Arvanka, betwixt the Stygian muck and mire, mine arm's shalt grip thee in the fire; solace to thy bones.

Arvanka, repose Wilt be the new, passed the thundering drabby view, thy kiss to be the fuse; O'er the jungle fire.

Arvanka, forbearance mine encumbered lass, the hour wilt surely come to pass, ourn velvet blood to flow right passed, the foyer of enostikal swain.

©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry

It is over. I turn my head in shame.
Shoulders fall and I feel the defeat;
Found this corner to call my place,
and these calluses are for my feet.
Body weary from work I despise.
My mind worn down from these
political, social, and religious lies.
I turn and walk away from this day,
because I cannot stop the killing.
I cannot stop the bombs that drop,
or all the bullets that keep on flying.
I cannot stop a man from joining the clan,
Or bombing my brown brothers;
****** my sisters, destroying our mother.
I trip and stumble start to mumble
“What the hell is wrong with me?
Why can’t I make them see what I see?
Why can’t they see and believe in the beauty
In the human spark raised in dignity,
The blade of understanding sharpened by diversity?
Why can’t they listen with my ears,
hearing the music of people that I hear,
the pleasant sound of a foreign accent,
the learning of something new even if it is by accident?”
I turn my head not only in shame but ashamed of
those who I love but for whom love is not enough.
Those who cough and sputter spitting vile barbs of hate,
Who rage and waste these precious days,
Not really hearing what it is I am trying to say.
Crossed flags and burnt crosses,
Lines only few dare to cross and the tragedy is,
we are all in this together.
I turn my head to rest it on my pillow,
because today I am tired and heartbroken,
but tomorrow I will be better.
I can only fall so far till I rise again.
You may be my enemy now,
but an enemy is just tomorrow’s potential friend.

somewhere in my mind
a sky is full of kites
sunflowers blossoming on a hillside
fields of grapes, of my salt mixed with your perfume
my eyes drift across a canvas of waves
on which your warm feet have flattened grapes
into a sea diluted of sadness
stretching far from left to right
and wisping clouds above.
the heart follows timidly behind
approaching cautiously the soft strokes and waves
seeing each kite as an arrow
shot into the air by Cupid's jealous lover
as heaven's golden eye creeps past the mountain,
dips into the ocean
leaves this sky
a sweet, light wine; leaves me tipsy-turvy
while one can't help but believe:
loveliness is a vine mapped out within each
arms can hold, arms can drown
...I await yours.

Waiting for a muse to whisper
Into the partially deaf ear of my soul
Exhuming arcane truths from the source
Distilled through the ephemeral mind
Shadowy vestiges reflected in spirit
Fluid spirit flowing through pen
The ineffable spoken in sacred tongue
Ink revealing more than mind dictates.

Honestly I've been so good
I've waited I don't know how
I've tried to do what I should
But I simply must have it now

I've waited I don't know how
Please I've been really patient
But I simply must have it now
To stop further discontent

Please I've been really patient
I think I deserve my reward
To stop further discontent
Don't let life be this hard

I think I deserve my reward
Honestly I've been so good
Don't let life be this hard
I've tried to do what I should

Stones settle on the riverbed
The water rushes on for now, but
Someday where the river is fed
Will dry, and the river will bow

To her, o' earth so dear

And the stones will still remain
Unmoved, but not quite the same
A little worn away, some but a sliver
Having lived with the mighty river

This is my side of
the bed. I have
lain here my whole
life. I daren’t
cross the threshold
to the other
side, which remains

spotless, impressionless,
free of wrinkles
and other signs
of life.

I lie like the lifeguard
tells you to lie in
the waterslide:

feet crossed at the ankles,
arms across
the chest.

I lie in perfect
coffin etiquette,
shaping myself within
intangible confines,
cozy and secure.

I have lain here my whole life,
and in my dreams
you are next to me—

I have prepared this space
for you
my whole
life

and I am waiting
patiently
for a sign
of
life.

I am waiting
for the sheets
to wrinkle,
and a mass
to take shape,
and the mattress
to indent,
and the pillow
to sigh—

I am waiting
for cold feet
to shock mine,

I am waiting
for strong legs
to ensconce mine,

I am waiting
for a torso
to touch mine,

I am waiting
for an arm
beneath my neck,
a hand on my
cheek,

I am waiting for warm breath
on my face,
and the silhouette of a face
to taunt me in
the shadows—

I am patiently waiting
for the day
I cross
the threshold

into occupied
space.