"consented" poems
my birdcage was a stuffed bear and my bird was a moth. oddly the bird protected my sister from knowing she was molested and oddly its cage promised my brother he would again be gay. oddly only because it was planned. I was more spelled than born and consented often to being sounded out. I carried with me a grey blanket that I held like a curtain when asked. my eyes were peepholes I had to avoid.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
As I finish the book,
The guy in the corner says,
Are you a feminist for real or are you the extreme feminist just like they say?
Trouble,
Tugging,
Tension,
Haven't you ever heard these words my way ?
They spill out my pockets as I find a safe route to home today.
I,
I'm a person, I live to see my kids everyday,
I drive my car with the colt in the back to make sure I reach home today.
I,
I'm a fire, I'm a story to be told,
Yet I lock upon your entrance because for you I'm a singular sight to behold.
You,
You Animal,
You Unchastised Beast.
Struggle,
Strive,
Strenuous,
Strength,
Is the only way I fight your ***** hands off my naked body piece.
I,
I human,
I wrong,
I be the woman that calls hell upon.
You,
You be man,
You be government,
You be aid,
You filthy human being,
But I'm the one to blame.
You,
You liar,
You sniveling little rat,
I,
I innocent,
I sorry,
I right,
Yet I hide like a wet cat.
Naked,
Nauseous,
Nightmare,
The words I have befriended in the absence of the lord.
I,
I hungry,
I scared,
I lost,
I join my hands in agony and frustration for the only consented hand upon me is that of the god.
His,
His mother,
His sister,
His friend,
Be nothing to you,
You tear her body with your claws, your vein's pulsing with *****
You,
You drunk,
You wrong,
You animalistic,
Yet as you slide down my skinny jeans, in tonight's bet I'm the innocent one to lose.
I walk upon the sidewalk and all I hear you say,
You ****
You *****
You ***** from across the shore,
Why don't you slide that hoody up above your shoulders and show me some breast?
You look at me like I'm a chicken piece,
You drool and spank as I pass by
And look at me like I'm the one who suggest.
You,
You father,
You teacher,
You preacher,
You barman,
You taxi man,
You footballer,
You man.
I,
I wreck,
I cavity,
I ****
I **********
I slam piece,
I brothel but no church,
I woman and I naked.
So as I walk up home wearing those tiny shorts,
You pick me up in those black tinted window cars,
I scream,
I yell,
I beg,
I plead.
You shove it down my throat.
You tear my humanity,
You make me bleed.
You,
You stupid,
You arrogant,
You ignorant,
You fool.
You don't know my power for I'm the Gaya to your tomb.
You miscreant,
You rogue,
You bleeding stinking wretch.
You see that halo around me,
I'm your mother,
Your daughter,
Your sister,
Your wife,
Your god.
And every time you look at me with those ugly eyes,
I want you to see my halo glow.
As I picked up my book from the table,
A feminist, A masculinist,
A equality finder,
A woman,
A girl,
I find a name to pick and say,
And I look at your rustic self and I say
'You Don't Even Deserve To Know'
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 3:59 AM UTC
At 5 I was convinced I was
a flower
whose vocation was imitating
their final hysterical
wail
once Winter awoke from its
anorexia.
I pleaded my case with
a botanist
whose seamstress wife consented to stitch
a tutu of Kadupul
flowers,
like a fairy godmother warning of their death at
dawn.
At 16 I finally danced
their goodbye,
petals whisked off as if molted
layers of skin
and only when at the end I stood naked
did the concept of death have
definition.
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
1100
The last Night that She lived
It was a Common Night
Except the Dying—this to Us
Made Nature different
We noticed smallest things—
Things overlooked before
By this great light upon our Minds
Italicized—as ’twere.
As We went out and in
Between Her final Room
And Rooms where Those to be alive
Tomorrow were, a Blame
That Others could exist
While She must finish quite
A Jealousy for Her arose
So nearly infinite—
We waited while She passed—
It was a narrow time—
Too jostled were Our Souls to speak
At length the notice came.
She mentioned, and forgot—
Then lightly as a Reed
Bent to the Water, struggled scarce—
Consented, and was dead—
And We—We placed the Hair—
And drew the Head *****
And then an awful leisure was
Belief to regulate—
3.2k
Can I just write a poem that says **** the police"
for every single line
for every single stanza
and leave it at that?
Because I'm imagining his next victim, because there will be a next one,
and how she will feel when she finds out that he had my former report
on his private police record, accessible only by certain police.
I want to scream, but the metal chain he put around my throat to choke me because
"ha ha you like that, right?" after I had already said no
is still there, so nothing can come out of my mouth,
except I've been screaming as loud as I can for so long;
One year and I'm still not free.
His body weight is still crushing me, still heavy; the bruises on my body still felt every day, my body a museum of decaying loss and my mind a perfect video recording that plays on repeat whenever I just
want
some
sleep;
Nightmares I wake from and can't wake from.
I think one of the hardest days of my life was when I got my **** kit.
I mean- you know- other than the actual ****
I developed a stutter that day.
I blame myself.
I blame. I -I- I blame myself.
But I can't!
All of the "no's" that I said to him didn't matter, the police said;
everything non consensual didn't count;
it was only the one coerced "yes" that counted;
Scared for my life but, **** the police, right?
And all the times that I said to the police "yes" that I was *****
collapse and boom like a bomb on deaf ears of police that tell me that,
"maybe you just regretted having *** with him."
Or how about when they rolled their eyes when they learned that I met him on tinder?
I gave them a smile and answered that yes, that's true, because what else was I supposed to do but tell the truth?
Or the first thing they said to me was "so then you had a few drinks..."
Well no, sir, that's not what happned, at all.
See, there have been multiple levels of injustice here and I thought I was doing the right thing to heal.
In my partial hospitalization program that I went to for PTSD,
that I got from my ******
I learned that the "right" thing to do was to seek help right away after a traumatic incident so that it doesn't lead to lifelong suffering;
Quick help leads to a faster recovery,
and I've always wanted to do the right thing:
Like getting him arrested for ****** me.
But the police don't listen even when your body has been confiscated, graffiti marked by your ******
and the police tell you coldly to just seek counseling because, after all,
you "consented,"
and that your ****** isn't a ****** in the eyes of the law.
A ****** isn't a ****** but is a ****** and he's going free.
I did the right thing but I'm still stuck night after night, waking up crying;
I wonder who will be next, and that person's weight is added on top of me;
The gallery of bruises he inflicts will just continue, and I wonder where on snapchat will they be next?
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
When everything was fine
And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth was ready
In universal peace
To consume and rejoice
Without creeds and utopias,
I, for unknown reasons,
Surrounded by the books
Of prophets and theologians,
Of philosophers, poets,
Searched for an answer,
Scowling, grimacing,
Waking up at night, muttering at dawn.
What oppressed me so much
Was a bit shameful.
Talking of it aloud
Would show neither tact nor prudence.
It might even seem an outrage
Against the health of mankind.
Alas, my memory
Does not want to leave me
And in it, live beings
Each with its own pain,
Each with its own dying,
Its own trepidation.
Why then innocence
On paradisal beaches,
An impeccable sky
Over the church of hygiene?
Is it because that
Was long ago?
To a saintly man
--So goes an Arab tale--
God said somewhat maliciously:
"Had I revealed to people
How great a sinner you are,
They could not praise you."
"And I," answered the pious one,
"Had I unveiled to them
How merciful you are,
They would not care for you."
To whom should I turn
With that affair so dark
Of pain and also guilt
In the structure of the world,
If either here below
Or over there on high
No power can abolish
The cause and the effect?
Don't think, don't remember
The death on the cross,
Though everyday He dies,
The only one, all-loving,
Who without any need
Consented and allowed
To exist all that is,
Including nails of torture.
Totally enigmatic.
Impossibly intricate.
Better to stop speech here.
This language is not for people.
Blessed be jubilation.
Vintages and harvests.
Even if not everyone
Is granted serenity.
2.6k
Weep with me, all you that read
This little story;
And know, for whom a tear you shed
Death's self is sorry.
'Twas a child that so did thrive
In grace and feature,
As heaven and nature seemed to strive
Which owned the creature.
Years he numbered scarce thirteen
When fates turned cruel,
Yet three filled zodiacs had be been
The stage's jewel;
And did act what now we moan,
Old men so duly,
As, sooth, the parcae thought him one,
He played so truly.
So by error, so his fate
They all consented;
But viewing him since, alas too late,
They have repented,
And have sought to give new birth,
In baths to steep him;
But being so much too good for earth,
Heaven vows to keep him.
2.3k
Today while wandering through the prairies
I came across some fairies
An able-bodied man
With a run-down caravan
A dark-haired beauty
With golden hoops and eyes like the sea
At every shake of the tambourine she gave a little twirl
And they whispered, "Little girl
Let us teach you what we know
How to survive the most violent blow
How to ******
How to let loose
How to be as noble as a windmill
And humble as a hill
All this knowledge with you we'll share
This occasion is quite rare"
Well I couldn't tell if this was a dream
Or some sort of sneaky scheme...
But I consented, and the learning began
They instructed me faith, hope,
How to cope
With bullies and liars
They taught me desire,
True love and its fires
They preached me serenity
To relish being a child
Young, free and wild
I ignored their advice.
***** fairies.
They've got dirt beneath their nails
And grass in their grimy hair.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
after Sanam Sheriff.
In this dream, the statistic isn’t 1 in 3 because there is no statistic. There is no **** whistle swaying from our necks. No Rohypnol swimming in our drinks. There is no need for colour-changing nail polish to tell us that the stranger we haven’t seen or the friend that we have is trying to take advantage of us in the alley behind the club. Or our cars in the grocery store parking lot. Or our bedrooms as our mothers think they have just gone to the bathroom. In this dream, we have no need to invent a word such as **** No need to be afraid of who’s in the dark. No need to be afraid for our daughters. No need to panic every time a man raises his voice. Every time a man raises his hand. Every time a man raises his belt buckle. In this dream, there is no more catcall, no ass-grab, no staring so hard it feels like his eyes have already touched us in places we never consented to. In this dream, consent is part of the foreplay. In this dream, we do ask for it. In this dream, they don’t touch us otherwise.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
tender beatings
delicate bones
beautiful tears
comforting pain
consented ****
willing victim
.esnes sekam lla ti dna
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 10:53 AM UTC
Sung and did not miss, watch this, where'swung
a dub when we need vees lots and lots of vees
the first friendly used many vees where we use double yous
vees and bees sound so much alike, s'ard to tell
Simultaneous, as always,
other-ther things begin and end while I am contrating on
a single point being made
on a single pin,
which is
bearing witness to my assertincertainty that at least
one thousand three hundred and ninety-two messages in lieu of angels,
numbering in the billions if Sagan was right,
fit
per pineal node post initial exterior inhalation and that first draft
look at this will you wontyou willyou wontyou
one thousand three hundred and ninety-two
guitar pickers in Nashville,
Ten percent of whom are sworn to sing Rocky Top
at every open mike in town every Saturday night
and we survived, didn't starve or go plumb crazy, though we tried.
It's good to be alive and remember imagining being
abundantly more alive, and
you know
or not, I can't say.
Did you read how Paradise, California burned for lack of rain?
We heard, Down here in the Lagunas.
All kinds o' folks prayed all kinds o'ways, and it rained.
Mud-makin rain.
Is it wrong to think the rain was called, if you can't imagine
rain obeying a request for the jetstream to dip?
Not here, we think right happens
right here on purpose
if you can imagine that a prayer,
wave of a wing tip, an eagle's
with permission.
this is the eagle wing effect, rightused,
should any attribute this to butterflies in China or Brazil.
The eagle acknowledges the Pine Valley hummingbird
who consented to make its final migration,
so the rain had a path to follow.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 8:21 PM UTC
The subject of this email is as usual... subjective! Not sure there is actually a subject involved? I mean if I just ramble on about any old thing that crosses my mind, how would that be described as a subject. I submit that the "subject" line of all emails should be moved to the end of an email! That way we would have a better grasp of what the subject of the email truly is.
Better yet it should automatically prompt you to go to the subject line when you click "send" to fill in at that time. Maybe the email program should even give samples of possible subject lines based on google's interpretation of what you have typed in the body of the email. Better yet that program should just run automatically and impose a subject line based on the information in the message body after it is run through several psychiatric data bases and analyzed and a consensus has been reached...
Hmmm... Now I'm thinking that there should be a mind to keyboard interface so we can do away with all this time-consuming typing! And while we're at it why not add a chip in our brains that thinks for us and sends the data it receives directly to the keyboard interface... I mean think of all the time we would save not having to think any more!
Why stop there? We can also add emotion chips so that when we are letting our thinking chip talk for us we can also have the emotions that our emotion chip thinks we should be feeling automatically inserted into the email with the capability of it being felt by the emotion chip in the person whose thinking and keyboard interface chips are perusing the email written by our thinking and keyboard interface chips.
Ooooh now I'm really thinking... why not install mini SD drives in our brains so we can change the way we feel by simply inserting a new SD card? That way if we happen to read one of the emails thought out by our thinking chip, written by our keyboard interface chip, analyzed and consented to by the psychiatric data bases and given a subject and we decide that we want to change the way it is perceived by the thinking chip of the recipient we can simply insert a different emotion SD card into our SD drive and have those new emotions embedded directly into the email!
*** This is genius! Imagine the time we could save! I could just go on and on with this! The applications are limitless. Why hasn't someone thought of this before? Oh wait, what am I thinking... this is old news. This is called brainwashing and the government and every major company in the world has been doing it since the dawn of capitalism!
I'm going to stop now because I am no longer sure if the words I write are my own, or if they are just a bunch of noise created by the humm of all the post hypnotic suggestive clutter in my brain from years and years of commercial TV and slick politician abuse.
That's all I have time for this morning. I apologize in retrospect for the emotional agony I have put your brain through while reading this inane banter...
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 10:38 AM UTC
Are you to rid of my senses?
displeased by your efforts. . .
how careless to tell me, nothing. . ..
to rid of my senses with vigor efforts with your ********
You are as you are, you have the senses to find out even so.
But how is this displeasure in me, I feel to be targeted by such blasphemy, to tell me to take on this world that I cannot do without the consent of so many others.
How can I not do without the consent of the others, when they are upheld by a system, consented by others?
I am no system, nor feeble triumph, I am just in reason observant of sorts, to see over walls and blinded retorts.
Oct 12, 2011
Oct 12, 2011 at 12:28 AM UTC
I sit alone in this park that I’ve known for so long, and listen to bird’s songs, in the hopes my mind will grow tranquil and clam.
I await words to write, to relieve some strife, seeking merely a sliver of a slice of peace of mind. But time comes to a halt, as ghosts with a waltz, dance through my head causing dread, harboring memories from when I was young.
Still naïve and oblivious of the strenuous afflictions to come.
With thoughts collected, I reminisce these recollections, of when the world was filled with bliss, and wish that life was still like this.
When every day is an adventure to be treasured and joy is never severed, I’m care free because responsibility does not exist, within, my limited vocabulary yet.
Each day is met with set structures from a structured home, where mom and dad, still pretend they’re glad, which means I have no reason to be sad. And so, I still don’t know, what it’s like to feel alone, in a broken failing home.
Normalcy becomes conformity, complacently but blatantly forming a shell of apathy.
Because now dad yells, and the children’s eyes swell, with tears of fear, my mom’s with sheer, determination to captain this ship, stubbornly sit, amidst, these waves of irritation mixed with infidelity.
I found myself stuck in a storm, totally torn, as my joy is worn consistently down. I clown around to be sound, but a permanent frown, is brazenly embroidered into my broodingly breaking soul.
Time flew by ignored my cries to slow, and so my consciousness consented its blissfulness to turn to bitterness, my brokenness was all that I knew, and soon, it was all I could show.
Although now I’m older, still too often I smolder with rage, and both shoulders have boulders, for chips but I’ll fight fate, abate my hate, to keep my future family safe.
Safe from the games my parents played to hide their shame, of a marriage disparaged by barriers, bolstered with a selfish taint. I will sufficiently and selflessly safeguard my wife from treachery. To not neglectfully or carelessly, lead her into insanity. For bride and seed, I will succeed, to do everything my parents failed to do for me.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 12:35 AM UTC
I almost regret the person I am, because my family cannot accept me f I were to truly show them who I am, or maybe they wouldn’t understand.
I am not like the conservative Christian mannequins that inhabit my home like dead birds in a disintegrating birds nest.
They are lifeless and I do not want to learn from them.
I believe I should walk around shirtless, that human bodies are beautiful and alive and somehow my admiration is look at as if I don’t cherish my body when it is opposite. Love is appreciation. I do not believe in hiding what I love.
I am the one found drunk in a ditch, an when I woke up in the hospital and pulled the IV out of my arm, they were all horrified at the blood spraying on my face and the white washed walls without putting into the consideration that I never consented for anything unknown to me to be pumped into my vines when I easily would have woken sober hours later.
I fly in my dreams and I think it must be what it feels like to do it in real life.
It’s raining outside, and I can’t decide whether id like to evaporate with the dew on tomorrow mornings sunflowers, or not wake up in the first place.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
Apparently we belong to
The "minority"
Some kind of "riotry".
Because we love someone of the same gender
Or perhaps we're not cisgender.
Suddenly loving is a crime
Harmless expression of what's within- is the biggest blunder there ever could be.
Heart's content is criticised.
They brand us names,
FREAKS! DISGRACE! OUTLAWS!
Make mockery out of innocence
Demean our mere existence.
They want "normal"?
Then maybe it's themselves who are the problem.
They want us to hide and blend in,
Go back into this "closet" we "came out" of?
(Ha, good luck with that)
They think we're alone
But we are not.
There's one love
In all our hearts,
Beating together
Creating art.
We show the world
Consented love needs no apology
Expression needs no **** apology!
So much cruelty
So much hate.
But, you know what?
We can't back down
And be another statistical figure.
Take pride in loving each other
Take pride in being true to yourself.
Pay no heed to those who say otherwise,
Take a stand, you glorious beast.
All in all, we come in peace.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
confirmation that Joe is and has been born. confirmation of the received body. confirmation of a previous perception we held of the few actively trying to be prophetic. confirmation the killed have consented to patience and will furthermore die. confirmation of past with asterisk pending. future confirmation that in adopting the plainspoken one will reiterate qualifiers designating poverty as a chosen residence. have visual on verbal capital. have verbal on holocaust.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
Men, feminine? No.
We will never be your equal.
We, men, are higher.
There's a reason for
the **** Abuse. Violence.
It is always your fault.
Don't go out at night.
Don't wear provocative skirts.
Don't drink – it's not cute.
How's your low-paid job?
Hearing you shout, **** ********
Don't be a **** *****
You will fall into.
me, at the club, drunk and dumb
You speak yes, but no.
This isn't my fault.
You consented to my hands,
on slim thighs, smooth *******
You're in the gutter;
those drugs intoxicate you,
short skirt, slurring words.
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
Doesn't it bother anyone else: that by simply participating in our current culture of mindless, resource exhaustive consumer capitalism, we're directly perpetuating a model of conduct that will eventually lead to the loss of our habitat, and the decline of our species; one whose remorseless self indulgence now guarantees a rise of global sea level up to 10 feet?
Doesn't it bother anyone else: that we live in a society run by people who we don't know, who don't care about us, but only their own short term gain, regardless of the negative impact that their actions may and often do have on entire generations of people, present and future?
Doesn't it bother anyone else: that our economy thrives on war, and has since the 1940's, that the total for defense contracts this year has been $253,802,074,353, and that 19% of our federal budget goes to defense, with a meager 1% funding education, that we have a president who calls our congress "ceremonial," wins the Nobel Peace Prize, and then unilaterally commits acts of international terrorism without breaking a sweat?
Doesn't it bother anyone else that we're on camera all the time, that our government spies on all of our communications 24/7 as well as those of other countries, or that people who reveal these injustices are shut up in prisons for life, tortured, or exiled?
Doesn't it bother anyone else that our police force is increasingly hostile to innocent people, that they carry AR-15 assault rifles to peaceful protests, and that they constantly abuse their power? I have never ONCE consented to search, but has that ever stopped them?
Doesn't it bother anyone else that our lives are essentially meaningless in the grander scheme of things, that we all dance like puppets, and jump through hoops like dogs, working at jobs we don't like for people we can't stand, to earn money that often barely supplants our basic needs?
Doesn't it bother anyone else?
Doesn't it bother anyone else?
DOESN'T IT BOTHER ANYONE ELSE?!?!?!?
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
In The Beginning
I Sang My Own Song You Consented,
I Expected Not The Love You Give Me,
You Saw Me With Those Beautiful Orbs,
You Looked At Me & Lo! I Was Arrested,
I Didn't Move My Feet Nor I Felt Like,
I Lost Myself In The Promising Eyes,
You Brought Your Lips Closer To Mine,
You Got Dimmer When I Moved Back,
I Thought For A Little Time & Blushed,
I Had My Mind Made Up In The End..
In the middle
Your Face Had Shown Disappointment,
Your Thoughts're Depicted On The Face,
I Had Brought My Lips Closer To Yours,
I Then Kissed Yours - You Kissed My Lips,
Your Lips're Suddenly Wet And So're Mine,
I Had My Kisser Excited But Cautious,
Your Kisser Was All So Very Eager For It,
I Remember Standing In A Hug Tightened,
You Had More Experience And I Had None,
I Remember Our Blushing Faces In The End.
In The End
Where That Love Between Us Has Gone,
Why-Why Did We Separate Our Ways,
That Pact Of Dreams You Shown,
Glittering With Golden Promises,
Future Replete With Golden Seeds Sown,
Singing Hymns Of Love Filling Crevices,
That Pact Came Crashing Down,
Glittering With Golden Sparkles,
Future Deplete Of Any Love We Grown,
Singing Songs Of Break-Up In The End...
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
( Brandon)
wilt thou have this woman
to be thy wedded wife,
to live together in the holy bonds of matrimony?
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her so long as ye both shall live?
Me (to mine queen earl Jane nagley) I MORE than DO!!!!
( earl Jane)
wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together in the holy bonds of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him so long as ye both shall live?
Jane- ( I MOST definitely DO)
( me putting ring of amour on Jane's hand)
I, Brandon Nagley, take thee,Earl jane, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith.
(Jane getting ring from her father putting ring of amour on mine)
I, earl jane, take thee, Brandon Nagley, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my faith.
Forasmuch as, Brandon Nagley and earl jane nagley have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have pledged their faith each to the other, and have declared the same by joining hands and by giving and receiving rings; I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss the bride......
( me) getting down first before kissing her, I kneel, kissing both her hand's on one knee. and staring in her eye's, ( tear's come down) from all the happiness and joy inside me... I stand up......
( kiss for ten minute's) tears flowing both of our eyes)
Clapping and smile's in the crowd of friend's and family.....
I sing for her..... In front of all, as we dance.......
On that wedding floor,
Until the night end's,
Though we stay up the whole day
Until a day and a half later
We fall asleep into eachother's arm's..
In heaven
In bliss...
Two hand's
In one marriage....
As tis when we waketh up;
Mine queen stareth at me
And sais
" I loveth thee most"
As tis I sayeth back
Me more......
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley/wedding day dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
His name;
it's on your lips,
a kiss, un-consented,
it's on your arm,
ink, black,
like his eyes, they looked,
it's on your wrist,
the red of his cold, hard heart.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
Coiled fingers grasping around through
a series of grates alternating through spatial relation
Each subsequent orientation,
Rotated at arbitrary command,
Ham-fisted reverie, like the acceptance of Jesus as our personal savior
Colors their every artifice
As if the void that consented to multitudes
Were mutilated upon reentry
Like the volkswagon beetle
Made to upgrade on demands
Or the chemical makeup of fleas
That have buried themselves in the festering skin
On the half opened light bulb of
Apostasy. Hardships
won and their articles
signed, comprehension reversed
With demands to the populace
Each stating unthinkable wishes
Since they've steadily become
Eager in the belief that
Their souls were unstuck
As puppets left to decay on the rain drenched fair grounds
The things I'm avoiding when I stray from the river
Confiscated boss on your vaunted sky
Bring to us your design
Sing to us the reminders we know that will
Teach us to drive our demands to time
And influence the outcomes ourselves
Give us the power to carry them forward
And sharpen the strength of our mind
It's us that you're looking for now
[the manuscript was unreadable from this point on]
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 1:58 PM UTC