#orient
Only when the guises of expectation are gone
Was I able to meet this tinge of ineffable confidant
Often ambushing behind the tune from days to places
Where self-gaze sails across something in and of itself.
Over the nuvole flies men in chaos off meaning loss
Wafted down detritus of love in strikes of turmoil.
Omens scudded before stunned, defying gravity
With nuanced remembrance of odor antidotes
Orienting my soul in shivering flux, astringent enough
When silence is not heard, nor eyes are met.
Words de-surfaced, drowning me dizzy.
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 10:16 AM UTC
an orient
with me
was this
platitude if
salt didn't
rhyme this
time that
a tempest
on the
horizon never
realized for
this endeared
pace as
the water
in the
**** by
the bay
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
onion rings
quiet dietary
expedience when
a malt
seed there
quench a
skeleton of
hire in
their superfluous
attire that
bench let
a saucer
dream with
a production
scheme track
that this
orient desire
Apr 6, 2018
Apr 6, 2018 at 9:28 AM UTC
a lawyer's
batch in
a brief
if hiring
direly break
trepidation that
equality *****
when a
state of
confusion interrupts
rights to
a genuine
occupy of
love where
intent only
makes mark
in society
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 7:17 AM UTC
My upstairs spiraled to her looking glass
in those hand-me-down shoes alight
and would incline on the way down to the street
so this diadem could never faint
yet had swallowed ancient rouses
why he didn't die in a field of clover
with a herd of deer then
as they both arrive just to expose this simplex
that may fold their wonder many times
but her entirely backless suit met consecutively
with spring base was tapestry in a town of such nomad
as fillies were finally exonerated by his demeanor.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
In Seville
My lock is like a wheel
that treasures the land
with strands of sand now an inroad to soul
in times of grain this platitude of health ahead of tides
the salt on shore implores unfinished deeds
as art deplores any nurturing of needs
with stars out this race beyond the chariot again
and proves that this orient has rightly won a gathering if seed roaring in a stream of catchment nigh
where these overtones are songs
and round about the fields along the Guadalquivir.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 10:24 AM UTC
I dreamed I was a butterfly.
(Or butterfly was me.)
I fluttered by the golden sky,
The mountaintops, the sea.
I felt the warmth, the sweet caress,
The gentle breeze of love.
I knew there was no hell below,
No heaven up above.
I spread my wings and let it go,
Forgetful of the past.
I dreamed I was a butterfly.
I fluttered – free at last.
I drifted on the salty waves,
Beset by melting ice…
Amid long years and short days
I freely cast my dice.
My dreams came true, and all at once
The evil was no more…
I let it wash all over me,
And then – I crashed ashore.
Anon, reborn, I dreamed again.
(Or butterfly dreamed on.)
My whole existence – pure as Zen,
Unique as a black swan.
The shards, dispersed along the way,
I gathered – one by one.
The kintsugi of life I made
Was brighter than the sun.
The silent flapping of my wings,
Akin to sands of time,
Sustained a galaxy of springs –
Both mortal and divine.
I ambled on, both dry and drowsed…
The point of no return –
I felt at home… When I aroused,
A better world was born.
My dream, however short it was,
Is now a part of me.
Now, conscious of a grander cause,
I flutter by so free.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 7:07 AM UTC
i.
Orient Rubie's
Dark and silky smooth;
**** glass dancing the reflection's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC