Star light star bright
first star I see tonight
I wish I may I wish I might
Find a place that has a  room

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep
If I die before I wake
Remember me as I was

It's cold outside
Please let me in
I have no place to go
It may not be
A wind chill night
But, the clouds all look like snow

The day is done;
O God the Son,
Look down upon
Thy little one!
O Light of Light,
Keep me this night,
And help me greet the day

Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me:
Bless Thy child to-night;
Through the darkness be Thou near me,
Keep me safe till morning light.
All this day Thy hand has led me,
And I thank Thee for Thy care;
Thou hast warmed me, clothed me, fed me;
Listen to my evening prayer


Star light star bright
first star I see tonight
I wish I may I wish I might
Find a place that has a room

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep
If I die before I wake
Remember me as I was

A blond boomer
who bloomed
through alchemical
systems, still,
beautiful due to glitches
in chilled engines
racing minds spew products
off assembly lines
***** re-fined
due to one rule:
eye for an aye,
less deemed more,
blessed by design,
each section
means poorer.

Rent today, own tomorrow,
A world of excess and material sorrow,
One likely to accumulate, what we call best,
Another will depreciate at their own behest,
Peaks arise from man's own wallet,
Enslaving children in far away squalor,
To keep her entertained, we need not bother,
The mother earth in her glorious colour,
Defined by time in it's infinite heap,
We reap what we sew, and so we reap.

It just came,
Noone saw it coming,
Maybe others did but they kept quiet because they were too scared to say it,
Its effects affect all,
It brings questions and worry,
It scares everyone,
Makes all think poverty is knocking at their doors,
It breeds hopelessness because the solution seems too far to be reached
And thinking of one isn't an easy task
but all will be just fine,
Time will surely pass it on to history.

Betwixt the Alloquy
Of me and Reyna Jane's tongue's;
Spilleth out the astrology, aloft the moon and the sun.

God shalt unite us
In the new life;
Of the next.

Thither the peace coming
The fountain's shalt be running;
With Christ's aura of his mightiness.

The world's now faltering
Forward star's to hit this dune;
Annular mushroom cloud's, as well from man's nuclear doom.

As china faileth, and the State's of America fumble
I'm ready to go, so queen do knoweth;
The stock's art about to jumble.

Look high, mine love
To ourn creator above;
Trumpet's art about to be blown.

The celestial's art heavy
Ourn universal levee;
Is broken, so clingeth to me mine dove.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/ prophetic poetry

Today's political agenda
For political puppets--
Manipulated by the powers that be,
Hoping for a Lazarus economy,
Games people play,
Any miracles today?
Mystical revival,
Elections--farcical,
Candidates--comical.
Tweedledum?
Or­ Tweedledummer?
Yes, games people play,
Any miracles today?
Made any jobs today?
Not for the old, for the young,
Their careers not even begun,
Hoping for a Lazarus economy,
Who are the powers that be?

Sun and traffic - day economy.
Six a.m. drive to plywood mill. Too tired
to be angry. Each day a step
toward death. What is being accomplished? The
small satisfactions
within each day. Book consciously read.
And frustrations. Package dropped, honey jar broke.

One of 175 soil types. With the fifty
tree species
comprising the canopy under which Eric and Lisa clean
      their baby's face.

Sun in winter, old apples.

Inside the school
a brilliant but rebellious history teacher
is suspended by the school board.
200 students
wearing armbands and painted teardrops
protest. Another 400
are silent.

Within each structure
human dramas and routines.
Nancy will not love
any man who cannot do as many push-ups as she.

Trees grow,
porcupine **** in snow.

No job,
no niche,
no existence.
How you earn money is who you are. You are
what you do to get food to eat
and shelter from the winter, summer heat.

Each morning I seek God
by holding still
waiting for the smoke to be black or white
coins heads or tails
wind dark or bright.

Flock of evening grosbeaks
nipping maple buds:
the sign I need.

                   --------------------------------------

Less need =
more wealth.
2/23/89. So much equipment just to sleep.
More than a bare floor.
Plumbing vs.
wash at stream, find a log in woods.
Implements of human existence
unlike the deer or bear who
nip buds, forage berries.
I cannot eat the gum out of balsam fir
or bark from a popple.

I am not Wendell Berry
with a wife, a farm, philosophy.
I like the accuracy
of counting pear thrips in maple buds.
8/bud = complete defoliation.
This insect has four wings fringed with hairs
and is minute, 2.5 millimeters.
Two species within the genus:
one with tubular abdominal segment,
the other with conical abdominal segment.
Sugar maple their preferred food.

All I need
are names.
Names and habitats.
Elements, products, decay fungi, egg masses.
Marriage, copulation, regeneration, education.
Machinery, accounting, hand tools, laboratory.
I need your names
and histories.
****** histories, books read, imaginings, unrequited loves,
      significant landscapes, broken bones, periods of boredom,
      favorite shows.

                   --------------------------------------

Immediately means
without mediation, intermediate moments
time in the middle.

Time in the middle
time in the middle.
I'm bummed I never saw a dinosaur, an ice age, a cave man,
      even missed the last world war.
Thanks to paleontology, geology, archaeology, history
mind equipped to take
time out of the middle.
It's in our DNA!

Why should she love me, her tenant?
Because I pay the rent on time.

                   --------------------------------------

Excellent. The white sun rose
and lit the frost.
Early February, late March, or in between.
Birds begin
discussing family. Sap starts to flow.
Where the borer spirals in, it comes out wet.
Birch or maple.

I watched from the window. Beautiful
but no desire to go out and touch
swelling buds of elderberry.
Is this shrub crazy? It knows what it knows
with elderberry knowledge.

Come Spring, so much to identify and name.
Insects, diseases and new flowers.
Lepidoptera, root rot, the pinks.
I think I might get married too
and watch the moons pass through the mists.

                   --------------------------------------

March rain.

Some snow remains
roads dangerous
but truck deliveries must be made.
                                                           ­ The light
pushing back the dark.
Bark
getting softer, slippery
at the cambium. Sap
simmering. Summer
and spring are here and there
although only winter birds are in the air.
Some buds
break swell
want
to turn inside out
but wait
knowing better.

I too will not break or run
early
hold hope bound by ropes of discipline, experience
time the magic moments to come
take the last sleet and pain
slap in the face
glad for predictable seasons.
                                                 We anticipate however
drought, maple defoliation, increased gypsy moth infestations
which some attribute to our existence.
That may be true.
Or it may be that the universe
has reversed its decision on us
and there's nothing we can do.
But we will do
what we can
and some things we shouldn't
because that is human.

Continuing
into the space inside me
unconnected to the light switch, plumbing
fairly independent of materials beyond
food and sound.
Where I pray
like an oak
that the light will enter me
unbroken, forever
and I will live the meanings in the wind.
                                                           ­          Basic
necessities, wood
wine
and friends. And
the names
of everything
by which we know our way.

Blister packs  and Auld Lang Syne,
the rain-dance in the rain-forests
where no one keeps time;
the maypole, the bar stool,
the sunstroke pilgrimage;
the Superbowl commercial,
the secret raiding of the fridge-
all conforming to some routine
of half-comfortable bliss;
we stumble blindly through
our blueprint futures-
we borrow our happiness.

The truth is out there
if you look within:
the circadian rhythm,
the central nervous system;
the clamour of your mind
in the face of chronic stress.
The Lenders are out
in the crowds now,
with their placards of high-interest
amongst the indifference
of the street-meat vendors,
the numbered tables at the bar;
we spoil ourselves in the reach
of the so near's;
that we forsake all of the so far's.

An irrational animal gets high
From the ravenous pump of its own tongue,
Nursing wounds of a disease untreated.

His fat meat skulks through marbled corridors
Around eyes that assign value to worth,
Fixated on transactions to be paid.

The ring and flash of victory courses
Through his silken veins and opens his mouth
To swallow the pride of the defeated

Reflection in a puddle of his own
Drool, clinging shakily from toothless dogs,
Addicted to the peak and crash of trade.