Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
brandon nagley Sep 2015
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?

Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
brandon nagley May 2015
All yearling spring birds far from distant home,
Xanthic in Gothic gospels soot and yolk,
Where's one's soft spoken voice to calm me on the phone?
Formidable pulses,
The danger of convulsion's spread on like buttered oil!!!
Enormity soil's the defendant delirium...
Such agnostic aquariums stinkingly similar upstate!
Broken lives to sunset drive,
Specimen speckles,
Forcible tassels hover one's decree!!
Litigious locust's buzz creepingly,
Indecently exposing all's funk!!!
Concauctions of fake adoption's,
Concievers break locks off trunks!!!
Omit me out of this obdurate oasis,
Wherein one feel's spacious,
Free to cometh and goeth!!!
Freedom doth thou know?
Operatic Mrs and Mr's,
Minuets for thy ridiculed wishes!!
Ponderer of newness,
Cleaner's as thy tub spills over,
Thy heels click together just to get thy kicks!!!
Hit the streets thou feathered bird of no beak,
Thou tally marker of no means!!!
Foreman to thy own people's idea's,
Nourish me with a new novice,
Nurture me with heartbrake hotel,
Buildeth me a standing ovation of a one love palace!!!
Brave heart fairytale,
Doth thou stand to move about?

Listener of radio tunes,
Art thou close??
Arlene Corwin Feb 2018
Your Calling

I was talking with my husband about
What a blessing and how pivotal
It is to hit upon or feel the urge
Toward some profession,
Way of life or some vocation;
Trade or craft that calls you:
Which is why they call it calling.

Some pull which you can’t resist,
Insisting, splurging all it has,
That spurs you on,
A something giving you a kiss,
Summoning and intervening
(But which doesn’t always happen,
There not being any app
To lead the way).

Some just ‘have it’,
Never entering their heads to
Chase or fall into another path.
Lucky they who craft or hath
The gift or talent and good luck
To never buck the system,
Or its converse, follow hollowly
Right into mediocrity,
Stuck on levels never-growing,
Always burrowing and furrowing
The earth, the brow
Never to get somewhere no how.

Say a prayer if you’re not there yet.
Find your groove and move to bare it.
Sleepily or creepingly, but ardently in heart and mind
Till you find the calling key;
Use it in tranquility and fervor -
They go hand in hand, auguring well -
Passion can be quiet too.
You deserve a calling.
Serve the calling coming to you.

Your Calling 2.27.2018 I Is Always You Is We; Revelations Big & Small; Definitely Didactic; Arlene Corwin
It's my tendency toward the didactic.  i can't help it. I've got to share what I learn, discover, experience.  And all in poetic form.  That's my tendency too.
They must both be a calling - don't you think, dear reader.
amal Oct 2020
dark hollow orbs
are crossed by the simoom of ignorance
The ears are not enough
And where there is neither day nor night ..
they Creepingly
Fumble with sharp rock heads
To draw a map in touch memory.
Great horn laments
So they point their ears towards the sky ...
The lovebird flies, running away, breaking leagues of flame like a black arrow
To pollute the purity of sadness
orbs sign without no goale
Confusion pours out of the sweat of sins
and horn laments
Behind the crowds
There are mountains of skulls
And in front of them the darkness of their orbs
And above them the horn groans
And below them are Fangs of rocks like butcher knives.
creeping slowly
Ants overtake them
Lizards, spiders and birds
And the monsters prey on the last of them..and keep howling and besiege them ...
Sometimes they leave them to propagate
Desert hurricanes accumulate sand particles inside their orbs..
They wipe it off with their swollen fingers.
it comes out with some blood, mucus and pus.
and worms that grow in the hollow of exhausted bodies..
They are still productive despite everything ...
Still
A road of cold and warmth intertwined.
A path of solitude and companionship designed.
Companions from the start creepingly evanesce with the rain.
Warmth shades into frigid baltic.
Marching down the lane, the scenery changes.
Ah? The loss halts the trek.
All that's left is my name and surname.
I didn't even try to bolt, yet why has what's been charted turned into a wreck?
I wasn't in haste, nor did I aim high.
A star filled with ungrace, as it streaks through the sky.
Lucent and gloomy, a presage of perennial rain. the reflection blemished my sight, cries withstood.
I wondered, what was normality?

Traversing the trail, swelling in solitude.
Travelling onwards, hailing in solitude.
Encountering other akin travelers, weary were their legs, wearier their hearts.
The gathered hearth abrim, we garnered deary quiddity.
My heart dinned in trepidation, then it started to wane.
But came the rain, once again, with its acridity.
Riven we became, clutching steps as ran.
Past a branch, holding my names.
Past the fork, at a terminal traveler; see back to nostalgic shadows of man.
Above, yellow leaves from the tree, falling so slowly.
I wondered, what was temporary?

A benign rain.
Wayfaring sans aim.
Clinging only a name.
A naam not of surname.
A beating heart asunder; tears of vain erudition.
I no longer wonder; separation is normality.

— The End —