! Tha owd dog Jim!!"

"Sorry Jim, It's Gaz, e's got more questions than a ****** 3 year owd!"

"Shut up ya miserable get!
Why do you reckon we're diggin this ole Jim? You've been doin it a long time."

"Aye... I wor yer wen thi started fixint roo-uds. It wo differnt then. Thi gi'd us reet too-uls n ad t reet ideas. Thi jus wanid us to dig reet. Bud thi dint like us knowin moo-ur than them lod! S thi gid us ****** all n wi started wokin unner leets i t deark. Nah ****** con see us then. Thas askin t rong quetsion lad! Ids nod why aar wi diggin t oil! It's why aar wi doin id int deark?!"

"Why are wi Jim?"

"Because we're expe...."

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!!
Thud!!!
Vrooooommm!!!

"Oy!!!! ******!!!!"

"Es dead Frank! What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"What?!? Jim?!! Did tha get 'is number?"

"What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"Gaz!!"

"What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"**** Gaz, yer reet! ****** this **** I'm not diggin any more! I'm off ome!"

"F..f...fr.... FranFrank?"

"What Gaz? That were ****** up Gaz!! Jims dead!"

"B..b....bu... bury J..J..J..Jim"

"Gaz, tha'll ave t do it tharself, I can't dig anymore. Sorry. Im calling t ambulance n goin ome. You should too! Bye Gaz. Good luck."

"B..b....by... bye J..J..J..Jim..."

Scrape, heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave

Slow. My Daddy works in he...

(-)

poetry and god share the same quick death.

I’m on what you’re on;
the eighth day of the world.

(-)

it’s all in your head.  the newborn we had on a mountaintop.  the word it knew from memory.  its hand that stuck to everything but the dog our dog ate.  the cold our dog died from.  the tent we called aquarium.  that we filled with diapers.  that was never full.

(-)

existence is the wrong inquiry.  I was destroyed by an angel

for having
taste buds.

a pinkness has always gone on without me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNJXt4Gn0ZA

he said you little girls.you little girls.
dont do pretty things no more. your eyes are full of lies.
and you laugh at us with empty pockets.
he said. you little girls. are filthy. no.
dont know how to treat no man right. you spread your wings
and throw us on the ground and leave us behind.
stupid stupid little girls.

and I said little boy let me tell you a thing or two
about what us women have to go through

since the beginning of time us women have been robbed
of dignity. of sanity. even of insanity. you robbed us of everything.
you little boys. you little boys.
you tied ropes around our neck when we committed adultery.
although that crime for you went by very smoothly.
you killed our daughters and slaughtered our babies.
you banged our heads against the wall when we didn't bare
you a male off spring. You ***** us and used our body as
personal jewelry. You had no mercy when your attraction pursued you
our eyes wet and our tears ******. no you little boys.
you set no boundaries.

a woman jumps of the roof and commits suicide. She was kidnapped.
she is being *** trafficked. Some over weight pig tries to shove his
**** in her face. She jumped because she rather save her dignity before
she catches AIDS. and dies in a cell full of other women who cry every
single chance they get every single nerve wrecking/shattering day.

There is a little girl with big blue eyes, and light wavy blonde hair.
she is 6 years old. She has no idea where she is. She see's a man
sitting at the end of the room. He puts his glass of bourbon down.
he thinks of his wife and his daughters, picks the glass back up and chugs.
he trails his finger along the child's thigh, he tells her its okay. the is stained heavy with the smell of old carpet and hotel sheets.
your mommy and daddy told me it was okay, hush beautiful don't you cry.
years later that woman is a ******* because when she was 6 all she was
taught is that her body is a tool. Her kidnappers showed her love they told her
her mommy and daddy didn't want her anymore they are her new family.


little boy little boy. let me tell you about the girl who was sent to
the asylum on her 23rd birthday for trying to **** herself with a bottle
of pills and a bottle of jack. She woke up one morning with re surfaced
memories of her father molesting her when she was young. She starved
herself and would not leave her house for over 2 weeks. Now her sister
knew why she was a lesbian. Now she knew why. Her daddy would come
to her late at night and rub in between her thighs. Im sorry to be explicit
but you say us women have gone crazy and little boy I am telling you why.

so before you decide to judge a woman take a moment and try to figure
out everything that has made her cry. Look deeply into her eyes and
you will see all the goodbyes. You will see mentally how many times she
has died. You will always find some innocence and if she really likes you no
matter how many people she has been with she will still get shy.
You will see how many times her tears have ran dry. Because I guarantee you that ever woman you meet has gone through endless night of heart break and no shuteye, has heard every lie in the book and been defied. Listen closely
you will hear the ghosts from her past nearby.
The definition of a woman is something that is unbreakable.
something that when thought of you cant help but sigh.

if you believe that you truly are a man
then to you my heart expands
it is hard for me to see you after all these stories
but I do try the best that I can

so make no excuses, when defending a case speaking badly of women
because emotionally we are distraught more than you can imagine
and still seek to find the good in every ruin

20% off all print books, there, thru October 3rd with coupon code of SAVETODAY

my latest self-published (on demand) Lulu books, as such:

[earth is part earth and there’s a hole in the sound I made you from]
9.00
98 pages
published December 2015

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[MOON tattoo]
9.00
114 pages
published March 2016

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[shuteye in the land of the sacred commoner (& other poems)]
7.00
114 pages
published June 2016

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[FOUR]
12.00
340 pages
published June 2016

~ this is a combined publication of these four collections: earth is part earth and there’s a hole in the sound I made you from / MOON tattoo / infant cinema / shuteye in the land of the sacred commoner [& other poems] ~

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[depictions of reentry]
9.00
146 pages
published August 2016

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speaking of books, and of talking to myself, I said some things about two recent, and excellent, books of poetry:

Nothing Good Ever Happens After Midnight, Sarah Marcus, GTK Press

thief

I can live knowing it goes missing. but, it being here, toppled from its rightful place…I can’t live knowing there are two. that it has no plural. that I have to say it twice. that I am asked on my deathbed about deathbeds in general.

–

bear

can we talk about bears. no, can you. that’s what I mean. I mean I want to listen. is there a bear I can learn about apart from the others?

–

panic

can we say muscle memory is the orphaned narrative of a bilingual body? that a house is so clean its rooms disappear? can we say home?

book, even?

the empty room released into the wilderness.

–

reader

this book by Sarah Marcus. while you still exist.

“Find a midwife whose name sounds like a spell.” – from Do-It-Yourself

“…Water
finds a way out. When I enter a
room, I locate water.” – from I Didn’t Know

“I research how to remove a body: a strange erasure, an omen.” – from Fetching Water

“Her dismantled den. Her dismantled den.” – from Den of Thieves

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marshland moon, Eleanor Gray, **** Press

“(it is nothing, is nothing

…and so, where fables began)” – from [Lady’s Slipper]

After reading:

if there is no card

the flowers
are
from loss.

I didn’t know how to end things. I threw a soft doll

at a bullet.

I was trying to be quiet
but silence

it has
a safe word.

The way swimming plays with my shadow. The prop

high-chair.

~

During:

The missing child learns a new word. Not from me. Not that I remember. Our favorite program? A previously ruined nostalgia.

“a nameless sensation which perpetually haunts the body” – from [and then, Monsters]

I have a look I want to give loss.

“I want to say goodbye, I want
time to say goodbye” – from [Skeletal, Furred]

In my dreams I am ugly. In my dreams I am not differently awake.

“and so, what then of
colossal sleep, “ – from [Zero Beauty]

~

Remnant and Root:

“there is no language that can articulate what it is I suffer by, or do not suffer by- like all the sufferings suffers I am…” – from [Inactive Currency]

“/ do I even know of longing / I know of being held / “ – from [Wormwood]

“how do I
…love the very gnat of self” – from [Plox]

“holy, holy the black asterisk of wound
for the child I never was” – from [Languid Limbo]

“ ‘murmur’  I had forgotten the word
ash without meaning, death without purpose”

“-I am
a song, an urn, a stairwell” – from [Susurrus]

~

This is a book. The title, to me, is very alone…and, intimacy, the most distant of permissions.