"antediluvian" poems
i.
Fret not, mine antediluvian maiden,
For thine lid's art ladened with the
the encumbering of this last age.
ii.
Awakest, ariseth, mine filipina
of aureole fushae; for the
óres art numbered.
iii.
Yahweh's knocking at the
ventricles of ourn being's;
We knoweth the wisdom
That God giveth, which
Many hath searched-
From king's to Queen's.
iv.
For we art his offspring-
mine overwrought baby,
For there art none if's
nor maybe's; in his
Righteous path.
v.
Verily, yea, the Moon
Wilt turn ichor, the
Waves as of now art
Rising fast, the fish
Art washing to the
Shore's, the fowl of
the heaven's art
Falling to the earth.
As spoken in Hosea
Four-verse three.
vi.
Believeth in Yeshua
mine lady, as the thousands
Having visions and dream's;
Like me, im a testament to
The prophecy coming.
vii.
Don't be afraid of the mockery that
Mayest come, for thine
Blood like river's run
Into the kingdom of
the most high.
viii.
Soon O' soon we
Shalt fly, like sparrow's to their abode; fly-free-spirited
Gliding soul's, into the Dominion wherein we shalt know
All, wherein the bomb's wilt not fall, and destruction doesn't
Exist. A place of sworn bliss, where kisses art created
By soulmates of the creator's making.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou) dedication
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
I, ConnectHook
DEMAND recognition as The Most Boring Poet of all.
You’ll never touch me so don’t even TRY.
Don’t even bother dipping your quill again,
you mere drip on the mildewed scroll of antediluvian parchment,
you cuneiform Cunégonde, you proto-Canaanite pottery fragment,
you keyboarding failed clown
and archeological relic unworthy of preservation
in a third-rate underfunded Albanian museum…
I, and I alone, dragged myself up from the protoplasmic slime
to BORE you.
I transitioned from amphibian to anthropoid
before your mama even MET the postman.
I stood upright upon the ****** battleground of evolutionary struggle
and SELECTED MYSELF (naturally).
Now pass that banana right over here.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC
drought dry only a fortnight, and no trace
of the swimmers--not a bloated bass or a skeletal carp
only a few lily pads burnt russet by the sun
all else, perverse interlopers from modernity:
bullet banged beer cans, truck tires,
and the ubiquitous bottle water plastic
waiting patiently for the next ice age
no sign of one fish that emitted a last gilled gasp here
deep beneath the bed though
progenitors rest, theirs and ours,
antediluvian, Permian, as permanent as the word allows
my footfalls above them today
tomorrow silent where they lay
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 4:06 PM UTC
down the time antediluvian
the search is continued
for a joyful jiffy
filled with fragrances
which birds endorse
by their skilful flight
synchronised,
and dancing tulips
in the eastern winds
those new buds
on tree branches
in month of march
glossy yet soft
that fill the greenery
in a dried canvas
of snow laden winter
and squirls
check their hiding places
hoping,jumping, running
climbing up and down
branch to branch..
as if nature
in its perpetual cycle
offers its bountiful
generously.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
We can all spit on those tablets of stone,
the trinity's on hiatus,
the devil's alone,
School's out for training
it's raining hell fire and the bishops
are recording the antediluvian choir.
Noah's going to Goa,
A lot safer than here,
they say Indian beer's the best.
With his wood and an axe and
several packs of cool Cobra, he sails
into the wind and ends up in the Gobi.
On the edge of a rainbow
'jump Noah',
'don't go',
two people are shouting,
somebody's outing the sailor.
The choir got wrecked on microdot specks and
suspecting the worst, the bishops in Rome
all spit on the tablets hacked out from rough stone,
it was a quiet day in the Vatican, no miracles pronounced
in Perpignan, no Lady of Lourdes, no shroud of Turin,
only the blessing of Geneva dry gin.
Angels with harps all ****** as farts and
the devil sits alone.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
#ክብረ ነገሥት
*Oh Sovereign of wisdom Solomonic,
forgive us. The wicked wax demonic.
Golden vessels fill with foulness
man is bankrupt, sold and soulless
Unsettling harbingers loom dystopian.
Sheba rises in dreams Ethiopian.*
Tested with questions, her spirit once gone,
occultic suggestions postponed her dawn.
(Six-hundred and sixty-six talents of gold
paid Nineveh’s rise as Messiah foretold.
Go read it in Matthew, obstinate sinner
You think He intends to have Satan the winner?)
Her ruins now surveyed by satellite
beheld on the screens of the Canaanite:
canals to expose, southern deserts to cross,
Eritrean legends of Prophet (and loss),
the Ark of King Menelik—Kebra Negast,
treasures of darkness presented, now past
have us checking those texts that worldlings despise
as we wait under dread Luciferian skies.
Break the sixth seal of the seventh scroll;
let the thirteenth angel spill the bowl !
(or smoke it up in the courts of Heaven
till ganja’s infinitude totals seven…)
Exhume Axum with the ****** of Marib.
decode the encryption on Adam’s rib
unearthed from some Antediluvian ravine—
Blast from the past: she explodes on our scene!
Seven oaths shall be sworn on her spectral beauty
(our Biblical transcendental duty).
The libation is mixed. Are we ready to swill it?
Beersheba? She brew ! Let us rise to fulfill it.
from sita to Saba fifth columns are ready:
Oh Sovereign — render their pillars unsteady.
For after explosions there’s mess to clean up,
and it’s worse than the horrors inside of her cup.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
Writing prompt of the hour: mandrake
oh poison, what poison doth whisper in my ear
race through my veins like molten metal
cause the hottest summer to season in my mind
echoes a terrible trembling in my tingling limbs
it is mandrake, oh such deadly shade of night
that raises me to the floor luring my knees to my face
in unequalled gross distortions
oh mandrake, thou art a shade so deadly
as to make the blackest night quiver
now this poison makes strange ineluctable rhythms
gradually and patiently enter my body, my thoughts
like a gradual orchestral cadence of static melody
subtly wisping around my whole being.
destructive mandrake now scampers in my blood
becomes inseparable and lives in me
in fiery flocks of hallucinated concepts.
it fires through my body like burning sulphur
this mandrake, this poison
that has prolonged persistence
makes an experience of antediluvian treachery
from another time, not of this time, this present, this now
this here
mandrake has embalmed me to
the red roguish clay
I die ghastly from a writing prompt
mandrake, mandrake, deadly nightshade
fuqing mandrake
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC
HOW I MOURNED MADIBA IN EXCESS
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Rationality is antediluvian
Emotionalism is post napoleon
Shrewdness comes with the queen
Slyness a game of head boys
Strength ist meine Kampf
Bad dirgical mourning is mine
The dark son of Africa
My billow is love for humanity
Giving a **** the tick where it is due
Mourning heroes of the world
That battled for songs of freedom
In which cradled I the son of zinjathropus
To day Nelson Mandela is born
He is sired a new and again anew
Not the son of a chief but humbly
In humility as son of humanity
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 10:20 AM UTC
The Baker's Tale
They roused him with muffins--they roused him with ice--
They roused him with mustard and cress--
They roused him with jam and judicious advice--
They set him conundrums to guess.
When at length he sat up and was able to speak,
His sad story he offered to tell;
And the Bellman cried "Silence! Not even a shriek!"
And excitedly tingled his bell.
There was silence supreme! Not a shriek, not a scream,
Scarcely even a howl or a groan,
As the man they called ** told his story of woe
In an antediluvian tone.
"My father and mother were honest, though poor--"
"Skip all that!" cried the Bellman in haste.
"If it once becomes dark, there's no chance of a Snark--
We have hardly a minute to waste!"
"I skip forty years," said the Baker in tears,
"And proceed without further remark
To the day when you took me aboard of your ship
To help you in hunting the Snark.
"A dear uncle of mine (after whom I was named)
Remarked, when I bade him farewell--"
"Oh, skip your dear uncle!" the Bellman exclaimed,
As he angrily tingled his bell.
"He remarked to me then," said that mildest of men,
"'If your Snark be a Snark, that is right:
Fetch it home by all means--you may serve it with greens
And it's handy for striking a light.
"'You may seek it with thimbles--and seek it with care--
You may hunt it with forks and hope;
You may threaten its life with a railway-share;
You may charm it with smiles and soap--'"
("That's exactly the method," the Bellman bold
In a hasty parenthesis cried,
"That's exactly the way I have always been told
That the capture of Snarks should be tried!")
"'But oh, beamish nephew, beware of the day,
If your Snark be a Boojum! For then
You will softly and suddenly vanish away,
And never be met with again!"
"It is this, it is this that oppresses my soul,
When I think of my uncle's last words:
And my heart is like nothing so much as a bowl
Brimming over with quivering curds!
"It is this, it is this--" "We have had that before!"
The Bellman indignantly said.
And the Baker replied "Let me say it once more.
It is this, it is this that I dread!
"I engage with the Snark--every night after dark--
In a dreamy delirious fight:
I serve it with greens in those shadowy scenes,
And I use it for striking a light:
"But if ever I meet with a Boojum, that day,
In a moment (of this I am sure),
I shall softly and suddenly vanish away--
And the notion I cannot endure!"
1.5k
Ancient as the wind
Monroe hips
And a smile that could stretch for miles...
Classically outdated
But the flower never faded
Honey is just searching for redemption
On the wings of Magdalene...
One day your empire will rise from the sea
The ashes will fly with the breeze
And the rain will be as pure as the first tear that fell from His eye...
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 3:05 PM UTC
OR: “A brief treatise on Antediluvian Gayology ”
Α Ω
Said Demiurge to Samael:
“This universe is getting old.
Let’s break on through and fly beyond
to where the lead shines gold.”
Said Samael to Demiurge:
“I’m with you, dude. Let’s rock and roll
Let’s rip this veil of Maya in two
And glimpse the Oversoul…”
Replied his echo Demiurge:
“Devoid, divine, it’s ALL good, bro;
The sweetest wine is found within
Let liquid truth now flow…”
So Samael let drop the towel
And spread his doctrine’s orifice.
The mystic eye of gnosis shined
in luminous artifice.
Then Sam and Dem, conjoined like beasts
made cosmic love (in Koine Greek),
transforming gold to toxic lead –
and Truth into a freak.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
She came covered in satin-silk hair,
Displayed by rainbowed Ray's;
A visage of God's awe,
And wing's that flew uncaged.
I kneweth her once afore,
In the natural form of grace;
The welkin's own, a soul I've
Known, regalia clase.
O' athwart twas I,
That seized her
Breath, the
Roaring sky's o'er
Happiness. She tucked
Her head, into mine chest;
As the rest played out
As a utopian scene.
Twas not a dream,
Or drug induced
Illusion, some get
Amour confused
With the devil's
Confusion, though we
Art an infusion;
Two antediluvian
Specter shades,
Her color is yellow
For the sun, mine is blue;
From the deepest of water's,
And the river of life
Out of God's throne
I pulled Jane through.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
Call me antediluvian,
But I want to hold you by your hand
Kiss you on the cheek
Whisper, I love you
Call me delirious
I'm just in love.
It's hard to say,
That your body animates me
It's hard to say,
That I want you
It's hard to say,
That I want to caress your every flaw with my tongue
It's hard to say,
That I want to make love to you.
It's hard to say
What words cannot do
Like art
I want to draw you
Trace every inch of you with my fingers
Read every bit till your breath hinges
Watch every part till your toes curl.
It's hard to say,
What words cannot do.
Let me taste your thoughts with my tongue
Inhale the sounds you make
Exhale and grunt to the way your back archs
It's hard to say
What words cannot do.
When there's so much to do
That words cannot say
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
A hidden key
To unlock this soul
A Victorian queen
To confine mine home
An ancient lass
Druid class
Unpolished
Uncorrupted
I seeketh one to give me all
As I her
Two words
(King and queen)
To be the apple of her eye
Bringeth me back to life
Push the red soup back in mine arteries
Light the alpha and omega torch!!!!
Scorched!!!
By ones petting upon mine countenance
A cigarette of Aphroditus
A holy plus and sacred minus
A positive and negative so attractional!!!
Her long darkened locks
To zephyr across mine chiffonier
As she drenches me in cartoon weird
A delighting smear of two bodies in the swelter!!!!!
Unplugged
Raw
Unkiltered
Filthy animals in rawest mold!!!
Antediluvian souls!!!!
Her slaver
Uncustomarily
Her quiver
I tasteth as dairy
Unadulterated by man, plush by god!!!
Yet its a lost chimera
Laughing back at me
There's none that standeth at mine gate
All a whimpering dream
A fantasy of hopeless romantic!!
Why chase the treasure?
I see no chance
Still a dunce
Of high school dance
As I'll sit in the bleachers glancing the crowd!!!!
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
induce my mind with phantasm of realities,
fill my blood with antediluvian fantasies,
stir my soul in with truthful fallacies,
or shoot my heart with your arrow. don’t miss.
p.g
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Time journeyed through the seasons sublime
Brokered days the trellis of life did climb
Tendered hours but grainy shards without rhyme
Token minutes spindled through the hour glass of time
Each tenuous second garnering only a passing stime
Bartered moments the continuum of existence did wantonly prime
Availing sky's porous rotunda filtered each, ageless ream through spectrum so fine
The hoary sun spilled it's vision into each, vacuous line
Gilded moon, celestial mariner did shadowy expanse twine
Bended stars, twinkling sprites from stealthy perch did antediluvian streams re-align
Primeval planets in their sanctioned orbits perpetuity did assign
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 11:29 AM UTC
They say you stink. I would never.
That antediluvian odor, reminiscent of us
before the flood. And I rove the woods
of the world (those left), scaling cliffscapes,
spelunking caves, in search of our lost love.
Just a sign of something. Proof I need
of our tender attachment. Detachment
of orphic misunderstanding drives my pursuit,
as sleeper wakens to piercing glare.
How to get you back? Yowling, beating
trees with thumps percussing a want
of ancient *********** still stuck inside me.
I want you back my beloved Bigfoot.
Hunt I will, till I find, anything related
to this kind, of primitive feeling.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 8:57 PM UTC
There is speak of latency
and pregnant pauses,
for epochs.
From Cambrian to Devonian,
and all things antediluvian.
The stone, the bronze, the golden age.
and the age of wood and wool,
Of wool,
and wood.
Of mahogany,
and mohair.
An age of comfort and kindness,
of nanas wasting idly in rocking chairs,
Knitting sweaters big as continents,
for the sons and daughters,
Of their sons and daughters.
with the loom and swoop and stitch.
While each toc and tic,
Turns grandma to dust
and to death
Then to be latent again,
in a universe of dust.
A star, with a secret harbor,
of virtue.
A constellation, lassoed,
in her honor.
Blessing all with patience
Shining benevolent,
and intentionless,
For all to see.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
Province acreage dies for one to tilleth its deserted range
Wherein cement meets the grain
It's love wants to be an emblem upon the world's and celestial's mapped blueprint........
Sick of nothing
Infirmed by zich
Swabbed by heartache
Taping its own stitch...
Just another moorland
Who Gaveth all
Lost to
Hopeless romance merry....
Depletedness licketh...
Deprived
Scanting
Panting its last sad hopeful breathe!!!!
Tis
All it hath left
As its been pruned
And left for rocks to corrode...
Sold its soul.....
One of old,
Superannuated doppelganger.....
An obsolete antediluvian
One not meant
For loam inanimate's.....
By me( Brandon nagley) - ( lonesome poets poetry)
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 10:24 PM UTC
One day while I sifted through the masses
Of books that fortify the walls of my home
Like paper stones
I found a forgotten thought beneath a destitute
Red cloth binding.
The page had seen a printing press once.
In the days when the corners were not
Crumbling
Before it had been left to drink
The sun
To shade an antediluvian yellow
And was torn from its spine.
The ink has faded away now,
Melted in the whispers of time,
All that's left is a blank page
And one word written by an anonymous hand:
Palimpsest
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
i.
South eastern
Asian otherworldly;
Design, of antediluvian time
Twas, i was inborn in the poetry of thy mind.
ii.
Aloft on the high's
Sith the beginning long ago;
The origin never started
Twas already eternal.
iii.
Preordainment was conceived
For me and thou;
We kneweth eachother in the butterfly nebula
What a breathtaking light show.
iv.
I promised thou then
That I wouldst never leaveth;
Mine queen, thou art the only one, earl Jane nagley
Please alway's knoweth that, and believeth.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/Filipino rose
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
The elegance of death is tenacious and tantalises my raw and screaming divinity to the brink of constant linear velocity.
I mourn the lost solitude of Transylvania, where cobwebs are like ancient pathways which are strewn across the guest-room ceilings of haunted castles.
If we touch the harmony of the howling winds from beyond the forest, they will penetrate chimney flues and invade our antediluvian attic.
It is just like the space between your body and spirit, which transcends a harem of wild stallions as they gallop across unspoken planes of astral hierarchy.
Therefore, children of the night, we must recognise those cloven hooves which have left invisible imprints upon the sands of time.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
We should be finished by next fall. Last autumn was a good time and I hear history repeats itself. Sleeping under trees, smoking Lucky Strikes and tending to our hobbies. Lackadaisically bent over antediluvian scrapbooks, I hear this winter's to melt into a flood. The ark is under way, we should be finished by next fall.
It was something in the calm drift of the clouds or the tick-tick of the water meter. There was us and then there was them. We were flushed, the world was bluffing. There was us:
Deep breath.
We were the lost children roaming 'round Cair Paravel; the boxed kit youth unboxing on a caravel watching hypnotic YouTube videos and firing fire out of firewood; that was when I fell. Beside the flames under cover of conversation of God and Hell and all the proper nouns that we fear so much. But fires burn out, so let's be civil. We should be finished by next fall.
But how can I be civil when I hope that your spit flies back in your face; that when you flick your wrist, your muscles tear because I've torn too. It's torn past the heart into my legs, immobile, and my arms, useless. These hands are cramped and shredded; scraps and pieces and bits, drill bits carving their way in. You carved your way in. They say an animal in a tailor-made niche is an animal in a found home. So carve away, carver, we should be finished by next fall.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:37 PM UTC
Beneath wide, clouded horizons.
Radiant, expressive hues.
Fires aglow in the hillsides.
Build my castle with you
Amongst ancient, antediluvian villages.
Knowledge, wisdom of times past.
Across waving, silver plains.
Which spoken word will not outlast.
Oracles murmur among the ruins.
Caused of covetous desires.
Shaman’s chant
Possess the virgins’ dance.
A savage ritual across the fires.
Our love unites us
Across seas frozen in time.
Our love that frees us
From this fortress of solitude.
Knowing that you are mine.
Vibrations from the wings
Of electric delight
Scream thunderously across
The night sky.
Our passion providing the light.
As we journey,
Take my hand.
Do not wander,
Do not falter.
United we will stand.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 1:27 PM UTC