"asiatic" poems
Her eye's, Asian heaven's
Her hair, universal obsidian;
She camouflage's in the mountain's
An Asiatic goddess chameleon.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 5:14 PM UTC
You were born on a cusp.
friends on the other side
couldn't decide,
Scorpio or Libra.
You yourself,
as constant as the tides.
A tenth sign ram
was blessed to cross
your lovely path
and the ram learned:
Short curly hair
pinned back reveal
asiatic eyes.
As you pass by and by
Time and time hearts race
Chicken salad sandwich,
its moist mayonnaise
is never as delicious
without a pickle.
Grubhub.
No, Scrubhub.
Too content to leave the room.
Yummy Rummy,
food in our tummy.
forever.
Broth, cheese and wine.
Mushrooms and time.
If ever I tasted love,
it was shared with me,
in a recipe.
Sound opinion in scores.
Royal, like the Tenenbaums.
Bill Murray fantastic.
Pink Moon over and over and over.
Divide that by nine.
And now I know,
almost as well as you,
how good Goodfellas is,
even after the tenth time.
Early morning awakenings or
snooze again and again and again.
Paralyzed in a dream or
awoken with a scream,
we tried a routine:
Once parts of a team,
a memory faster than it seemed.
Ran for miles.
A boy and girl in the hall,
amongst the boys and girls
in the hall.
Digital regulars in ecstasy.
Wake next to you a daydreamer.
So, when life gets hard,
and you're feeling down,
don't be so glum,
ignore your doubts,
don't feel left out,
I'll be there for you,
when you need me to.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
Maveric Prowles
Had Rumbling Bowles
That thundered in the night.
It shook the bedrooms all around
And gave the folks a fright.
The doctor called;
He was appalled
When through his stethoscope
He heard the sound of a baying hound,
And the acrid smell of smoke.
Was there a cure?
'The higher the fewer'
The learned doctor said,
Then turned poor Maveric inside out
And stood him on his head.
'Just as I though
You've been and caught
An Asiatic flu -
You musn't go near dogs I fear
Unless they come near you.'
Poor Maveric cried.
He went cross-eyed,
His legs went green and blue.
The doctor hit him with a club
And charged him one and two.
And so my friend
This is the end,
A warning to the few:
Stay clear of doctors to the end
Or they'll get rid of you.
3.2k
The pretty Peacocks welcome me,
They have their colorful feathers spread for display,
They shake their bodies & attract me.
I then move towards the next enclosure,
I see an Asiatic Lion sitting gracefully like the King,
I realize that he in deed was the King.
I then see one of them sitting like a human being,
I was greeted by the awesome orangutans next,
I wish to get myself a pet orangutan someday.
Roaming half-way through the Zoo I get tired,
I decide to see the rest of the dream tomorrow.
May 3, 2013
May 3, 2013 at 6:01 AM UTC
i.
Elated, I'm afar from the aqua sphere beneath mine toe's,
I've been taken up by flight, an angel in the night;
A woman, a queen, a mystical paranormal beam,
God heard mine weeping, and with her he sent,
She dried mine Tear's clean.
ii.
I sniveled for eon's, with none hopeful lover's future
Mine joint's were weak, from the lack of nutritional feature's;
At mine lowest point, after imploring mine lord for help,
He sent me mine other half, Earl Jane Nagley, an Asiatic path,
Mine beloved, mine darling, mine seraphic helper.
iii.
I found wholeness, the other purpose to mine sustenance,
She's not for sale, she's not a slave, she's a cherub; not some anecdotal tale. She's not one to taketh man's bribery, she's not a peasant sold and payed for rent: tis she's heavensent- the answer to mine prayer's, she's delicate, she's an empress doth thou seeith, I was birthed for her, as she for me, both made for another, to cherish each other, on cloud nine we shalt be seen.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication-Filipino rose
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
i.
unfiltered asiatic plaything seeks
hypoactive cradle technocrat
evicting meaningful poach,
mendacious transcripts of
past events found in his
memoryless playhouse.
poplar crowd scribbles observations
outbound punch of laughter
sighs to the scrambled, ethnic
postgrad nation.
microfiche telegram exploits
meaning to deeper courtesies
current surrendered upon
entry.
ii.
psychotropic sustenance
fizz thru ***** vein corridor
secret mission lifestyle
learning fast in enormous packs of
tiny lies.
spew logic chagrin mediated
bloodstain; cerebus twitching
outside of beingself.
iii.
heart ceases,
sacred whitepaint moans.
o infidel,
strike thrice; a chord
binding us- nasty, *****
beads bleeding rich.
cloaked bushes tasting,
hisses cured human oaks;
tapered horns that sob,
casting waved heels.
iv.
dawn fallen, only concrete
possible now. separated by
thousands of what is not,
shocks disintricate; undwindling
patriots mailing lessness,
laughter sounds fetching
offband pitch.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 7:11 AM UTC
PYTHAGORAS planned it. Why did the people stare?
His numbers, though they moved or seemed to move
In marble or in bronze, lacked character.
But boys and girls, pale from the imagined love
Of solitary beds, knew what they were,
That passion could bring character enough,
And pressed at midnight in some public place
Live lips upon a plummet-measured face.
No! Greater than Pythagoras, for the men
That with a mallet or a chisel" modelled these
Calculations that look but casual flesh, put down
All Asiatic vague immensities,
And not the banks of oars that swam upon
The many-headed foam at Salamis.
Europe put off that foam when Phidias
Gave women dreams and dreams their looking-glass.
One image crossed the many-headed, sat
Under the tropic shade, grew round and slow,
No Hamlet thin from eating flies, a fat
Dreamer of the Middle Ages. Empty eyeballs knew
That knowledge increases unreality, that
Mirror on mirror mirrored is all the show.
When gong and conch declare the hour to bless
Grimalkin crawls to Buddha's emptiness.
When Pearse summoned Cuchulain to his side.
What stalked through the post Office? What intellect,
What calculation, number, measurement, replied?
We Irish, born into that ancient sect
But thrown upon this filthy modern tide
And by its formless spawning fury wrecked,
Climb to our proper dark, that we may trace
The lineaments of a plummet-measured face.
April 9,
2.3k
1516
No Autumn’s intercepting Chill
Appalls this Tropic Breast—
But African Exuberance
And Asiatic rest.
2k
i
I thought I was dying
Tis I was in midflight;
I was rushed out of the window,
A dark haired queen in the night.
ii
Tis none fright
Her in a maria clara gown;
A tawny undertone,
The other cherub's danced around.
iii
As she carried me, in the dark suspense
Ourn spirit's drifted peacefully;
Yellow blanket flower's, amour so immense,
I saweth the pearly gates, as tis she stood next to me.
iv
She let me knoweth
The only way to enter beyond;
Was to promise her loving kinship
As tis I promised mine soul and all.
v
I shalt never breaketh mine vow
To mine asiatic rose, I am quaint endowed;
She gaveth me the golden ticket, for the ivory pass
So I was humbled on mine knee's, thanked God, I kissed her sash.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane dedication/Reyna dedication
©Lonesome poets poetry
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Have you noticed how the music screams,
How children in the mall confront,
How anchormen are filled with glee
When TV news disaster's front?
Noticed how the colours fade
When iridescent seas are fouled
Or skies turn turgid grey from blue
And football crowds scream hatred loud?
And why is it that every time
An ethnic immigrant complains,
He points the finger square at us,
The fools, whose benefits he claims?
And Asiatic hatreds brew
Between the Indian brother’s, brown,
Over Kashmir’s shaky border fight
And Pakistan’s deep, angry frown.
There’s trouble in the Middle East
Kalashnikovs shoot up the town,
Somebody soon, should tell those boys
When slugs go up, they must come down.
And what about the filthy beasts
Who scatter needles in the sand
To leave the fickle fall of dice
To innocents with tender hand.
Have you noticed how the wealthy keep
The good stuff for their selfish self?
The rest of WE are left to fight
Amongst ourselves for lowest shelf
And how about Ghaddafi’s end
So brutal at the sandy drain
Where wild eyed Arabs shot him dead
And TV watchers, fat, complained?
And listen to the moaning Greeks
Who’ve clearly lived beyond their means,
Complain about austerity
And pauperize their Europeans.
And witness now the howling Yanks
Who stand to point recession’s claws
Directing blame at anyone,
But themselves, whom problems cause.
And finally an Arabesque,
Macabre in its grotesque call,
Of skeletal, Ethiopian forlorn
Whose starving end, ignored by all.
There’s beauty in this bounteous world,
There’s Godly, good, and quiet serene,
But just beneath the surface lies
The human filth, deserved, obscene.
Marshalg
Observing my world in turmoil.
Auckland N.Z.
22 October 2011
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 3:48 PM UTC
i.
In the archaic agora
Stayed apothecaries, money changers, and tradesmen;
Governor's with grape stained sin's
Himation throw over's, as for women a chiton, white garb glint.
ii.
Betwixt the sea human being multitude
Were the many different Greek's, and the Grecian Jew's;
This locale was vibrant, a theatre nearby where the soldier's couldst escape from the war, whilst fighting made market new's.
iii.
A poet I was, listening to homer, and the philosopher Plato
Whilst Aristotle read marvelous novel's, whilst Aristophanes gaveth me a laugh; and Hippocrates showed me doctor's notes for the generation's to cometh and pass, Sophocles to giveth fun task.
iv.
Off in the distance was a lass not from around mine Greek land
Her skin a little darker, her eye's **** wick's, ablazed, her sheath Asiatic tan; she hadst no brand, she was not formed by any human creator, her tropical hair, swayed to the Mediterranean.
v.
She was struggling, fighting for her life from the cyclops Polyphemus, I ran quickly to her rescue, pulling out mine xiphos;
She passed out from the trauma, her pupils rolled back timeful
As I woketh her with mine poetic Lip's, giving her life, greek kiss.
©Brandon nagley
©Earl jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poets poetry
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 4:26 PM UTC
i.
I slumbereth inside her soul
Whilst I glory amongst her gold;
There art treasure's there of old
As Angel's singeth hymn's of solomon.
ii.
Her spirit to me is a guide
Her eye's I sinketh in, slide;
From her Filipino Tagalog
I'll taketh a celestial ride.
iii.
Calm I am with her ambience
Embalmed I am, in her gladness;
I shalt swimmeth across the isthmus
To reacheth her, in the Asiatic distance.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
When I looketh into
Mine reyna's Asiatic telescope marble's
I canst seeith, all of God's creation;
And all the time I seeith
Shooting stars
Passeth by
As the comos
Is full
Of life.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry.
©Earl Jane dedication
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
550
I cross till I am weary
A Mountain—in my mind—
More Mountains—then a Sea—
More Seas—And then
A Desert—find—
And My Horizon blocks
With steady—drifting—Grains
Of unconjectured quantity—
As Asiatic Rains—
Nor this—defeat my Pace—
It hinder from the West
But as an Enemy’s Salute
One hurrying to Rest—
What merit had the Goal—
Except there intervene
Faint Doubt—and far Competitor—
To jeopardize the Gain?
At last—the Grace in sight—
I shout unto my feet—
I offer them the Whole of Heaven
The instant that we meet—
They strive—and yet delay—
They perish—Do we die—
Or is this Death’s Experiment—
Reversed—in Victory?
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Boscaresque, a brabeum I hath found. Her lantern qualities, sparkle and splash like innocent dreams, Jane, mine darling; let not the mundane burden thee mine queen. There art many door's, all door's leading to different path's; yet only one trail wilt lead thee home mine lass. The narrow way to God that is. Follow the door-frame on the right; the one that spell's out love, which cometh from Yahweh, Jehovah, the great "I am" of fervent light's, the engineer above. Grieve not the holy spirit, as tis the spirit wants to work; work in thee that is. Quench not the holy ghost, let thy burn glow, maketh the other's know that Christ within thee lives. Let thy tongue speak in manner of forgiveness; as Christ forgave thee. Let thy hands be always busy; with thought, patience, giving. In the counsel of God's footsteps, hath faith trusting him alone; believing. For Judgement's coming upon this muck and mire; be true to ourn lord, mine asiatic girl. For soon, we wilt walk through, untouched by the rain; made from fire.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated +( agapi-mou)
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
I just heard about the near miss.
My mind was elsewhere.
Pleased to hear about Syria,
But it was elsewhere.
I didn't know Pippa had a wardrobe malfunction,
The loss of the Toronto Blue Jays,
The deformed frogs and west coast fires,
And the downing of a 747 somewhere in the Asiatic Sea.
Big news. Bigger problems!
But, like I said, my mind was elsewhere.
Like the ten million payout to the terrorist from Canada
Whose human rights were violated.
I didn't hear that one til today.
I just heard there's been a few transformations
For Caitlyn and Donald. Hope they like their new lives.
My mind was elsewhere,
And I've left it there.
Whew!
Did you hear something about North Korea launching ICBM's?
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 8:18 AM UTC
i
In stormy sea's, And in the breeze, Wherein caliginosity doth hide
Behold mine morning glory, for thou art part of mine loin's;
Whence death I hath came from, in the charnel house I laid
I was shackled in all debacle, lost, seeking, lonesome, in mine age.
ii
Thou hath disenthralled me, and hath taken me to thine hip's
Thine craft was shiny, seraphic blinding, I floated onto thy ship;
Hovered I didst, as if a nasa takeoff to thy outter layered space
Thou hath sweetened me, with Asian tea, and put honey to taste.
iii
Albeit I was just a campesino, with nothing to giveth mine dove
She soared me. Explored me, ourn kisses brought tear's of love;
Avouched me she hath done, she took mine side against the crowd, she hushes me with all compassion, her tiera Asiatic loud.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©あある じぇえん
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:29 PM UTC
I walked inside
This beautiful place;
Of yellow and gold.
Tis this place was
Made of energy;
And loving glow.
Whilst inside
I felt it's pain;
Tis I tooketh her stripes, inside this place.
It was mine Reyna's
Soul;
Of God.
I was in the central
Station;
Of her spiritual loft.
Asiatic plaster
Trimmed;
Resplendent awe.
I painted the ceiling's
With mine heart;
Letter's of love.
It tasted of mango
Within;
Succulent.
She cleaned mine sin
I shalt never leaveth her, not even in mine end;
As tis beyond death, I shalt still abode with her.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/Reyna/soulmate
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 11:21 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
Considering the concept of getting ready
is to appreciate
mundane as ritual.
A prima appliqué of mud and essential oils
in a 6 inch
by 8 inch
circular backlit mirror.
Piece by piece
assemblage by both brush and
blade, moving intimacy beneath the
surface. Planting highlighted foot forward.
Astringent, cotton swabs, dissolving wipes, Naked 2 palette, tweezers, contact solution, foundation, liquid liner, pencil, pen, powder, and brush.
Trying,
trying to be an old self
and do the things you used to love,
Not just sitting in a big
pile of failures,
every day on that couch.
The ache of hurt. We idolize it,
twist it,
build it into something less ugly.
See love where there is none.
Worship the air and ask it to do the same.
After the highlight blend is complete,
there follows a pause of about a thousand years.
By the time you say what you mean,
I will be long gone.
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
I shalt bedight her in Accretion formation, to thy earth she's a patron; bringing a missive from planetary space station's. The string's of Constellation's holdeth up her finger's, as she tint's the empyrean with yellow petal's. Her cosmic ray's woo and spray mine heart with Extragalactic feeling. Her wing's stretch high to ceiling's; whilst her plumage safeguard's mine worrie's. She's the entity of the heavenly father's beginning stories; O' sweet glory, O' marvelous glory, how thou hath given me a wonder dear God, thou hast given me the land with golden street's, inside the palm of mine tired hand's. O', how blessed I am. O', how blessed I am. For thou hath sent me Asiatic Jane, messenger to man.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/Filipino rose
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
Online is where Ian teaches late at night
His students live in an Asiatic land
The English language they seek to command
With dedication Ian shows them a light
How to speak the Anglo Saxon diction
His lessons deliver much needed skills
As the world is geared towards these drills
They're after a good qualification
Ian's valuable help in facets of English
Will give them a chance to gain employment
They strive to do well neath Ian's guiding wing
Fruitful learning is what they'll accomplish
University degrees of attainment
These goals Ian's tutorials shall bring
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
I shalt go to a place
A place that is of satefy;
A place of security
And warmth.
O', to this place
A place of different creed;
A place of seraph breed
This place hold's a holy birthing seed.
O', a divine place
With a tan tropical grace;
And on her face
Rest's cupid's and tincture's.
O', poise of all commandment's
Her law's not of men, logged on Asiatic tablet's;
Capricorn of milky way magnet's
Her love's glacé, in me, it's implanted.
O'er the rainbow summit
O'er the plateau cumulus;
O'er her lip's I flyeth
As I dive down into her splended spirit, and taketh a sip..........
Of her soul
And my;
It maketh me whole.....
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley/Filipino rose dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
Cold is the shoulder wrapped in narcissistic delight -
The wanton
The diligent
The emptiness abides
But for iceburgs calving in the asiatic sea
Do they feel the tremor of the broken shard released
Can the blueblack glass reveal the depths of the mislaid man or
The woman -
Never given the chance to Be
It is too much to consider broken pieces should be saved,
Hidden for much later, when the sea will freeze again
Can he open to the touch
Can she build from what remains
We throw out the scattered remnants like the iceburg melting into sand
But consider the sand:
Remnants too, of shells and coral of bones and buildings fallen, broken, discarded
yet
Washing up on land
to build a new shore.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC