cannot be earned. cannot be bought
cannot be grown upon a tree
this is what your work taught me...

to be a butterfly of tin
tough. resistant to the pin
to be a rhino made of paper
traversing planes just like a vapor
to be a tigress of silk
giving young pure mother's milk
to be a light. to ne'er expire
to be a flower made of fire

to express my feelings
reveal my hopes
find the humor
in my slumps
to find my weakness
feel the pain
find relief in its refrain
to smile and not feel guilt
gilt the flower... it will wilt!

to say what I mean
mean what I say
leave duplicity today!

to flow with ease
to turn a word
however banal
or absurd

absurdity is apt array
for the world of today!

to listen on the written page
to be a child
to learn

to rage!

this is what your work has taught
I may not learn it as I ought
but it always brings on thought
so know your struggle's not for naught
you're a flame that's burning hot!
in amber each penstroke is caught
I will, each war, have fully fought
I won't be fearful
never fraught...

this your poetry has taught!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/5/2015

In the silence and misunderstandings that separate us
I need to believe there is a place where we can meet
a place of mottled light where the only shadows
are painted by ancient firs who conspiratorially lean
open, welcoming hands down to greet us.

It is a place where all thoughts of judgment and jealousy
are simply too petty for consideration
love being implicit in the moisture of the air
words are unnecessary for our eyes reveal
everything we ever want to say.

Fear and resentment are unknown here
we refuse to recognize them if they slither
into this haven while we are sleeping
restful, innocent, unworried
history does not exist, the moment held is enough.

If this vision were dispelled, my soul could not sustain
reality’s weight.  I would be battered, fragile
as a spiraled whelk on deceptively smooth rocks
splintered by hate and unwillingness
to be as the sea, fluid and graceful, all encompassing.

Will you come with me here?  
Or is the hour too late?
We can meet in this hollow sacred space
and begin again, let loose misconceptions
clouding the life we share.          

The path is faint
trust your weary heart
it will lead us to each other.

I'd love to sing and shout,
Say it all out,
And I'll do that through my written words,
I hope they fly beautifully to you and bring you peace like the view of flowers and beautiful birds.

I can't face people,
Or share my fears with others,
I write because that's the one thing I'm good at,
I get to express my feelings.
When I look in your eyes,
I get lost in their depths,
But by penning it down I find ease.
When I write,
It feels as if it's only me and my paper's.
Filling all the pages with my black ink.
I feel proud of my capabilities.

As poet's we tend to get caught up in ourn own writing
As I canst lieth, I do as well;
Though we must not forget, whilst getting caught up
In reading ourn favorite poet's poetry on here
And writing ourn own,
We must NEVER forget
The unknown poet's here
The ones in the back of the room
The backbone to the poetic world and society
The quiet one's
Who seeketh none fame
Though they art famous
In a quiet way
As tis we must helpeth them
To spread their quiet wing's;
And flyeth on,
And helping another unknown
As the one's known
Helped us....



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

mischief and such wit
  moony, wormtail, padfoot, prongs
  they're the marauders
and when the job's done
  wave your wand and just say this
  'mischief managed!' done
cleverness present
  but wasted on breaking rules
  yet used for the fun

The poem formerly known as 'First taste of bitter' has been rewritten to reflect the lovely people who inhabit this etheral poetic wonderland that is home to many and a refuge to many - inspired by HP's own Elsa
- thank you Elsa  :))

My first taste of HP

I was welcomed right away
Day one I had three friends
Peter Hamilton, Cecil and Ana
Is where my HP journey began

From another site I'd arrived
Not seeking fortunes or fame
Just a place to share poems
With people who feel the same

I've always been so welcome here
~ always made to feel at home
Thats down to the friendly poets
Who you all are, you know.

So many, many friendly souls
My, how that list has grown
Thank you HP - I glad I came...
I no longer feel alone



Special thank also to - Poetessa Diabolica, Niamh, Coleen, Shanna, Wolf, Brandon, Evie, ridicule, Beryl Dov, Donna and Sleeping Bag. Much love to everyone who knows me. X

The best part about poetry
Is not even having to write ourn own poem's
But just relaxing back.
And reading all the other amazing poet's on HP....
Lovely indeed....
And so
Inspiring.


©Lonesome poets poetry
©Brandon nagley