"deceasing" poems
You better watch out!
You better go hide!
You better look up
and see the witches fly-
Halloween is coming to town!
It's the season for the deceasing
You'll always stay out late,
Eating candy and
trick or treating
While you scream and shake!
Oooooh, you better watch out
You better go hide
You better look up
and see the witches fly-
Oh Halloween is coming to town!!!
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...
circumcised: to purify spiritually
On the eighth day,
from my nativity,
circumcised,
as is the custom of my
wandering tribe.
marked thusly,
perma-identity carded,
thusly begins the path,
a pink-bricked road this one,
not to the Mighty Oz,
no phony curtain pulled aside,
where anyone goes to get
spiritual purification
for a price
Ah, you suspected something else,
something explicit,
not me~style,
give you honey,
road provisions,
come along for the observing his
clickety clackty clock
Ready?
For where we venture there is only
one exit,
And you are so not ready - I am who I am and I am
not ready too...
every line an enunciation,
every stanza an annunciation,
Angel Gabriel, a solo duo, unlike
Beyoncé and Jesus
we be on our way to any kind of purity,
poetry can buy
who knows what awaits us,
could be catholic, universal,
even the uncircumcised
get a chance to enunciate.
let me offer a clarification.
proclamations and sensations,
conditions and exploitations,
brown eyed girls, and surfer boys,
functions and malfunctions too,
abbreviations or adjudications,
conjugations in the congregation,
exhumation, the final excommunication,
I shun none,
I enunciate this:
false starts and junction boxes,
too many so so tired,
when can I lay down my shovel
and cease the decreasing deceasing of the body
this day nears complete,
and soon to eat
the last meal,
and still I ask
when can I lay down my shovel,
when will purity be mine,
my spirit's circumstances
repeat the commercial,
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...
forgive my abstrusion,
my metaphors always offer perfect laxity,
choose the interpretation that pleases most
and my drift is toward the end of days,
when will my brow be a motif of
anointment and crowning head birth?
This is my Enunciation.
I cannot yet lay down the shovel,
and this writ is as of yet, still uncircumcised -
completely incomplete, it will be finished
when the spirit says
you are the purity,
the trinity of two hands holding two others holding two others holding two others and the chain is perfect because
it is broken perfectly, a forever repetitive respective handle with care
process
Forgive my visionary words that
give little clarity,
so summary due you,
This is my
Pronoun citation
I am
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate
on my way to the purity of spirit.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
For the first time ever; I truly do not care
if you, him, or her wished me a happy birthday;
But, I wouldn’t mind if you did. Though it is fair;
I am one of the lesser friends; I am a boring play;
A play so fake; I am of made up characters,
Sometimes I am the flattering villain in smiles,
And at times I am a copy of the Westerners,
At others, I am gullible, yet I never am;
I pretend to be; but I am miles away,
For interesting I am not; so funny at least be,
Says my brain; for maybe they will remember,
That my birthday was today; It is an endless plea:
I always remember and prepare pages of wishes,
For almost everyone, but all I get is 4 days late
One liners sent out of guilt; to stop the guilty itches,
Not out of care, love, or from genuine friendly state;
I deserve it; for again; I am merely a boring play;
A paradoxical headache of weird introverts,
And annoying extroverts; I barely even weigh,
To a normal person; I am made of endless alerts;
Alerted, focused, attentive; all on your acceptance;
I am what I feel you want me to be; a nice man,
A racist gangster, a diplomatic figure; I am resemblance,
I resemble everything I see in you and scan;
I am stardust that was never meant to shine,
I am a thread; intertwined as I feel pleases,
I am a road with temporary signs; I am grapes;
For you I squeeze myself into juice; or ferment
Into wine; I am a fake play where you write scripts,
I submit, because all I cared about is receiving,
A birthday wish. On that one day in the entire year;
I do not want even want gifts; because when you don't,
I feel like I am ceasing to exist; slowly deceasing
from everything that we were: teenagers ambitious,
WhatsApp stickers collectors, School runaways,
Kids deceiving; it feels like I am dead; for the dead
Do not receive birthday wishes; I feel peerless;
A white beans *** lidless, a body complete limbless,
A walking sickness, a moving flesh in stillness,
unpardoned by my faux and obvious silliness.
I do not care about not getting birthday wishes;
But I cannot not overthink what it means.
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 4:25 PM UTC
Is it I - the one
Me, who has to
strangle on this
side of
the morning?
With the lashes
of dew still
dripping, tripping
off of the
edge of
the fire.
Reminders
left there - all curled
up and slowly
deceasing
down into
the open eye.
Fog languidly
sweeps up from
our hollow valley
and begins to
eat away
slowly and slowly
into our
lives; Built on
chaos and
disarray from
Each other.
Can
you feel it?
Can
you feel
the thunder?
The Majestic,
The Majesty
Of the
Unknown. . .
The whispering
voices.
Awakened by
her songs
in the soggy
morning light.
A crack in
the shades,
reveals a
world
waiting to
be found,
when you
decide
to be a
man and
put
your shirt
back on
and
realize that
you've
just
dreamt
that
same
old dream
again. . .
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
ran into a whispering angel at the cemetery today,
customary to have a small ceremony
when the monument finished,
the grave now well and truly marked,
an unveiling held, the kaddish said,
a small stone
placed upon the monument,
a five thousand year old tradition,
started by Jacob
we line up to place our rock of ages goodbye token,
an opportunity to angel whisper one last goodbye,
but good bye is not on my mind,
no, my own approaching deceasing dead,
for the pains come regular now
in the places that means trouble ahead,
and no one knows but me
so to my friend Al,
who once asked me
where do the poems, the words, come from,
I whisper in your six feet underground ears,
though I swear I hear ya laughing both
right behind me both
at your jokes, and at me,
“see ya soon, buddy, see ya soon”
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 5:49 PM UTC
*Can't function, I.... I Can taste the passion in her sweat. Light kisses. Confusion...I can taste the venom in her lipgloss, I feel the hesitation in her heart with every breath.
She takes over control, not allowing my hands to explore her land
Telling me to keep my eyes closed...placing her soul in my hand*
**Blood pressure rises, rises like the pain of a fever
As she diggs her nails into my skin, as she makes a sceptic out of a believer.
Eyes closed so I can't read her.
Was this all planned? Was I drugged with honesty? Am I just another victim, the captivation of a queen sized cell, holdin a lying man?
my ink absorbs in her body, passionate writings forming on the wall. The sunrise, with goodbyes and kisses. The moment you know she'll never call.**
*** was her weapon...small cuts from her seduction, as I attempt to break from these lust chains...Drained from toxic pleasure, infected, deceasing slow.. from a woman's lustful rage.*
$.€.X||
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
I'm a withering flower
slowly deceasing,
turning black in the colour
in the winter, freezing.
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 4:14 AM UTC
i.
Once on the bier, now far beyond the cerulean,
Once benighted in death's uninvited,
Now sipping on empyrean cloud's, that stretcheth past the Caribbean.
ii.
All once fogged, bitten by snake's and dog's, stumbled upon
The log's, of quietus in the abyss; awaited I for deceasing ship's, to carrieth mine billow's, to darkened dungeon hell-made Pillow's- awaiting with mine name.
iii.
Thus, I was delivered throughout all that pain, mine old-self was slain, given rebirth again. Given I another chance, from God other's dismiss; sent to I, was mine daffadowndilly spring, from God who heard mine ring's, as mine mouth screamed and wailed. He answered all in detail, the finest wine to man, he gaveth me the best of plan's- with darkling queenish strand's.
iv.
So with a humbling poetic stand, I holdeth a ring inside mine hand, and I shalt boweth lord, O' God first to thee; then I'll lowereth mineself secondly, to mine queen, to slippeth a ring upon mine sweet.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
It seems like blessings keep falling in my lap...
I make poems for free, more so really on freedom.
Obstacles and demons surround me, Somehow I beat em.
Inspired by Chance, so I'm taking every chance like a rapper, moving through the chapters while doing my praising dance.
I started from the bottom.
Now I'm here, not the top.
Clothing brand, book and album, all ready to drop.
Jesus loves.
Jesus saves.
While we're stuck in our ways.
Let's all catch the wave, pray, hope and smile for better days.
Basically training but I've graduated.
Like the last kid getting picked, but I participated.
Patiently waited, for elevators, now I'm taking the stairs.
With every step I'm growing up that's why I cut my hair.
I'll give him praise, all the way til I'm gone.
Hopefully before deceasing, the family is on.
We'll eat good.
Thanksgiving, yet it's misunderstood.
Blessings on blessings forever, falling down like they should.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
its cold where i live
and i don't mean in a city or a town
i mean where my soul lives
my body lives in a city made of lights and dreams
while my soul could only dream of having dreams and touching lights
there are days where sounds are just my own
songs are made by the slow thumping of my deceasing heart
water that seem to only come from the creases of my dark eyes
tears
i call them
my mind begins to question whether or not its alive
alive
dead
alive
dead
alive
dead
it keeps repeating.
reality becomes a distortion
make believe becomes reality
death seems easy to grip
easy to hold
easy to love
easy to accept
and as my soul watches it's body walk around the streets made of lights and dreams
it curls itself ready to go ****
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
My world!
My beautiful world!
Your mouths are endless fountains of profound shouts and
I have seen the things you breathe in man's hearts and
I've tried to tell my brothers that they're lies,
But we keep letting your voices in every time.
My world told me that poetry was supposed to be my only thing
And my only way of expressing my inner me.
It told me lies about who I was and how I should think.
It told me that I need to write like I bleed this ink.
My God!
I don't want anyone else to think that I'm still in love with me!
You are the only thing I want to see
And your hope has grounded me by your streams!
I'm in love with you and how you fill up my dreams!
I'm not an aching, brooding, bleeding, receding, deceiving
Deceasing, cheating, repeating voice with a black heart beating.
I am your son!
I don't know how you allow the dust of the earth
To be rebirth into your arms and claim you as a father!
My voice was always meant to be singing love songs to you.
Recently I've been dying to sing again.
I want you to know that
When I go that
I just wanted to hold my God's hand
And dance with him forever.
I want you to know that
When I go that
I honored my father with my lips
And used my fiery tongue to bless and encourage.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
My heart can only take so much pain
That I won’t talk about.
My eyes can only bring so many tears,
Then I have to let it all out.
All this pain you caused, I don’t know why.
Everything you said turned out to be a lie.
I guess my love is not meant to be,
Every time I go after it, it turns against me.
So here I am surrendering.
Hoping one day life would bring something worth remembering.
I want to mean more to this world;
But people just see’s me as a little girl.
My heart is split apart;
It is being pulled two ways.
Stumbling day by day
Until my heart heals, I’ll forgive you.
Until my heart forgets, I’ll forget you.
Until my heart can love, I will love you.
Until my heart remembers, I’ll remember you.
Until my heart lets go, I’ll let go of you.
Until my heart can be set free, I’ll fly to you.
At this point I am just confused;
Which way should I choose?
I hope this will all come clear,
And all this pain will just disappear.
But until my heart forgets, I’ll forget you.
Until my heart will let me love, I will love you.
Until my heart remembers, I’ll remember you.
Until my heart lets go, I’ll let go of you.
My heart is broken, deceasing away
I penetrate alone, a waiting for the day.
But until my heart finds the answers;
Until my heart says good-bye
Until my heart lets me go,
Then you can have my heart
Until the end of time.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Slowly bleeding,
Dreadfully dreaming,
Forcefully seeing,
Wearily deceiving,
Finally....
Deceasing .
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
I have feelings to feel
wen i see scars of inhumanity on
faces of dictators i feel vanishing them
wen i see developing future on the
ruins of rich past i feel deceasing them
I have feelings to feel
wen love is not adhered to its compassion
i feel loving the losing tears more
wen a child is not addressed with innocence
& reckless survival is a quest i feel questioning
every living being
I have feeling to feel
wen world is progression in every field
and sack of humans are roaring beneath
i feel conjuring unanimity
I have feelings to feel may masses start to feel my feelings
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:40 AM UTC
It is as though I am standing
In a crowded room
Hollering "MERCY"
From the peak of my lungs
Hands trembling
Melting onto the floor
And not a sound to acknowledge me
Not my screams
Not my cries
No eye contact can be caught
I am deceasing
Dramatically and loudly
Surrounded by everyone
Surrounded by no one
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
This Quadriplegic Heart
This quadriplegic heart
gone the way of the dinosaur,
deprived, feelings deceasing,
mind and body carrying on
as one dead and existing.
Solitary isolation my prison shroud,
worn, and no one comes near,
tender touches and tender words,
memories confined to a fading past,
as I embrace loneliness like a lover.
James E. Roethlein copyright 2021
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 9:42 PM UTC