"agone" poems
Ah, paled and faded leaf. of spring agone,
Whither goest thou? Art speeding to
Another land upon the brooklet's breast?
Or art thou sailing to the sea, to lodge
Amid a reef, and, kissed by wind and wave,
Die of too much love?
Thou'lt find a resting place amid the moss,
And, ah, who knows! The royal gem
May be thine own love's offering.
Or wilt thou flutter as a time-yellowed page,
And mould among thy sisters,
Ere the sun may peep within the pack?
Or will the robin nest with thee
At Spring's awakening? The romping brook
Will never chide thee, but ever coax thee on.
And shouldst thou be impaled
Upon a thorny branch, what then?
Try not a flight; thy sisters call thee!
Could crocus spring from frost?
And wilt thou let the violet shrink and die?
Nay, speed not, for God hath not
A mast for thee provided.
4.2k
i.
Agone day's, I kneweth not amour' mine godly Apostle
I only understood fear, sorrow's, none outlook for tomorrow;
Though I kneweth, ourn creator wouldst send me a seraph
Twas I, was only a serf, I didn't not deserve a queen and a angel.
ii.
I never couldst discover where that secret treasure was hidden
I looked, and waited, and hoped, also hopeless on the find;
I wore mine heart on mine sleeve, waiting, waiting, none to be,
But now I do knoweth, Jehovah hadst his plan, thee: one in tan.
iii.
Yahweh tooketh away, all the substandard's and ourn past strife's
Just at his right moment, in his will, not ourn own, he made right;
He parted the sea's, and moonlit dream's, for me and thee lover
For me and thee queen, forever to be; eternally husband an wife.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 4:18 PM UTC
It hath yet to clear away
from the skies of the bereaved
hearts: of family and friends,
neighbours and colleagues, church
members and associates--the
sudden pall of smoke of sorrow
that arose a week agone, precisely
on the Lord's Day last--from the
debris of deaths of the Dana plane
accident in Lagos, Nigeria.
When that evil bruit first
on the radio i heard, like lead
sank fast to the very base of
the sea of woe, my heart; and
wailing was i within like a child
that's bereft of breast milk. I
could not my tongue find again, for
words were as sand heavy in my
mouth. All earthly pleasures did de-
part my thoughts at once, losing
all known appetites for ecstasy
For the 153 souls that perished
in the ill-fated plane crash, when
upon a two-story building with its
belly fell; killing 6 more people
besides the number aboard the aircraft
who, like everyone else on that Sunday, were
having a nice day in their various homes.
of whose tale amongst the unfortunate
victims should i tell thee: Is it
of the bright, warm and lovely lady
that came from the US to celebrate
her brother's wedding with her children
and died along with her family whole--
husband, two kids, and a set of
twins, mother, and two cousins? Or is
it of those who had gone to visit their
friends but met their death untimely
in that damaged building? Or is it
of the air hostess that was to get
married next July? Or is it of the very
reverend Cole and his darling wife?
Or is it of the brass hats, professor,
corps member and top civil servants? I can
not exhaust the tragedy's list! It's too
great a tale to be told by me--the
sad loss of precious lives like mine!
And for 3 days in grief hung the country's
flag in a half-flown position, lowering
its high head in ashes of sympathy
as the nation at large did mourn
the dead and condoled with their families.
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 1:16 PM UTC
Old Meg she was a Gipsy,
And liv'd upon the Moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.
Her Brothers were the craggy hills,
Her Sisters larchen trees--
Alone with her great family
She liv'd as she did please.
No breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon,
And 'stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the Moon.
But every morn of woodbine fresh
She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen Yew
She wove, and she would sing.
And with her fingers old and brown
She plaited Mats o' Rushes,
And gave them to the Cottagers
She met among the Bushes.
Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen
And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore;
A chip hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere--
She died full long agone!
2.3k
A year ceased to the known,
crystal to each other
selves of their own,
clear as day,
but the day's long agone.
Her voice still etched in his ears,
and as it appears,
it sure won't be gone for years.
Years to come, years to go,
will there be another to the known?
each day passes in this question's wake,
another day of talking and giggling
over something his mama baked?
will there be yet another night
skinny dipping down the lake?
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 1:02 PM UTC
i.
Albeit I'm here
And thou art there;
Many mile's from eachother
Yet still ourn endearment shalt not decrease.
ii.
I am thine own
Thou art mine;
No need to worry mine darling
I'm thine own forever, not a lease.
iii.
Agone juncture's
Of mine second's and minute's of sorrow's;
Art now gone mine treasure
Looketh forward toward's the morrow.
iv.
Interval's shalt pass
With times we both art to busy;
But at the end, when the sunshine bend's
I'll still be waiting for thee mine queen, mine hunny.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
i.
Inside the aumbry of thy rib's,
Mine verses there queen
Shalt alway's live. When
Thou doth close thine
Engineer orb's,
Knoweth this
Mine Jane;
Mine pearl.
ii.
Long agone, god choose thee,
To be mine darling from the sea;
The one who whisper's to me when I sleep,
In thy soul mine poetry speaks.
iii.
If tonight mine inhalation shalt cease
I'm not just flesh, but a spirit antique;
Mine word's hath come from the up above,
To show thee forgiveness, and Christ's own love
And don't forget queen where thou camest from
From the Almighty's hand's wherein life dost come,
Where the Angel's fly, and the mountain's hum
Past the human sun, in the third heaven.
iv.
So go to sleep Reyna, and dream of me,
One day we'll meet, O' please believe;
And when thou dost wake in the morrow
Thou shalt seest the clear amour that follows.
And smile we wilt do plenty of,
For we aren't of earth, but sky's above;
And when thou shalt see the light
I'll guide thee where there is no night.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou) dedicated
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
Like a sloop in mid ocean toss
To and fro by a wind boisterous,
Whose fortune is past help and hope, seems he
Among the flotilla of his game--supposedly.
Remember i about two seasons or years
Agone, when it was bruited to my ears
By some analysts and commentators alike,
That the player probably might not strike
Home a Grand Slam at all in his career.
The critics, howbeit, this day wrong were
Proven for his fate changed, when the hand
Of heaven which, as it wills, doth command
The affairs of man, causes at once to cease
The waves, turning a seeming failure to success.
For there in that distant land of America did
That ever presistent and optimistic, avid
For, focusing on a title Andy Murray of Britain,
At last his first Open Tennis Trophy obtain.
No theory new doth his crown prescribe;
Only that a man should likewise subscribe
To those ancient proven principles: believe
In God and thyself, and sincerely give
To every pursuit of life thine very strength and
Power; and whether the occasion be a Grand
Prix or Slam, allow nay no rollicking pundit
Thy faith to cast down. For like a bandit
Are negative words; they do rob the heart
Of its courage and confidence for the most part.
Yea, at 25, the British boy berthed eventually,
Despite the storms, at the harbour of victory.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
Afore agone times,
avaunt from material
Civilization's, was a place;
Of unbiased race. We were
unadulterated, ere the statues
Of bronze, and kaolin faces.
The heaven's were ourn graces.
Though we got separated; at the fall
Of man, we bacameth as flesh, ourn
Finger's unlocked, we took the form
Of shoes and sock's, wearing human
Skin. Though ourn soul's of old knewest
None end. We cameth together once again-
As ourn light's blended highly, we blocked
Out the dark-cut the dim. As through this
New-age technological era-we foundeth one
Another. Ourn kind hadst been separated through
The warlike times, though queen O' mine queen.
Again, O' tis again; we foundeth each-other.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose)
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 12:35 AM UTC
i
Earl Jane, oriental poetess, thou art so down, that's why I writeth this, Earl Jane, best friend of Friend's, thine heart's open as thou doth not pretend, as so many other's do; Earl Jane, thy hand's writeth as a muse, thou art not abjected in mine room, welcomed
ii
Earl Jane, lover of all being's, agone wherein thy heartbreak Sting's, I shalt taketh thine wound's mine friend, kind, gentle, thy charity with none end, thou shalt filleth thy dream's unlike other's thinkest, thou shalt glaze the moon in color's, I'll watcheth
iii
Earl Jane, afoot beside me, its thee I shalt helpeth and guide
I seeith the passion and compassion in thine eyes, as thou art free
Earl Jane, poetica dream, taketh the rope off from around thy neck, ourn savior saved thee, as I'm here for thee to protect.
iv
Earl Jane, I knowest whence thou came: from the before life of this, wherein romantic's met the poetic flame, earl jane, Asiatic bird, let thy anguish cometh out in word's, and jot and scribe thine soul down as it glide's, and frolic for new tommorrow.
v
Earl Jane, is this helping thine sorrow? Art thou smiling now as thou shouldst? Just look at mine face if thou needeth a laugh, we both knoweth its stained, like church rose glass, I knoweth right now that thou shalt laugh, art thou smiling now? Dearest friend...
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/ friendship poem
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
i.
Long agone
Whence mine snivelling;
Mine heart throbbed, tis the world was a stab by Satan's ****
ii.
Amiss was I
Seeking in all the wrong places;
As they sayest, when it's we who don't seeketh, good cometh.
iii.
Foolish I was, to search and gander
I kneweth amour was real, where was it sleeping;
In a house, under the sea, in celestial safekeeping's?
iv.
Though I hadst a vision long ago, of what mine Reyna wouldst
Looketh like, tan-sand skin, a holy creature, no sin, dark sensual eyes; dusk hair of silk midnight, goddess frame, lip's of flame's.
v.
Her laugh untamed, she's wild and free, Asiatic doll of jaw-dropping string's, she's wrapped in tropical tree's, she bringeth me to mine knee's, as I'm her hari, she's mine queen, an her soul;
The brightest star in all of the heavenly father's universe........
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley/mine-angel dedication
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
so here I am, in evening's day,
watching as lines draw importance among charts
erased, once holy.
my tools collapse, blood letting instruments
raising grave. terra firma,
influence for siblings & greed to rest.
I am here, head high.
images burrow into my core, burned I shiver,
waiting forthem to control this grey brain, requesting,
from that moment, I'll throw them into
her paper grave.
why? why has the dawn come again?
one decade,
I waited for night.
& minutes agone, I spat in morning's eye.
tomorrow's evening I'll curse,
praying with head held, that sunrise
will not forget me.
slipping into my grave.
stepping out politely,
to wave my hand & contort my mouth,
pressure my heart & tense my bones.
now I'm alone.
& these potential loves can not
cure
my continual wishing or
halt these searches.
tattered auras weave into purple thread.
tattoed ivory wraps Turkish gold.
here.
here I am,
fousing or nodding;
the heavy weight of ink's stroke,
drawing you,
farther away.
it hurts when I speak.
it wakes when I breathe.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
Streetlamps pass by my windowpane
As the wheels turn, so does the day
I feel the weariness creep onto my brain
My eyes watch the sky as it turns gray
Back at the tracks I worked myself out
Blisters tore into my soles and soul
But I know when I reach the end of the route
My life will soon again be caught in my control
Because I know that my darling will be waiting there
And we'll both have a life just for us
She's gonna meet me, gonna kiss me from my head to my neck
She's gonna see me, gonna greet me with a ***** peck
And then we'll come home to our children at the time of the stars
Somehow I will get there by trains, planes, or cars
No matter how strong the wind may be
No matter the deadliness of the sun
I'll walk and wait throughout the barren country
Just so I can be with my loved one
Because I know she'll be standing, looking fair
And she'll embrace me at the stop of the bus
She's gonna meet me, gonna kiss me from my head to my neck
She's gonna see me, gonna greet me with a ***** peck
And then we'll come home to our children at the time of the stars
Somehow I will get there by trains, planes, or cars
The wind is growing colder now
It's been hours since I've been indoors
My toes are stiffer than I would allow
I don't think they'll again touch my home's floors
As hunger and sleep dominate my sides
I see my sweetie still waiting alone
The visions push me and become my guides
Because my unfortunate days are agone
She's gonna meet me, gonna kiss me from my head to my neck
She's gonna see me, gonna greet me with a ***** peck
And then we'll come home to our children at the time of the stars
Somehow I will get there by trains, planes, or cars
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 9:15 PM UTC
Air guitar, mellow, loose breezy shadows on the rock
outside my window, where life,
barely modified by my
observation
preserves
the old learning in each living thing,
seen through my window?
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 3:02 PM UTC
life is so difficult out here in the stars
the rain drops come through the windows
and cover the whirring electronic devices
that are not happy to be wet
at all
i **** out **** poems too like pretty often
are you writing a poem?
yes
starcraft 2 was a game of the past
now i hear the whirring of the tower fan
whirring out and making a better than sound
equal to
look at the face= defeated
lets talk about poetry sometime
and gg
beautifully done
a couple of days agone
five years
scowling cat be gone
******* family doesnt allow for
and it's ok
sorry to be not
i see
sorry to be
and
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
Give up waiting, doofus. It's so much easier when you don't give a hoot and nothing's happening anywho.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXVI)
I've been reciting for--was that--intents?
How lo, my cousins' kids are in betrayl
Nigh grown, who were so little on that scale
Ten years agone, when I last for good sense
Saw these, or pictures of the same to fence
Some fam'ly shindig with all to avail
Whatever, me an old maid yet sans bail,
Til hopes look quite askance without defense.
Joe is attractive ah, beyond as twere
The dreams I've known, a dream anon come true.
If only now we could be all we stir,
Have children of our own, lo that would do.
Well, be together in yes, love, endure
To death thus, and have kids: what's I love you?
01Jul17b
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
Thy pride is as ancient as the splendor sun,
Thy flame is as old as the ashes of eternal glory,
Thy wrath is as wretched as the false marbles of Nero,
What giveth thee such wicked pride, thy over charring flames:
Thy envy or greed is as vast as the unbinding waves;
Twas by chance a ray of light you saw by blunder:
Why did all the scorching heat turn Into morbid ice,
Life’s a shadow; more you insist more wretched thee become,
Long agone before thy birth, angels bowed before thee:
What giveth thee such wicked pride or thy undying flames,
Thou shan’t creep to darkness nor fret over the long winter,
Thou art prey to thy desire, slave to sweet temptations,
In thy gods name thee eagerly trample upon countless souls:
You have forgotten that you are meant to be human,
Proud is what you are, pride is all you have for eternity,
May thee remember; why and whence thee came in.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Tell me why I can't sleep.
I'm staring at my phone,
Draped in darkness, all alone.
Solemn, silent, joy agone;
Sorely sick of feeling nothing.
I can't muster any old ambition.
Time winds down but won't abscission.
Slowly it keeps moving, and yet I'm sitting still.
The happiest I've ever been... about three years ago.
It's cathartic don't you know?
Just to sit back and remember.
Is free verse even poetry?
It's purely unperpetuated,
Obnoxious, and inebriated
Slowly slurring slurries of distinguished eloquence and grace
With no outstanding reason, rhyme, or measure of it's pace.
It's disgusting, and undignified;
An element of haste.
Or am I just upset with all my words that hit the page?
My emotions, things of rage... or longing
My mind feels like a cage.
Oh I just hate feeling this way
And yet I do.
Oh take me back in time
To a world where she was mine
When all my poems weren't so...
Depressing.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 8:11 AM UTC
Yesteryear, I flowed
Into the soil of my mother,
Like an injection through the skin;
I roamed about in circle
To stop her monthly cycle
Before I sprouted out a stem.
In days agone,
I almost lost my hair to the tray,
That sit on my head like leaf on trees;
A tray filled with fried fishes.
As I walked the street,
Dust would cloud my feet,
But now, I've grown a little,
Tray era is now -- a train of dress.
In other days buried long ago,
I used to be a Vulture,
Who feeds on others' art
To contain my hunger for writing.
But now, I'm a beast whose through study,
I feast on words to fend myself.
I was a stoic, a stubborn boy
In school days gone now.
Whose skin, a night without moon
And clothes -- the cloud at night.
But now, I am the ray of sun
That peeps through the curtains of life.
Gone are those days,
I used to be a clueless lad
Who mar words for fun.
Literature found me
And turned me into a gardener
Who wreathes words on the sheet.
Josh Wealth Pampam ©
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 6:03 AM UTC