"anigh" poems
Olwen grew after mid-winter's passing
the wind had sung her a child's name
she knew her time was now come
the man she picked was strong and wise
and she had seen his death was anigh
the great gift she would give him
a girl child she would carry, birth and teach
her first word would be the name of him
who was to fall in the cattle raid to Seisysllwg
no man to own her or claim her
Olwen mothered
a world of dreams
a world of knowing
she knew the seasons
and the schemes
of life growing
hares and foxes
would sleeep at her feet
enemies before her
would not fight but retreat
Olwen's way was of care and of love
her power of the earth and skies above
no denizens of dark and deepest hate
would stand her eyes that saw their fate
fast eye
clear sky
brown flash
passes by
beast or bird
we cannot see
good Olwen
watching over thee
The child came in the autumn months
gold- clad meadows bear the last of mother's bounty
as she came into the world scythes cut the last bushel
weak with the birth she carried the child
to the stone on plynlimon's east side
"let the source of the five feel the spirit of this child
carry her through her life with power and love..."
When Cariad was five she took her to the great marsh south of the Dyfi
and watched as the child threw her father's sword back to his spirit
further than any man could throw
ask not for power
for your arm
ask for strength
in your heart
ask not for dominion
over men
seek love
for the world
ask not for thyself
anything you
would not give
away freely
no shadows came to dwell in the hills and vales
where peace eternal dwelt with power of hearts
Olwen slept after one mid-winter's passing
She died when the spirits asked for her
Cariad bore her to the Plynlimon stone
where all wise women's bones will lie
The rivers remember her eyes
The trees remember her wisdom
The birds remember her song
The stars remember Her dreams
The Stones of Deheubarth
remember their Wise-Woman
when Moon and Sun rise
and the shadows flee
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 9:10 AM UTC
Anigh, is the darkling of the effrontery eagle, effaced, replaced; it's worship towards the devil. Gallons of blood, used as cover, ash and mud; defiling of ****** mother's. Gallizing men drowned in sweetness of drunkened friends. Gamins created by cankered loot, oil fills the pockets; diamonds make slaves to. Gangrels run kingdom's from their ancestral hand-me-downs, gaolers imprison innocents, whilst thy rulers throw ****** for babes at compounds. Innovators; mocking God's name. Mixing men with robotics, keeping the pure obscured, locking animals in a cage. Inorbing creation with cameras as eyes, like rats they scurry, hide; when the truth is knocking. Like a drunkard; This circular hell shalt rock as a ship, many planet's art approaching, none help shalt thou get.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prophetic poetry.
Word meanings:
Anigh: near.
Darkling: growing darkness.
effrontery: shameless.
Eagle: the united states.
Effaced: erased, forgotten.
Gallizing: add water plus sugar to make stronger wine from grape juice.
Gamins: neglected boy left to the streets.
Gangrel: vagrant, loose built person.
Gaoler: jailer.
Whilst:while.
Thy:your.
Inorb: encircle, surround.
Circular hell: earth.
Art:are.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
i
Animater I'm anhungered
Anigh to thy brunette canvas
Thou art a calliope to mine loin's
A second pulse of mine calotype Atlantis.
ii
In Corinth, wherein mine greecian ancestor's do cometh
A cambric carriage with thy grisette dress
Me to be the poetic ******
Thou to be mine Spaniard address.
iii
We'll gad like frat-house student's
Learning lessons, not by ruling stick's
Footing the hills, of forane real
We both shalt be an epilogue, romanticism's epilogist's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Elsa-angelica dedication
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
the creases worn upon my hands -
stretch back,
run the course of lifetime past,
others shaped as they shape me
and
contra to erosions role,
the lines, they deepen, expose the soul:
unlikeness built, carved egos sum,
a monument to blindness done.
but times advance, quells not critics eye,
erosions role resumes anigh.
and what i am, i have become
is carved away - rent to the dust
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)
A brackish lake is there with bitter pools
Anigh its margin, brushed by heavy trees.
A piping wind the narrow valley cools,
Fretting the willows and the cypresses.
Gray skies above, and in the gloomy space
An awful presence hath its dwelling-place.
I saw a youth pass down that vale of tears;
His head was circled with a crown of thorn,
His form was bowed as by the weight of years,
His wayworn feet by stones were cut and torn.
His eyes were such as have beheld the sword
Of terror of the angel of the Lord.
He passed, and clouds and shadows and thick haze
Fell and encompassed him. I might not see
What hand upheld him in those dismal ways,
Wherethrough he staggered with his misery.
The creeping mists that trooped and spread around,
The smitten head and writhing form enwound.
Then slow and gradual but sure they rose,
Those clinging vapors blotting out the sky.
The youth had fallen not, his viewless foes
Discomfited, had left the victory
Unto the heart that fainted not nor failed,
But from the hill-tops its salvation hailed.
I looked at him in dread lest I should see,
The anguish of the struggle in his eyes;
And lo, great peace was there! Triumphantly
The sunshine crowned him from the sacred skies.
'From strength to strength he goes,' he leaves beneath
The valley of the shadow and of death.
'Thrice blest who passing through that vale of Tears,
Makes it a well,'-and draws life-nourishment
From those death-bitter drops. No grief, no fears
Assail him further, he may scorn the event.
For naught hath power to swerve the steadfast soul
Within that valley broken and made whole.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC