"effaced" poems
if you look up, you will see
the bright-eyed and
the wide-mouthed—
the interesting, the casual, the adored
glistening in the warm night
peered at through microscopes and
telescopes and stethoscopes
far and far away
we are so desperate to be close
close and close and
close enough to see the blemishes
the scarring and the peeling
effaced by obvious and biased inner-commentary
they’re just not as red or sore as mine
perhaps they were formed under
a different kind of sun
what does the unfamiliar heart say?
does it sound at all like mine?
will i ever escape the sloppy grasp of dullness?
will the world swallow me whole?
if i count the days on both hands
on toes, on eyelashes—
if i only eat green things and
read tattered books and
pretend that i don’t mind—will i ever
break the mirror?
will i find seven years of good luck
between the jagged edges?
to exist as a reflection
is to not exist at all
there are lonely, dark purple heavens
waiting for you to sever your longing gaze
to stop lying to yourself
to hop onto the back of the cow
and begin living somewhere beyond the moon—
to realize, with closed eyes
you belong to the sky
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
Negativity
weakens the soul of those
who are blinded by destruction
of the world.
Negativity
manipulates the concept of life
while painting the limited world
with strife
Negativity
is simply Earth in its place
consuming the good
that sadly effaced
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 9:11 PM UTC
A traveller am I on the roads of the world. In my wanderings
have I seen lands famed in story and shorn of all glory today.
I have seen the unheeded ruins of insolent might - its banner
of victory is gone with the wind, like boisterous laughter stilled
into silence by a sudden thunder-clap.
I have found stupendous pride humbled to the dust, dust
on which the beggar spreads his tattered rags, dust on which the
traveller leaves the print of weary steps to be effaced by the
ceaseless march of unnumbered feet.
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
my heart only knows rage
growing, crawling like wildfire
to which my bones will collapse like lilac twigs;
then again, honey,
we do not burn down with the fire — we become it,
should we fall like witches condemned.
then again, honey,
they do not burn; the fire knows its mistress' touch
and today, we have inherited
all the anger, all the wrath, all the names of the men
she held onto for centuries in her palms.
today, she will avenge
all her sisters lynched and effaced
all her brothers starved and gunned
by the very pigs who swore to protect
and the fire will
creep, engulf, and spread,
torching their money and their abusive hands —
their lying tongues and iron fists
burning in cauldrons
they will burn us in,
and the smoke will rise to the heavens
until all that's left are ashes
from where no cruel man will rise.
and the smoke will rise to the heavens
until justice,
like a goddess,
emerges from a foam of embers.
and the smoke will slowly lift —
so will this anger.
so will this wrath.
and it's the sun itself that awakes
to the promise of a new day.
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 2:31 AM UTC
There is this idea, this feeling you say:
A revelation of profound compassion
Riddled with crippling paramount tribulation
Dribbling with drops of pontification.
Thoughtfully and yet aimlessly kicking
Unctuously vacuous presumptions. Promising,
Eventually, to unveil brick by brick
This facade someday and assure me
The imprisoning edifice, with which you keep
Under lock and key, will be effaced
And naked, soon, someday in front of me.
Yet, here another day passes.
From curbside to manhole, up sidewalks and across gravel grit.
Then a squib toward onlookers window shopping
Glaring down at me as both they and you listen
To my dissonant and hollow caterwaul.
CLING, CLANG, BANG! Look at me I'm just a can!
Crumpled and malleable, a thin sheet of five cent aluminum;
Recyclable, reusable, just a means to a mans end.
Ah! But I am not what you think I am:
Within, a bountiful boisterous bloom, unravels
The arid breath of lies and procrastination you exhume.
Your insipid words fall vapidly in my mind like corroded rust
Gently drifting onto a lapping lake.
They are an erroneous ear infection boring my wits
And dulling my thoughts, a waste of time.
All of it bottled, canned, and manufactured
From within your ******** emporium.
Keep your bricks and mortar, think they retain your unctuous pride
While this time, for once, I kick the can curbside.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
It is a pleasant place to lie,
amidst a copse of Olive trees.
The tears of muses, never dried,
have effaced the writing from your stone.
These hills about once knew your step,
your strong and confident poet’s stride.
Robert, the Royal Fusilier,
Once thought dead, but you’d survived.
Your home is a museum now,
Your Black Cordoban hangs on the wall.
I step into the little den
where you finally said farewell to all.
Looking out your window I
Espy a naked maiden flee.
Skin starkly white with Golden hair-
The White goddess? Could it be?
At any rate, a comely lass,
Beauty to whet a poet’s pen
I’ve heard you were inspired thus
by lovely muses, now and then.
Your domestic arrangements
Were quite strange;
celibate infidelity.
I’ll admit that’s one I haven’t tried.
Nor would I like to, honestly.
But your genius can’t be ignored.
by honest literary men.
I’ve spend hours in Ancient Rome
transported by your fertile pen.
Farewell Robert, Beryl too
You knew he’d be yours at the end.
Muses fuel a poet’s pen
But cannot love as wives may do.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
I do not live: I burn. In acrimony raging
Two souls are dueling within my breast:
The soul of a devil, the soul of an angel.
Their breathing is flame and it gives me no rest.
Not one flame bursts but two - whatever I am touching,
And in each stone two heartbeats I hear clash…
Wherever I go there is an odious doubling
Of two warring faces, which vanish in ash.
And everywhere the wind that follows me is spreading
The ashes: all my footprints are effaced.
For I am not living - I burn! - and am shedding
A trail of grey ashes across a dim waste.
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 8:48 AM UTC
Anigh, is the darkling of the effrontery eagle, effaced, replaced; it's worship towards the devil. Gallons of blood, used as cover, ash and mud; defiling of ****** mother's. Gallizing men drowned in sweetness of drunkened friends. Gamins created by cankered loot, oil fills the pockets; diamonds make slaves to. Gangrels run kingdom's from their ancestral hand-me-downs, gaolers imprison innocents, whilst thy rulers throw ****** for babes at compounds. Innovators; mocking God's name. Mixing men with robotics, keeping the pure obscured, locking animals in a cage. Inorbing creation with cameras as eyes, like rats they scurry, hide; when the truth is knocking. Like a drunkard; This circular hell shalt rock as a ship, many planet's art approaching, none help shalt thou get.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prophetic poetry.
Word meanings:
Anigh: near.
Darkling: growing darkness.
effrontery: shameless.
Eagle: the united states.
Effaced: erased, forgotten.
Gallizing: add water plus sugar to make stronger wine from grape juice.
Gamins: neglected boy left to the streets.
Gangrel: vagrant, loose built person.
Gaoler: jailer.
Whilst:while.
Thy:your.
Inorb: encircle, surround.
Circular hell: earth.
Art:are.
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:49 PM UTC
Crept in the surgeon from the ashen winds
Peaceful, baleful autumn fire
A descent climbing ever higher.
A special case to him it seemed, starched white
His breathy steam corroborated.
The nurses rush ‘tween bed and **** checking
Vitals of lacking that but the enigma
Curiouser and, oh, the blank screen displayed it.
There, as sight, the network of bones, all disposed
To their center, by blood and vein, all there through.
What caught the eye, a screaming white blot
In the thick of his bare cavity
A cold urn, well wrought
Had in its mouth a thousand streaming shards
Burning, pumping all the same by some miracle
That rigid effaced youth and flesh
Taking its gestalt’s place.
A nurse approach in ample fit to begin,
Crack his stern starch baritone, there he burst
Take him away; nothing is wrong
Amateur at best, irreclaimable at worst.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
I didn't intend on joining
Neighbourhood Watch
When I stepped onto my perch,
The elevated porch.
I spied a lad
Trying a car door
In the drive
Next to the cop's.
That's forbidden fruit
In the dark of night,
Under the slight light
Of a quarter moon.
Had I called the cops,
Would he now be homeless
By an ignominous,
Effaced father.
His pride's a tailored fit
From rejected rags.
Friends may post the antics
In glossolalia on FB
For all nations to read
The mark against him.
I didn't call.
The sin of the father
Is exposed in the sun;
Not in alleyways
Under broken street lights
Where a rejected son
Devises a defense;
Thinking no one sees him;
Thought he was alone.
I yelled to him, go home.
Go home, very few can.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
Trapped in a world where the weak can't survive
where the voice of the poor can't be heard for afar,
where one's dream falls apart and reaching for it
seems impossible, where the tears of a man can't
resolve any obstacles.
Only thoughts of fright cross your mind all day long,
feeling like your heart has been ripped from your
soul, looking to your side and no friends you can
find, trying to figure out how much longer will all
this last.
Words like humble and sweet are effaced from your
mind, while anguish and affliction become examples
of your daily life, you won't hear the kind remarks
that might be said about you, for you can't appreciate
what your heart is not accustomed to.
18 years you have lived yet your beauty has
faded away, your innocence has been stolen from you
and the're many suspects to blame, there's no point
trying to fix what has what has already been destroyed,
your genial smile was erased and your youthfulness
came to a stop.
There's no mountain you can climb nor a path you
can walk, nor a forty miles ride you can jump in and
go, nor a train you can board or a plane you'd come up
to, that will ever even lead you to accomplish your
dreams and goals.
Searching for a way out, even though out you are,
four dollars is all there's left, to feed the kids pay rent
and try to survive, blindfolded you are, you won't
see what you want, putting your aspirations to vanish
into a thing of the past, why are you simply living
the life that you're told t? why can't you for once
live the life you always desired to?
In a time where the corrupt owns it all and much more,
where a man's state of frenzy is irrelevant even to the poor,
where the lion hunts the deer and its flesh is torn apart, where
words like "finally I did it" are only said by plutocrats.
The mountain was to high for you to climb it all, its height
was to extreme, you fail at going up, there weren't any
guides that showed you how to climb, or give you any tips
at how to safely survive, however there were signs at every
place you looked, which said that at some point a fall
you must endure.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
Platonic love was such a thing
a thing that could not be found
in the crevice of an individual but rather on the shore of an ocean.
Few would be lucky
lucky enough to receive and the rest were left like me; innocent like crystal rock but abstracted by temptations from men
who didn't deserve to know me the way I sanctioned them too.
And so I placed my vitality not in the crevice of any particular individual but rather on the shore of the **** ocean. Because platonic love had been effaced from totality.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 10:04 AM UTC
Effaced, with myself removed from yesterday
I can think without unyielding pressures
******* my heels.
"It's always hardest the first time, the first day"
someone said. Maybe it's true?
I think repetition is getting to me,
so I must give liege to liberty.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 4:30 PM UTC
I'm downright parchy when you're icy
Slammin' wet when you're dulcet
So glum...lolled...you're nowhere onboard
Alacrity is farced as simpers scarce
Prolix spells ahead as your radiance effaced
Stunning silence!
Shan't be scraggy better be scoutty
Lame ruse meeds its match...
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
clean house, everything is neat and in its place
floor is swept, no trace of dirt, only empty space
its graceful, all mess has been erased
no face ever shows to try to misplace anything
I embrace that my brain is laced with a chase
it races at a fast pace and in my case, its you
everything is displaced and effaced
and now I retrace the mess
it's all you
I don't want to clean it though
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
966
All forgot for recollecting
Just a paltry One—
All forsook, for just a Stranger’s
New Accompanying—
Grace of Wealth, and Grace of Station
Less accounted than
An unknown Esteem possessing—
Estimate—Who can—
Home effaced—Her faces dwindled—
Nature—altered small—
Sun—if shone—or Storm—if shattered—
Overlooked I all—
Dropped—my fate—a timid Pebble—
In thy bolder Sea—
Prove—me—Sweet—if I regret it—
Prove Myself—of Thee—
1k
Pretty pretty princess
Locked in her tower
Built of bricks forged of mud and tears
Naked in the window
Save for her hair
Only glimpses allowed throughout the years
No knights in shining armor
No damsel in distress
Foundation of logic cracked in disrepair
Too far from the bottom
A lifetime of neglect
Walls crumble as she sits unaware
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 3:09 AM UTC
Tik tok tik tok,
We look back,
To the people that we've met,
To the places we went,
To the events that touched our soul,
Tik tok tik tok,
As time passes by,
Some travel against the current,
Refusing to let go,
Unwilling to consign them to oblivion,
Hopelessly trying to salvage what was lost,
Reticently denying the future,
Tik tok tik tok,
As the clocks turns forevermore,
We realise that lost times will never come back,
What has been done can never be effaced,
The only thing to do is to be maturely insouciant,
As there is no such thing as a panacea,
Tik tok tik tok,
The voices of future past deafens us,
With every tik of the clock,
It seems to grow rambunctiously,
Thoughts run endlessly,
Of paradise on earth,
That we may or may not achieve in our lifetime.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
I have loved you in every way
Died for our amour each and every day
You brought me happiness and tears
Helped me face all of my fears
Your lights and darkness i have embraced
In this affection i'm but effaced
There's no one i've adored more
No other soul i've been born for
Although to you I'm but a stranger
This love for thee has become deeper
I might be a nobody in your sight
But dear in your name i wont give up a fight
How can words define an abyss of what i feel
Should it be compared to an ocean it seems unreal
I'll love you despite of everything my dear
I'll take the risk that all have grown to fear
I'll embrace the agony of uncertainty
With the depths of my love that remains a mystery
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 7:28 AM UTC
Forever is ephemeral, tricking our mind that joy will never effaced, fooling our thoughts with unsaid promises. You should begin to live the now. Life has stood still for you to come and reach it, but I'm afraid it's starting to give its first steps. Your fear restrains you from the fiction of the always and the possibility of the now. Afraid of being afraid, frighten of never BEING, of being too much, too little, too open, too shy, too loud. Too many things concerned you and nothing worries you at the same time. While they're boarding the plane, you're unsure to buy the ticket. Those fools may be holding onto a superficial idea but at least they're grabbing something, what can you say you're clinging to? The only eternal concept you cherish is the one of cowardice. When will the stream of feelings running through your veins matter over the importance dedicated to those who can't relate to you? A forever may be childish but a never translates unhappiness.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
The day is fading once again, the forest stands in silhouette
And I upon my balcony with Bergerac, and cigarette
Survey the Moon that rises to illuminate, with harsh regret
My lost and lonesome memories of then and her, the sad
Annette
She called to me in velvet night, across the brawny moor
I found the moment contrary, resisting not her soft allure
I walked in nightmares sad lament, my heart decreed herein de-jure
I ascend the last few steps and stop.. and softly knock upon the door
I stood but for a moment there, the opening ajar
I sensed soft music on the breeze, originating from afar
Looking up I saw my tears reflected in the evening star
I stepped inside, a haunting scent adrift upon the evening air
I listened as the music played inside my mind, a soft octet
Silently the windows sang, with ornate glass in raised rosette
What happened next my heart denies, although has not forgotten yet
There beheld my eyes the hollow face of her.. the sad Annette
She sat there lost in solitude emotion thus demure
Her sedentary countenance at once was sullen, quite obscure
Attire of one whom long ago had donned her lost haute-couture
Though words cannot describe my feelings, as I sat...
and gazed at her
She looked my way but for a moment, she had sensed my hidden pain
Effaced a tear she’d wished unnoticed, smiled at me and then
She said “I love you”, closed her eyes and spoke these words again
It seemed as if she’d thrown my naked soul…
out in the rain
No other words were spoken as I turned, to take my leave
Annette had given me another reason, so to grieve
To see with crystal clarity, the failures I’ve achieved
To make my heart another lonely wretched refugee
To sit at days demise again with wine, and cigarette
Attempting to relieve my mind of her, although I haven’t yet
I live within the tortured realm of memories I can’t forget
Of years ago and three small words,
offered by the sad Annette.
Dean Evans
4-5-15
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 8:57 PM UTC
There is exactitude
and certitude
no matter what
the returns of the day
corrosion festers,
the depression spikes,
like a fever that is
drug resistant
the consumption residue,
white ash, black trimmed
festoons my innards,
dresses up my facade
vacuous and vacant
are the vagaries
that only flow, never ebb,
jubilant light effaced
my countenance equanimous,
my demeanor unmeaned,
but but but but but
nothing but but but
t'is not but the mood of the moment
t'is the chronic the endemic
there is an exacting certitude
this is the underground stream
the runs my poetry down
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Scent of the storm you arouse in my heart
sends rainbow of blessings to bathe
my dreams
in showers of tasteful repeats with which
to start a cascade
of crystaline waterfall in glass-streaming rays.
Soul-warming feelings
in my pounding breast always astound me,
then reeling, set me alight.
Can a soul drown in vibrating soundlessness ?
Threads of an almost-created new heart stand
now impaled
by arrowed decisions because they have found
a fresh start.
They have embroidered time at each corner
of my blazing need,
stitched it with seed-beads to spare
the over-sewn grasses of autumnal hope
to show that though worn,
life is not yet beyond careful repair.
That being so, the taste
of passion's sweet stormy voice will never
again become effaced.
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 2:26 PM UTC
"I'm the truth" echoed
Mansur effaced his ownself
He was crucified
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 2:42 PM UTC
What matters
in this verse full of
anti-matter
What is substantial
not circumstantial
of any reality
What holds all of it
all of us in place
Together
What keeps us spinning
Going
Perseverance? Or
Perseveration?
What really hurts more
with each revolution
What gets harder
with each new solution
What is contingent
on our progress
What are we
striving towards
What is repeated
during this process
What is retained for life
after death?
What is to blame
for the walking dead
unable to connect
reincarnation to resurrect
what was lost in time
in between space
What do we see
when our selves
are effaced?
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC