A reticent fox slinks by beneath
the trees

that still have leaves
conversing for now

the change in colors
sleeps still, unannounced

the rain smells of ploughed earth
& freshly hung-out clouds

& wellington boots
Autumn's child cries it's first word

& inside a low-lit pub
a crisp old cider's poured

September's dreams
fermenting

The fireflies
Buzz all around you,
Scattered drops of sunlight
Celebrating the darkness
Maybe we should try it too
Because if we wait for a happy moment to celebrate
We might just have to wait forever.


The autumn trees
Dance all around you
Moving their bare branches
On the beat of the silent wind
You never planted their seeds
Yet they shed their leaves
Watching you shed those precious tears.


Never say, oh, never think
You are alone in your struggle.
Think of all the eternities the sky has bled
For the earth it has never touched.
Yeah, think about the longings with which the ocean and the moon look at each other
And yet can never meet.

So, if you dream of skylines you have never seen,
Wake up with your dreams sitting on your eyelids
And if your heart is at a place far away,
Just know maybe it is supposed to be that way.

The earth when too close to sun,
Will become a ball of ashes,
The moon will have the tides turn
Into merciless savages.
Your heart, with you in his arms,
Will finally be at rest

And if it was not for this sadness, what would I still be writing about?

I'm lucky that up until now
my heart has beat ever day
but the past few months
it's been warmer
and as mornings grow
a tad colder
they also seem warmer,
the time when the year turns
colder
is warm;
for no other reason than you.

amber tinted sun
    falls through the slic es of green
piled on wet earth

little loud screaming birds fly over the valley
fits of emotion
tumbling dashing around inside
their little scrreaaming heads.

  lying in wait for her victim long blonde
dead;y
she sings
happily
high pitch hiding her t.r.u.e. feelings

Day debt
night wept
sleep crept
Attachment.
                       Where is my attachment?
                                evening out of balance
                                        The line of my life has broken
                                                  off into separate identities
Flower feather
Hollow weather
Moonlight Canyon
                                      Skylight childhood nostalgia
                                      Stolen star
Battered cheekbones
Of weary workers keeping to
The hornet's nest
                      Reality a constant terror
                     Of city structures                         swallowing
                                                      ­                             them whole.
Blackbird rests
on an Autumn branch of
hidden meadow
checking its wristwatch obsessively for the
             Hydrogen Volcano
                INEVITABLE.
                                         Termite Corporations
                                          Cavernous Hilltops
                                        All that green is gold
(A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches
            the frosty Manhattan
    to become a relic in it's Libraries)
                         People fall in Love with coincidence,
                 (The illusion of order beyond our field or reach)
        All that love is kept in a
                    Conservatory somewhere...
                          Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms.

Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence
whether fever or handhold.

               Hymns ring throughout the forests of
                                                   Vancouver Island
               Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in                
                                                   overwhelming sunlight
                                                        ­ Doused in spirit.

Holy Melancholic September
Sweeps away the dusty Summer,
                                                        e­verything seems renewed
                                                        I­n the rain..

I try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh so mellow*
I try to remember the kind of September
When I wore my navy blue skirt
with white bottom down top,
with glistening extension cornrows
so tight like dreadlocks.

I try to remember the kind of September
When I was young and carefree and no responsibilities
Now it’s September those after school activities.
Oh shiver me timbers to all the bus drivers
Welcome to another school year with tears

i.

Thither soon
The harvest Moon;
September, mine month of birth
Me and mine Reyna shalt swoon.

ii.

Asunder the leaves
Through the fall lit tree's;
Me and mine dame
Shalt gyrate the amour that we bleed.

iii.

The moon to be red
Ourn eye's to giveth vision's;
Of me and mine sweet Jane
Making love in celestial kitchen's.

iv.

On the grass
In the sea of thought;
Ourn affection unearhtly
Not to be store bought.

v.

Ourn headdress
Made from peacock quill;
A medicine woman and man
shaman of autochthonous skill.



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

I awoke in a mask of makeup and blood
Caked-up and confused, I stood
Scraped away at my crusted face

I'm surprised by the sweet words flowing from your swollen mouth
Because I know that you don't remember my name, but you say you love me anyway
I rub my skin raw
And scrub my teeth 'til they bleed
My mouth tastes like yours,
But you don't mean a thing to me anymore.