"chaperoned" poems
The poet’s quill scribes a vision of the debutante
as she rests amongst the bluebells
Scattered like jewels over the meadow.
The delicate voice of the robins
Echo through the valley,
Where the gentleman tells of his ardor
As they shelter amongst the weeping willows.
Curls tumble from the confines of her hat,
Parasol tilting to hide girlish blushes,
Careless of her silk skirts
they are crushed, lying as broken rose petals.
She glows with the joy of an un-chaperoned picnic
Scent of cinnamon scrolls tempt her senses,
as her beau offers cider to moisten their suddenly dry throats.
Dapper in his impeccable finery,
Coat tails trailing, crisply starched shirt points lifting his chin,
Top hat tilted at a rakish angle.
Dark eye’s glinting with the thrill of his endeavors.
Sunshine silhouettes the glory of the lovers,
whom the poet has sewn together
as an artist creates a masterpiece.
Each syllable as a brushstroke on canvas.
A Monet made not of oil and brushes,
But ink and parchment.
Every word scribed by the care of the poet,
Transformed within the mind of the reader
Oct 21, 2009
Oct 21, 2009 at 12:59 AM UTC
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
*an inscription on the side of the door
that I didn't see
upon entering*
I like visiting you when you spit real
you hop from moon to moon
and never tire of handing out
your remarkable brand of smiles
as you go
you see
the thing is, you
are probably the most rare
of humans
I've ever known
you're the kind of person
I didn't realise it till now
I've always been on subconscious search for
no longer bereft of beauty
I am
so many sides
and so much fire
sometimes, it's hard
to keep pace
with mental fireworks
out on rocky shores
some sweets can cut the tongue
my feet edge tentative
over uneven edges
and move forward
slowly
there's a golden child in a tunic
who walks miles to learn of this wonderful world
which dips its ever-pen into the inkwell-head
of innocence
polluting the sweet waters there
changing for all time
the complexion of healing time
there's always hope in the smile of a child
thank heavens for the eyes of children
yet, look what we do...
yes, he's walking to his next lesson
if he only knew what waits
when he grows up
something inside will die
something so beautiful and deeply precious
will simply perish
when we grow up, we actually die
innocence is replaced by blasé crap
young girls are advised to carry
silver spoons hid in drawers
to spark their chaperoned freedom
sleeping families never wake
as silent clouds settle insidious
placed by forces
no cherub wants to meet
the wicked are pardoned by the blind
and yet another child is trapped
and Babel's tower lives once more
the world is such
we **** our own
for the merest pretext
yet hope must live
keep candle of humanity lit
*taking the time to find
that beautiful inscription
a prayer of infinite beauty
follow the steps to your heart
love comes
to light*
S T, 25th augs
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
Lambent lassie, how I needeth thee today,
I wilt be thy loving man, doing all that I canst;
To make ourn contour's swirl in a dance-
As we pass betwixt the seraphic
Trace. Chaperoned my darling,
Head resting upon head, inner-
Being in rapt, none feeling
Of dread. Mine pinkie do
I giveth thee, lock onto it-
And hold, rest thy fret inside mine chest,
Taketh a breath, inside this soul.
Kindred spirits way back from old, living young,
Homeward bound; igniparous by ourn kindling sound's.
O' fortitude wilt I hath when the time is not yet for meet,
Yet verily mine lass, tis one stroke of an hour we wilt greet.
If I hath to crawl the pit's of the abyss, slithering through the deep, if I hath to waken to a strange cosmic minute, or dieth a death of sleep. If I must endure the second's away from thee, only but for a lifetime, I'll patently awaiteth mine Jane, an eternity with thee by mine side. To glance in thy eye's and to hold thy hourglass waist, to kiss thine honey like a bee to a bloom, to maketh ourn bed upon white roses wherein spirituality is in tune. A bride and groom of times afore, we entered in by the portal of Yahweh's door, never to turn back; ahead we look on. Planting ourn pip's to what lieth ahead, happiness up upon the hill of ourn homestead. None alas expressions, for this place we art meant, together to be, mine baby, mine treat; of the patience we built up, ourn amour shant be in rent, as with the finest of spices I shalt lather thy feet.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedication
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
Some trudge with thorns that only Jesus knows,
bent arrows only Jesus could remove.
Yet burning darts remain so fire might prove
rich purity of hearts, which suff’ring shows.
Chaperoned by sorrow’s lonely silence,
while moaning winds that ride the morning mists
portend the threat’ning storms of each day’s fists,
weary souls conceal distressing violence.
But Jesus holds their slightest measured pain,
as well as most excruciating arrow,
for He who governs ev’ry falling sparrow
won’t let His children’s trials wound in vain.
And resting in His all-sufficient grace,
they’re strengthened by His love to win their race.
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 2:50 AM UTC
Slap, slap of sandals on wet fountain steps
capture glances from eyes set for chapels and castles.
Children splash at each other
as floppy tees and frilly dresses
wave at passersby
who wish they retained the courage to play
atop the fountain and relive the dreams
trampled by lectures and sermons
that chaperoned them to maturity.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 6:41 PM UTC
Bruise this bane upon my body,
Bare me to the bones;
Breathe beyond my bounds,
And undo this drape of teardrops
That baptized me into temptation.
My besieged spirit revolts,
Beseeching to restore
The dignity of drowned divinity;
Once cowled, cosseted and chaperoned
To salvage my strayed soul from shipwreck.
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
They protect us 4m harassment
They saved us 4m abashment
They Clemented all types of bright
So we led a peachful night
They unescorted their family
So we chaperoned our ancestry
They uglify their life
So we glamorize our entity
They feed upon corpses
So we have sustenance
They gave up all their life
For the sake of the nation
They were caught,penalized, exploited,deprived, starved
At last they died
A salute to all those majestic soul...
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Nuala watches
her husband Brian
snore as she lies
beside him
in the bed.
Early hours
and birds beginning
to sing in dawn's light.
She thinks of Una
in another bed elsewhere
and wants her there
without Brian
and his snores
and fumbling sex.
Last night
was a chore.
Two minute wonders.
Half a dozen kisses
at most.
Into her
then out
and on his back
panting like a dog.
No prince
from this frog.
Una had kissed
each part of her
from head to toes
and likewise to her
the day before.
Brian grunts
and turns away.
Broad back
like a bull
sleeping there.
Little foreplay
with him.
No prelude or overture
to his opera of ***
Just down to it
like a dog
on a bone.
Una plays her
to a sweet melody.
Fingers her
to high thrills.
Brian mutters
in his sleep.
Nuala turns away
and faces the wall.
She muses on
the first date
in Dublin.
He dressed
to ****
Suited up
and thin green tie.
She'd worn that
skinny dress
which showed off
the outline
of her ****
Gagging for it
he was.
First date.
No way Mister.
Chaperoned anyway
distantly by her sister.
Nuala wishes
Una was there.
The body of her
near or next.
Lips to her.
Kisses placed
here and there.
Putting Smarties
on her and saying
**** these off.
Brian snores.
A small cough.
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
a kiss, as i perceive,
is not heart-shaped,
as you might believe,
but is probably round,
and is certainly red,
like a matador's cape -
as an omen of things ahead.
it's neither chaperoned
with some remarks,
nor as good when thrown,
but often given in thanks
or followed with a sigh.
sometimes there's sparks,
but sometimes, it's just goodbye.
kiss is neither a vow,
nor monarch seal,
but when disavowed
there seems to be a loss.
it is like tasting soup:
some salt may add appeal,
but, often it just tastes like goop.
Mar 18, 2022
Mar 18, 2022 at 9:25 PM UTC
Our fifteenth year, you and I
If we were married,
the ‘crystal’ mile
And oh, we have had our highs
Breaking up lunchtime fights
Breaking down novels
Line by line
Translating Shakespeare
to Spanish for those
Nonverbal in this language
Dulcet quatrains
Melted into rounded syllables
thick on my tongue
Still we manage
To tease out delicate images
And the consolation of a paycheck
Educators receive
Not enough to ease
the mirage of beach
allure of waves and palm trees
In rude January
(the ultimate schoolyard bully)
You and I have chaperoned this prom
Attended this play
Coached this race, given chase
to elusive grades
Counted victories in syllables
Pivoted around
yawning youths, heads down
on desks or kids
attempting to
find favor with
last minute Starbucks gifts
And still we sit
In September
Whole and hopeful
Rested, restored
Once again to go around this playground
called high school
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 4:55 PM UTC
It’s not like her to knock, of course.
She tiptoes in half-apologetically
(Though the notion of her being unwelcome
Has never crossed her mind)
Regardless of the hour, being likely to show up
At any when and where she chooses, not being subject
To any nine-to-five workaday concerns or constraints.
She declines the offer of a drink, demurely shaking her head
(In her world view, a solitary and un-chaperoned lady
Does not drink in the presence of a gentleman)
Though her company leads me to move from beer to whisky
With some alacrity, for the evening’s entertainment
Is comprised, as it invariably is, of home movies
Featuring my inability to live up to my potential,
My compromises, accommodations,
And outright abdication of principle and conviction.
The scenes, familiar if not particularly welcome,
Play out one more time,
Accompanied by the gentle whirr of an aging Super -8
Or the gentle ka-thunk of a carousel projector
(Her taste in my malfeasance is charmingly retro)
And as the montage proceeds with a weary ruthlessness,
I attempt to explain my role
With well-polished used-car-salesman-issue obfuscation
Or a plaintive, childlike tirade
Concerning the indifference of gods and men
And any and all entities in between.
She is unmoved, silently taking it all,
The corners of her mouth a bit askew,
Sitting in the interval between bemusement and scorn.
Eventually, I slump into my chair, fully chastened
(No, more than that—something deeper, more final,
Something even beyond defeat)
And at some point I grunt
How it would be nice if we could, just this one time,
See what the **** was on cable instead.
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 4:22 PM UTC