"becometh" poems
Filipino immortal of time
I'm courting thee now;
And making thou mine
We both kneweth
This day wouldst arrive;
Now taketh mine hand, stand by mine side.
I hadst amour'
For thee, for so long;
Now let's maketh, the sweetest amare song.
Ourn affection, tis obvious
For all to see;
We art the real deal, not some farce dream.
As tis we shalt meet,
As thou shalt get that engineering degree;
I'll taketh a trip, or we'll meet in between.
I'm courting thee now,
Tribal of tropic's;
I'll get ****** in thy saliva, bodie's close, bliss the main topic.
None material's needed
As ourn belief's state;
Ourn devotedness, not some internet kiss, everlasting mate's.
So now thou shalt knoweth
Thou hath been courted;
To showeth thee mine love, and to me thou art more important.
Other's shalt judge
As other wilt mock;
Yet we shalt be happy, in romantic cot's
Even if we art poor
With none food on the table;
Ourn love shalt speaketh loudly, none words needed, nor label's.
We shalt write poetry
As it becometh true;
Sweetest earl Jane, just wanted to sayeth, I loveth thou more to.
Tagalog language, thou shalt teacheth me better
Queen earl Jane;
This is thine courting letter.
I'm not all the other's
As thou doth see;
I am thy Hari, thou art mine Reyna, in whom I believe.
As I knoweth thou don't feeleth
Good enough for man, nor God;
Just wanted to telleth thee, thou art mine, and God's all.
I just wanted to let thee knoweth
I looketh up to thine light;
Thou inspireth me so much, as to other's, thou art vital to life.
So when thou feeleth down
And wanting to leap out of thy brawn;
Remember tommorrow ill be here, as well as ourn own god.
This is mine courtship letter
As now I'm courting thee;
We both want it and need it, mine best friend, life, and queen...
I loveth thee so much
We both none more canst hide;
Thou art mine Earl Jane, thou art mine life....
To thee; dearest Earl Jane..................
©Brsndon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/あある じぇえん
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 9:16 PM UTC
339
I tend my flowers for thee—
Bright Absentee!
My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams
Rip—while the Sower—dreams—
Geraniums—tint—and spot—
Low Daisies—dot—
My Cactus—splits her Beard
To show her throat—
Carnations—tip their spice—
And Bees—pick up—
A Hyacinth—I hid—
Puts out a Ruffled Head—
And odors fall
From flasks—so small—
You marvel how they held—
Globe Roses—break their satin glake—
Upon my Garden floor—
Yet—thou—not there—
I had as lief they bore
No Crimson—more—
Thy flower—be gay—
Her Lord—away!
It ill becometh me—
I’ll dwell in Calyx—Gray—
How modestly—alway—
Thy Daisy—
Draped for thee!
8.2k
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
Time drives the flocks from field to fold
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,—
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.
But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.
5.9k
1640
Take all away from me, but leave me Ecstasy,
And I am richer then than all my Fellow Men—
Ill it becometh me to dwell so wealthily
When at my very Door are those possessing more,
In abject poverty—
4.7k
#*Multitudes will be liberated by that recognition;
and although multitudes obtain liberation in that manner,
the number of sentient beings being great, evil karma powerful,
obscurations dense, propensities o too long standing,
the Wheel of Ignorance and Illusion becometh neither exhausted nor accelerated*.
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
translation: Lāma Kazi Dawa-Samdup
Free Tibet your sticker tells me…
Yes, I think, perhaps I should –
and the noble thought compels me,
uninformed, half-understood.
Will their freedom help my Karma?
Upgrade my reincarnation?
(Soul who could not dare to harm a
fly… much less a Buddhist nation.)
Not to justify aggression
by the ever-brutal Commies,
let us grant no glib concession
to the Maoists – or their mommies.
Slogans echo in the void,
shining in bardos of the dead;
stopped by the light, I am annoyed
impatient for the change from red.
A bumper crop of human woe
beams forth a mandate to my brain
while red Dakinis circle slow
in Buddhist hells of karmic pain.
The eastern concepts here diverge
and bow before brutality.
They make this driver long to merge
with incorporeality.
Then I glimpse a monkish fellow
swathed in saffron, calmly seated.
His, the cloud-borne sage’s pillow;
mine the traffic; stalled, defeated.
In his gaze of stern displeasure
I perceive the orient stars
calculating man’s mismeasure
trapped, exhausted, among the cars.
Flanked by Spirits wreathed in fire
he extends an accusing hand:
Western slave of base desire:
come and liberate my land !”
I meditate before the stop light:
am I ready for the task ?
Should I just refuse it outright
Can’t it be someone else ? I ask…
Must I free this mountain nation
from the Buddha, demons and Reds?
Shall your sticker’s declaration
shatter the yoke and raise their heads ?
Somebody ought to free Tibet,
and heed this Himalayan cry.
Maybe we should get upset…
The red light changes. Cars pass by,
predestined for benign events
and unconcerned for persecution;
oblivious to dissidents
awaiting execution.
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy Love.
But Time drives flocks from field to fold;
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward Winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither—soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,—
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy Love.
But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy Love.
3.8k
Tribal maternal's terrace
***** by carnivorous shipmen
Earth over ran
By Marxist's and ditty wit's!!!
Hold thine lingo
Release thy spit
Oh vertebrate of underworld grief...
Tend to thine flock
Cut thine beef,
As in the cattle thou hath becometh...
For the serum doth runneth
Wherein thine swords becameth thy first choice....
Where is thy voice?
God of technology
Made science thy hobby
Made gentlewoman thy footstool......
As thou hath runneth a muck
And made thy queen thy second elect!!!!
For I just bet
That thineself shalt lose to all thy debts....
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
1 Be ye therefore followers of God, as dear children;
2 And walk in love, as Christ also hath loved us and hath given Himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet smelling savour.
3 But fornication and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be once named among you, as becometh saints.
4 Neither filthiness nor foolish talking nor jesting, which are not convenient, but rather giving of thanks.
5 For this ye know, that no whoremonger, nor unclean person, nor covetous man, who is an idolater, hath any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ and of God.
6 Let no man deceive you with vain words; for because of these things cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience.
7 Be not ye therefore partakers with them.
8 For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord; walk as children of light;
9 For the fruit of the Spirit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth;
10 Proving what is acceptable unto the Lord,
11 And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 10:53 AM UTC
To think for ye self,
solely and unrivalled.
-aye, Victorious!
To sculpt a smilen
on others' visage;
-ye ne’er crave.
But,
the kin’s desiren
hath thine
becometh.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 2:24 PM UTC
Lest the gamers forget the petals doused with blood,
Slayers bequeath their chine.
The guidance of wisdom is deemed for crud,
The sparkle of existence lay bare on the line.
Mockingbirds lost their techniques,
Before dipping their feathers in grizzling red.
Their sentiments shut along their broken beaks,
Symphonies out of tune,
Recorded grünes are that of the dead.
Long lasted the gloom of winter,
As if protected by a permanent warrant.
The only bids are that of a sprinter,
Losing his soul for a bribe, or the steams of the first torrent
How loathsome becometh the living, in a world rotten and vile,
Even I don't guarantee forgiving
For that, I'll set my sail and be gone for a while
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:12 AM UTC
i.
On the aisle of Clarin, misamis occidental
Attentive i hadst becometh, ashore a chaste purity;
I kneweth her, she's been waiting for me.
ii.
Afore in the jungle's, wherein ourn touch hath connected
Aloft in the starry nebula's, whence when Pharaoh's directed;
Yet me and mine wild child, were streaming banner's of feral.
iii.
Althedish Hieroglyph's told of ourn second coming
Ourn craft was as in Ezekiel's time, circle's inside circle's;
We illuminated beshowing, towering ticking with none time.
iv.
No custom to be payed, for we art not slave's
I've waited this long, for mine queen of the shade;
I shalt rest with her, on the aisle of Clarin, risking, daring.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane queen dedication
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
Shadowic heroic ornamental's, false breed's cometh as incense breather's betwixt lively instrumental's. Macrogram plaza's to abrahamic venue's. Caller's calleth upon themselves to saveth what is not theirs;
Morning breath, to winter's dew, hath thou been born yet? Is the baby yet due?
Constant pain's to loss taken gain's maketh brain's and vein's out of organically made flesh; becometh thine own creator, thou creed of selfishness. Anchor heavy soul dragged away by chain's of past forget-not's, wherein the ground stayeth hot to ruin moronic window's.
Maketh thy bed of silvered spring's thy own rusted medieval pillow; thou grand ol' operatic theme, thou patriarch to a dream, Art ourn day's but a whisp of a second's last?
Thing's hath cometh to the listening one, the earth's spinning to fast; the mechanism's now begun.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prison writing's
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
Brick by brick,
The walls have becometh mine lonliest of friends!!!
A slave just like me!
A slave indeed, bound to Plato structure!
Though painted white,
I see them in many colors!!!!
Not biased at all,
Brick by brick these walls even the ugliest,
Have turned into the greatest of all friends!!!!!
They speak indeed,
Just silently.....
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 8:22 AM UTC
Thou about canst prance
As a winnin' horse,
Of course,
Seein' thou hast a sportin' chance
To court that sweet Princess
Now with thy plucky success.
Wish I thee, love Jockey, a good ride
If she becometh thy goodly bride.
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 2:23 AM UTC
Just beyond the albatross
Skyloft the ghost's;
And mine woe's to dissapear
For one to be here for me, an angelic host.
She'll be a superlative dogma
Of man's fortune and fame;
Mobilizing me by her **** call
Again and again.
Cometh over here "boy"
She doth sayeth, as she doth none wrong;
Ill write all mine poems for her
And turneth them into song's.
And whilst I sing mine song's for her
She shalt savor ourn Shakespearian night;
Like two unruly children we'll becometh
Leaving this place all behind.
Being **** to ournselves
Open for all to believe;
That ourn amour' is true
As tis we'll dance on the sea's.
And whilst dancing the seaside
Losing ourn throat's;
From all the laughter we shalt haveth
Making love in front of the ghost's..
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
Zillion die beneath and above,
dying for you to experience love.
Energy passing through, signal that fades;
visible mass, joys while it stays.
Unknowing becometh,
blood-sewing bays;
worth every penny,
worth every day.
Mindless and mindful,
alike and the same.
Differently brewing,
'Swhy we all came.
One more here, one more there;
and silence speaks
what you could not dare.
Stride of light and a wave of sound,
Right here-there, right here-now.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
i
Confectionery amour', quiet peaceful girl, flower haired gem
Whilst we maketh love to the old spinning record, eyes content;
The moon to leadeth ourn feet, bathed in chocolate fountain,
We prance as freely Galloper's, thither the desert, cool mountain
ii
I'll meeteth thee at the playground, inked in ourn red blotch,
No ticking tumultuous hand, to ruin ourn plan's, none to watch;
A private invitation, a rosey petal to surrender thine oath and vow, a seeded rightful city, conversation open and aroused
iii
Charlatan's to be naysayer's, exactly as the rest hath becometh,
Ourn cloak's to be as spiritual coat's, dashing in none repugnance
The waterside to be ourn resting residence, the pasture plain's to awaken ourn brain's, as we shalt be marksmen of lass and lad.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 1:20 AM UTC
Midnight lonesomeness, hath becometh mine best friend
Midnight lonesomeness, verily I telleth thee shalt be mine end....
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
gentle soul, art thee
in folds of godskin
bring forth the truth
forsake not the heart
revered mind's uphold
calamitous extent
oh, gentle being here
cast aside doubt
bring you inside (bring you inside)
gentle waves
gentle smiles
how gentle becometh
the godcloth surrounds thee
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC
i
Her accent thick, matching mine own
A faraway sip, of a Ruby chalice unknown;
Her hips finely stiched, amour put into her bones
Wine poureth off her tongue, a universal home.
ii
Captious by her wild's, a fig of the branch
One to calmeth me down, one whom shalt entrance;
A capotasto, to holdeth all beautiful sound in place
Angelicy pastry, goddess of the human race.
iii
She shalt cleave to me in her strife, conjunction to me
We'll forget the thing's not needed, easily thus we'll breathe;
And whilst traveling the cavern's, of the mountains and sea's
We shalt becometh one flesh, one reality, and one knit dream.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Lost,
with thy stranger in this valley of love;
we know nothing when it started
and where the edge will be found.
Entrapped,
from thy mem’ries, but we’ve already escaped;
we hold each other’s heart and mind
to consume the eterne time,
with this intimacy we couldn’t e’er forget.
Wand’ring,
with thy stranger who changed my plans;
and now, if the world seems to blur,
I’d rather to behove thy loving arms.
Trials,
sometimes could lead us to separate the walk;
but in fine of ev’ry misunderstanding,
we could still foresee those chances
to meet our hearts and minds at the same road.
Lessons,
as we crossed thy rivers and climbed thy peaks;
and tears, and smiles defined ev’ry chapter
where this valley that we would take.
Estranging,
thyselves away from the woods, full of dangers;
thine eyes, was once puzzled,
becometh our ways to be unknown:
but still we promised, no promises shall be withered.
Forever,
might be benighted, thus, ne’er enough;
as long as we stand still
with thy hearts and thy minds,
we’d be together walking through this valley of love.
Oct 15, 2011
Oct 15, 2011 at 3:55 AM UTC
As the welkins turneth grey, and the night becometh day, man fall's back to Noah's time; where sin in men
Displayed.
Where chain's became one's grave, whence giant's roamed the earth, making babies with lustful ladies;
Making the world their settled
Church.
As the fallen one's layed their seed, to stop ourn saviors means, as humanity calleth them God's;
In reality sickly beasts.
Men reproduced their deities, out of clay, hand-dug gold; bowing to breathless idol's, just as Christian's
Sold their soul's.
Making creatures from the pit,
Their daily water and their spit,
Knowing not the god, who
Made them in his image.
Clean clothed new world order
Grinches.
Bleating out for their king, O' the truth thou seekest, though the truth's unseen.
Because tis yeshua thou hath rejected, ear's made shut,
Worldly infected.
Technology and pleasures
Hath replaced the almighty
God, Jehovah, Elohim, yahweh;
Jesus his son.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©prophetic poetry.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
i
I feeleth a calming bereavement, from mine own heart's dying
I mosey the coffin carousel of this lonesomeness artistic torture;
I dig with nail's into mine isolation box, kicking stones, lifting rock's, and as the nightshine seepeth, I close mine eyes, weepeth.
ii
Yet this grave shalt not be mine end, though an amour is not there, for forlornness hath becometh a beloved best of friends;
Thither the protection of the gloom, I shalt burst on through, breaking into the rainbow that shalt streameth to mine beauty.
iii
Mine dying shalt reneweth me, the tomb shalt not subdue me
The copse forest shalt enticeth me, as I swayeth and flyeth asunder from mine carcass, with none asunder to holdeth back mine natural capabilities, as all senses shalt be enhanced.
iv
The wind wilt guideth me wherein others couldst not, mine creator to showeth me mine lifespan plot, to continue to loveth, even whilst the groan's that cometh near, mine vision, and view's to be glorious, this freedom of mine eternal entity alive, no fear's.
v
It shalt be a triumphant of all life's, wherein I shalt haveth a wife, to comfort me, thus all to be alright, as guardian's to me shalt be an insight, an insight of mineself deeply and the spiritual realm that shalt engulf me, and swaddle me so peacefully in awakening.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 8:01 AM UTC
Wherein didst man go asunder?
Plagued and plundered by his own stupor and turnings from god,
Forgetful con's!!!
Wherein didst man go astray?
Made queens as slaves,
Traded love for hate, and affectionate soulmateism for lust?
They stoked the crust!!!
Where didst thou meander?
Thy terrace thou had made starved,
Thy hearts hast gone emptied,
Cheaters of bars!!!
Doth thy drink not dilute thou?
Innocent babies thou hast turned to war
Thou gaveth no love
On foreign shore
Pornographic icon's thou hast made galore
As thyself worship's its every temptation!!!
Thou made bombs thine settled truth
Thou hast let technology becometh thy own comfy noose,
Thou art hooked on electrical tablets
Made religion vain
Thou art becoming maggots!!!
Thyself thou calleth a king
Thou giveth no soul to thy desolate queens
Thou art just a stove
Of dumbed down things
As doth thou get thy kicks off the many men and women thou mayest talk to?
Cut down trees,
And built thy filth,
Made castle mansions
Of diamond nilch,
Is thy wealth thy life thou may lead?
Thou gave disease
And tanks for fun
Thou art a lost
And lonesome one,
Still addicted to new age worldliness!!!!
What didst thou miss?
Oh beasting man,
Thou art clever
To make thy plans
But didst thou not know that thy own contrivance will be halted??????
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
The dreams,
The ghost of you haunts me every waking night.
Get out of my head,
And let me free.
As I sleep, the fantasy is a paradise,
As I wake, becometh a nightmare, once and overmore.
The memory of it all tears my strung-up heart apart,
Get out of my head....
or come back to my eyes.
~Robert van Lingen
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC