The smell of rain precedes the storm
that looms out in the west.
The sound of distant thunder
causes racing in my chest.
The temperature begins to drop
as I begin to flee
Seeking shelter from the storm
beneath a lonely tree.
I cower there, although I know
this haven's a mistake.
I know this is a lightning rod
but that's the chance I take.
The clouds, like battlements,
now, tower overhead
they fill my heart with dread.
Drops of rain begin to fall
and plop among the leaves
Followed my the icy hail
that toward my shelter weaves.
A branch has fallen near my crouch
and nearly I am crushed.
My choice to wait beneath the tree
now seems a little rushed.
I stumble out into the storm.
The rain is driving hard.
Lightning strikes the tree I'd left.
The trunk is black and charred.
How foolish was my little hike
in spite of warnings thus.
Stay at home when storms approach
or next time...take the bus
the voice of the dim cathedral
haunts my bones
its slim fingers wrap around my neck
and through my skull
a voice from many
releases dawn on the backs of my eyelids
and sets fire to my ribs
a boy beckons us to hail true body
freeing me from earthly restraints
Let it be known throughout the land
From highest peak to wettest sand
With sharpened tongue and steady hand
The talking frog is in command
With belly white and skin of lime
A hero for the modern time
He uppered fun and lowered crime
His skillset includes pantomime
Of all the kings he is the best
A chiseled jaw and manly chest
We even put him on our crest
(He helped to found the turnip fest)
A friendly frog we all adore
With lots of fun and games in store
He'll make us smile, he has before
We thank you, frog, for this and more!
I am secluded
by the steps of a brutal mind
Written in black and white
numerals on dirty chalkboards
Was I sleeping past my childhood lesson?
Please, wake my tired, bloodshot eyes !!
They are weary from
and X rated dreams
The sting of the wooden rule of measure
punished my hands
The welted numbers tattooed
on my swollen palms
Ten Hail Marys are not enough to stop this atrocity
The towering stoic women,
dressed in black habits
I do not dare look away
but I did
Time was broken
when the rulers cracked the desk
Ear deafening sounds
with my frozen tears stuck in pause
I looked up to the heavens
to seek answers from my god
Not one whisper back,
I was screaming vulgarties in silence
Lowering my head to my desk,
I closed my eyes
and counted the numerals
on the dirty chalkboard
Into twlight, Shadow's of monster's, men's piercing sight's
As they stareth at mine queen, dog's, hopeful dreamer's, dream's;
Tis, cometh to find out these verily aren't men, they were aloviti being's, their breath was poisonous as an asp, teeth as glass.
Tis these brute's couldst not be killed by arrow, nor gun's, unless silver and gold were used; They brought a thunderstorm and hail over me and mine beloved's head, they clinched their lip's, their nail's ripped through the roaring of the darkness around instead.
Mine Earl Jane Nagley held me closely, as tis these barbarian's were untamed and ghostly; I pulled out mine secret hidden choice, An Aesculapian snake to giveth a bang taste to these to these unholy ale's, I used that silver and gold to cut off their tail's.
Whilst the thunderstorm's and hail dissolved into thin air
Mine reyna and queen hugged me and screamed, cheerfully;
She saidst to me she loved me, tis now she was free, from pain and from anguish, I saved her again from the devil's advantage.
©Earl jane Nagley dedication ( filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Homes don't grow where I'm from
they only stand stagnant waiting for one to deconstruct a building process.
Limbs leave family trees way before fall happens. It's only a matter of time before one becomes familiar with "shit happens".
Indulged in decency far fetch becomes close Morals become like unread books.
Back-hand to reality some people get it.
Men will hit everything around, before hitting their target so a bulls eye is more like scolded ones golden tongues couldn't fix.
Pictures catch more than a moment
Pictures don't hang anymore the walls are gone. Houses look more like tornadoes so prepare for hail. Aftermath can make a better beginning. Black looks darker in the light. In the dark your eyes will adjust so black is the new norm.
Accustomed to a fucked up custom where an abandoned home.
no painted walls, a brick mailbox, and a broken garage.
In only minutes, surging wind brought rain, then pounding hail into this verdant canyon. The mountain disappeared into the mist, and in its place the full arc of a brightening rainbow. Almost as quickly, the mountain's face reappeared, while more rain poured down, now through brilliant sunlight. The rainbow remains, plunging its feet into the very roots of the valley.