"egress" poems
A follow on poem to 'In the Sunroom (Suicide)" (1)
writ many years later...
~For MWK~
<>
A stray thought. a burring burrowing, thorny tawny:
A wish, yet to get, but vetted for each of us.
*This within, this redoubt, a contemplative oasis,
my indoor poet's nookery rookery sanctuary
each one, each is, deserves, all, one such,
a place holy filled, with lice and dirt of a life,
strained and trained for emission and transmission
of the best of the worst, and the triumphant emergent commission of
our individualized most excellent fresh best
where crumbs of apple crisp pie solidify, vanilla bean ice cream
melt offsets the oven heated warmth, and from this interactive
contrasts combative,
a poem pie reborn, newly disguised, familiar words,
yet unheard and before this very never,
went unspoken and now goes forth
svelte and unbroken
*rhymes of yore, forgot from a before, but making up the walls
of the here and now,
a sunroom to spread out the lit lights of egress and entrance,
of fire door no exits that now are chiseled closed,
lock in, lock up, and somehow, one, stills to learn from
the stilling quiet solitude.
to penetrate the prostrate kneeling grinning grief,
how to expel and spell the words
that grant
relief
visit my sunroom, though no fiction.
the sun rays *********** create the friction
of that which cannot ever be withered nor contained,
and your mouth opens wide and a poem birthed and delivered,
pastiche paste composted of truth and dreams of fiction, fine diction,
with a shrug, a smile, a satisfaction extracted extraordinary,
you garner moments of satisfaction but cloud cover returns,
and the process of sunrise exposition recommences,
and one revisits the elemental sequencing of
all the predecessor pain, but this time,
for gain, for gain,
<>
written this sabbath Saturday
12:38am EST
Sat Aug 2
2025
in the sunroom,
on Shelter Island
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:59 AM UTC
**via woodland trail, along deciduous dale
amid a rocky terrain, through geographic chicane
meandrous no longer, smoky waters beleaguered
upwelling they burble, in deep tracts they gurgle
hypnotic they swirl, then turgidly whorl
the rivers egress, from caverns sub-aqueous
bereft of surrender, outpours now in splendour
the Wharfe expelled from the strid.
... ... ...**
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 12:26 PM UTC
Ophelia...smote egress, you are Rimbaud's:
"Drunken Boat".
The river you fell asleep upon found you a sea.
Your bones knew no seabed--poppies, marigolds,
orchids, black roses fill your eye sockets, mouth and rib cage.
You substantiate what color the sea may give your lay.
Its foamy waddle has signaled you to one too many
climes...an orison broke open.
What strain of tragedy now holds you, spine on depth,
eye sockets on sky?
You dove headlong into the Shakespearean maelstrom--
where mortal coil confounds, chin-up darling.
Great winds fish-scale your waters, only to invert their maw.
There are lines daily of sea's breadth, whereupon its
creatures come single file to kiss your bone.
Ophelia...wrested from river to sanguine sea, shedding trails
of flesh.
If bones were the eye of a needle...you've pulled through,
heir to tragedy--circumnavigating your infamy.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 10:25 AM UTC
soft silly syllables sauntering slowly at sunset
after all ambiguous adjectives adversely affect our amicability
feigning fickleness funding fearfulness finding finality in foolishness
egress endlessly ever evading the
end
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 1:25 AM UTC
My butte shall pry wood today
That she's barely enchanted by egress and
Will grant a peaceful way.
As veracity comes so nigh in her ancients
That now convenes with her in paradise
But her love is banally tragic
Round haunts she's claimed forthright
Yet she is newly aplomb in nature
And her love is a dement today
That cast a circle upon the great day.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 11:20 AM UTC
An aged woman her sight waxing dim
Waits at the gate called patience
A stalwart near the inner court;
Whose walls are named deliverance
Bolted by a door of praise.
She watches at the gate intently
Though many hurriedly egress
& fewer enter by it.
She tells those who will listen:
I look for the one coming from Edom
The one dressed in red
The wearer of the royal turban
The giver of the eternal ring.
So old
She is rumoured to be immortal
Her name is Kheftsivah
Though some call her Beulah
But I prefer her sacred name; Wisdom
& the secret one not yet given.
She is there still, they say
Ancient yet standing
Watching & waiting
© Qwey.ku
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
A trinity of three styles one man no religion one morning over a lifetime
Temporary (we tat too)
Temporary love
has no precision definition
so if I say
love you forever,
as I do,
know know
just know
this particular
phrase
is temporary,
unique and forgivable
as temporary
as our permanent tattoo,
the one embellishing you,
the one marking me,
the two hearts tat
that means
we are a
tat two
If you begin a poem,
a love, a tat
with temporary,
usually, but not always,
you have already failed
See http://hellopoetry.com/poem/if-you-begin-a-poem-with-i/
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Invalidation
my living bones, twisted.
my words, slurred,
disfigured with a panache,
that makes the mirror
turn away, ashamed
invalid. in valid.
I have been invalidated,
I spit at your too late heroics,
unwanted.
I spit at myself,
for missing the moment,
when choice was mine
I would have self-destructed, freely,
reborn in an act of self-validation,
be my own living will,
if only I had not been enslaved to my
**********
Fear
invalidation, the Cain mark of every failed man
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bootyoir
three day weekend has commenced.
it's con-occlusion
now in rapid descent
mini-vacation, maxi-sensation.
the only question remaining,
present but debated,
as yet undecided,
whose turn is it
to answer
the doorbell,
when the delivery guy
brings our break~fast
for it is forbidden,
a transgress,
to egress
from the bootyoir,
except for the
call of nature,
and naturally,
I am calling
you,
comeback comeback
hungry time
it's time we
co-authored some
bootyoir poetry
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
O Divine Matchmaker, pay heed to my plea.
I guard an egress open ajar, crusted by thorns
I guard this world against the odium behind it
I guard this door, not in service, Matchmaker.
My hands, grip on the barbs of this doorway
To keep it ajar, for a glimpse of my remittal;
Of the extant light of my sole soul so brittle,
Anneliese, Blessed with a name so celestial,
Anneliese, Cursed with a burden so menial,
Placidly fostering the lives behind that door.
Anneliese, my only mud-soaked nightingale.
O Divine Matchmaker, answer my quandary.
Am I to serve this world as an eternal Atlas?
Am I to forsake my mud-soaked nightingale?
Is our union ignoble to you, O Matchmaker?
How many unanswered sunsets remain alas?
In distraught, a thousand misereres, I penned
In every breath, I pine to pen a thousand more.
If only I had a drop of ink left…
If only I had a drop of ink left…
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 4:10 AM UTC
the webmaster has
become quite the recluse
he's been away without
offering a viable excuse
it was back in March
that he fled from this egress
not issuing any of us
a forwarding address
on Tuesday we sent
out twenty four scouts
to ascertain intelligence
as to his whereabouts
but the search party had
no good news to impart
all of them were
so disconsolate of heart
the domain is rather
down in the dumps
since our webmaster
pulled up his stumps
we are desirous of him
returning to home ground
it will be such a relief knowing
he's safe and sound
an APB was posted
on the worldwide web
by Brianna Jason
Trent and Kaleb
to seek out the now
cloistered maintainer
who's deserted his position
as our house retainer
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 7:04 PM UTC
How many good memories have I destroyed?
Each one, a treasure to another
A string of pearls
And like the portrait of two lovers
I chose to bow out
In remembrance, I have ruined many lives
A kindly soul allowing me to merge
But I was never fully integrated
Always looking to egress at the slightest transgression
I fear I have doomed many an honest spirit
To think hard of me and my character
It would have been better if they had never set eyes upon me
And continued on their journey, unencumbered
Never knowing the name of this lost nomad
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
The heart breaks every so often
at the sound of closing doors.
The unstaying
(or even the uncoming)
drives its point
that maybe
it isn’t an option to settle.
One wonders
why yet again
love,
in essence,
is not enough
to bar life’s egress?
It’s a classic tale of hurting,
really,
where there are no heroes
or heroines,
only adversaries,
these hearts despairing,
accustomed to vacationing affections
that leave after the season’s end.
091615
for c.d.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC
Listen. I'm not silent.
In fact, I'm immensely talkative.
I have a loud mind that produces battalions of statements daily.
I am talkative.
Words egress from my lips like rivers flowing to vast seas.
I speak of my aspirations, dreams, and visions for the future.
I brag about my strengths and feats that I have achieved.
I impart my knowledge and discoveries to the curious.
I am not silent.
I share my experiences and learnings to elicit self-reflection.
I exclaim my inspirations and interests with much enthusiasm.
I was never silent.
I admit my weaknesses, insecurities, and fears with difficulties.
I enumerate my quirks and oddities despite hesitating.
I disclose my secrets and sins that marred me.
Why do you call me silent?
I elaborate my thoughts and my whims on the spot.
I sing my favorite rhymes, lullabies, and songs that are more than just mellifluous melodies.
How can you call me silent?
I utter peculiar lines and cryptic metaphors in varying tones.
I narrate stories of friendships, love, romance, and passion in diverse forms.
I spit verses of hatred, greed, atrocity, and apathy with vehemence.
I scream what's taboo, ****** unconventional, and abhorrent unabashedly.
There is absolutely no space in my mouth for silence.
I am not silent and my lips are not closed.
Your eyes are just covered, and you do not know how and when to listen.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 2:16 PM UTC
i.
Betimes mine delicate, betimes,
Mine apricity wherein beauty's
Simplicity doth show it's shine;
ii.
None bourn's shalt mock
us, nor obstruct ourn journey's.
We shalt egress this wordly mess;
With Yeshua as ourn attorney.
iii.
This place shalt be halted,
The fireballs to renew with burning;
The floods to rage, mid flight we shalt take
Sight's, liberated-tear's gone
In freedom as bird's of learning.
iv.
Up into the air we go, don't frighten my girl
We've known this truth, we shalt be loosed;
Heaven's gates- a banquet of rapio plates,
Yahweh's name sealed in ourn soul's
Fate.
v.
Ourn bodies to be renewed
Gathering with spirit's, out of
Their tomb's; O' how wondrous
It wilt be mine muse, we shalt be
In tune, in harmonized music
Thither the Angel's flutes.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley ( agapi mou) dedicated
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
In a little muddled cloud, a bubble, a thought
Ideas float away unfettered of wings.
Catching them proves to be unfeasible
By any means possible it appears…
Careful when you pull from
My stack of Jenga dreams
Taken from what sustains and place on my crown
Begin tumbling, falling, scattering…game over.
Hold in your hands an image of love
Heavy, it seems, to the amateur captor
Light as air, supple, shaped…radiant
In the hands of the ancient, practiced devotee.
Halls and mirrors seek hazy confusion
Follow the seam and you’ll find the egress
Where Hope patiently waits, distant calliope, poised
To hold you and keep you, the spectacle of desire.
“Come home” breathes the slender sprite
Into ears unacquainted with compassion.
Lullaby swing, tree limb unbroken, come sing
The song in my dreams to make sweet.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 8:41 PM UTC
you hold he key
to open my heart's gate
you hold the key
so wonderful of state
darling no other but
you can enter this place
for it is reserved
as your loving space
on turning the lock
an adoring did ensue
there my deepest feelings
were lasting in hue
you hold the key
to open my heart's gate
you hold the key
so wonderful of state
a nectar dream
we'll ever possess
the stream so divine
flowing through my egress
the treasure vault
yours and mine
a devotional niche
paved with sunshine
you hold the key
to open my heart's gate
you hold the key
so wonderful of state
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 7:36 AM UTC
Autumn's orange
ambassadors
sprawled over
drab suburban corners
a feast of seasonal glory
pumpkin patch fever
for all to behold
corn mazes
stump
so many wanderers
thirsty for the egress
fresh apple cider waits
just around
that perfectly placed hay bale
to quash dry mouths
and energize
tired feet
that press onward
towards
winter’s dreary
debut.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC
always woke up with nothing to say to her
not a thing.
we slept in rooms separate,
but she would bust in on me,
occasionally, to have an occasion,
never knocking, just door pounding,
just to annoy, just to see
if I still cared, hoping to revoke
what passed for pseudo-serenity.
some times entireties
would pass
before you had the energies
to swing
your legs over the
side of the day~bed,
conceding, white flag surrendering,
losing the commencing-avoidance of
the start-of-the-day battle of
pseudo-existence.
hoping against hope
you don't meet,
hoping against hope
she doesn't say accidentally,
good morning.
so you don't have to
Lincoln~Douglas debate,
aerate, concentrate, orate,
how to answer without bitterness
intended to maim.
knowing you could not e'er possess
a good morning, day, night,
by definition, by ruling of the
gods in charge of never.
sometimes you made it out
of the apartment that had
no ingress,
only egress,
happy happy no converse.
used to go to a Barnes & Noble,
get a refillable endless Starbucks,
from open to closing.
read all day, sitting with strangers,
till my **** hurt so bad,
didn't think I could walk again.
now and then,
smiled at the ladies,
tho nothing could come of it,
nothing ever did.
she never asked me
where I egressed too.
didn't care, that was better
for sanitizing my pseudo-sanity.
came home cautiously,
door opening silently
in case I was home prematurely,
she still there.
sometimes you wake up with nothing to say
to yourself.
that is even worse,
cause the meaning clear,
breaking point is near.
have a picture of me from those days.
a cellphone photo I took myself,
of course.
serious, bearded, short haired,
red eyed, unfiltered.
Sometimes I think I will banner it,
so you can tap into a part of me
that words just cannot do injustice to,
more than was already done.
here, while composing,
I fell asleep.
tired?
maybe. maybe,
sometimes you just don't want to remember.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
Being on your own
being intimate with oneself
in silence
and still...
...enables the monsters to emerge from their shadowy places,
to egress from their hidden agendas,
from their porcelain, painted masks...
out into the free air to indulge in one's fresh flesh...
much like monsters who hide in closets.
And you'd call Mother and swear and swear
you could see, hear, smell them in full
in that ****** dark thing
with the creaking door...
but when you implore Her to look,
she finds nothing
but a fluffy stuffed pink bunny...
But O She leaves again and there they are.
Ready and salivating to reveal their evil templates
and in all their glory watch you squirm over the knowledge.
And they watch you, tell you things about yourself-
things you've tried to ignore all this time...
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 7:12 AM UTC
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
While contemplating natures of the moor.
So very full of life, and also death.
Briefly glancing round, the bog seems lifeless,
To walk so alert, danger life obscures
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
But after observation, I confess
Quite lively lies our grand mud-soaked detour.
So very full of life, and also death.
Every creature here exudes unkindness,
And any of them might our death ensure.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
Yet still, I find their number in excess
Than places having more growth, and verdure.
So very full of life, and also death.
So now my new perspective does egress
Much different than it ever did before.
March do we, along the ash and cyprus
So very full of life, and also death.
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 1:33 AM UTC
a nuisance
scraping the sallow pavement
is what it was.
P ondering the truth and throttling
A cquiesence like it was a familiar
R use to be outplayed by vision plodding
I rises holding us against the
S ubtle egress of omens.
W arble no longer, paradisiacal birds.
I gnite no longer, city buoys.
T his is where they come to salvage ire.
H arbingers — dark, something fire
L eaves on damp graves
O ver grasslands lay quiet, felled dew
V ermilion eye seeing all
E rupt in a flash of a gun.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
Take this useless tongue of mine
I am merely a passive observer in this game we call Life
All ideal;
No action
Egress my soul through the impenetrable fortress
splitting a difference between the realities
of Hip and Loneliness. I find my spirit
obscured within the latter realm.
Take this loveless heart of mine
I am merely a conquistador's familiarity with failure
it beats in rhythms;
consider it a charity
Descending from the heavens of my imagination, a
radiant lioness swifts into my being and lifts
above...above into El Paraiso Del Deseo
It's time to unfurl these eyelids
1-30-13
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
words.
i just
love
them.
big ones,
little ones.
just love them
they are like
honey on my lips,
poprockz candy to my
brain.
they crackle and fizz:
igniting,
exciting,
vibrating,
reawakening...
synapses too quiescent;
jiggling,
wiggling,
slapping,
trappin,
thoughts....
caught snoozin and napping;
flip flopping
flim flam-ing
photograph
framing...
opinion only halfway dressed;
jitterbuggin,
jiving,
striving
sometimes conniving....
fighting for a voice;
half formed,
brainstormed,
uninformed,
spoken on a baited breathe,
giggle, gaggle,
gobbledegook...
given egress;
hornswoggle,
bing bang boggle,
lolloping through....
galumping,
triumphing,
tree stumping....
both
me
and
yoohoo
too!!!
zip
it,
zinger
coming
on
thru.
my
mind
a
veritable
word
zoo
where i
graze
and nibble
and
nab
a
theasuarus
or
2
.....
words.
i just
love
them.
.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
its grown quiet
here in the darkness
things moving have grown still
or moved off
now even the stillness has
ceased its capturing
left with the impoverished air
that once teemed with subtle life
i **** in its neutral taste
and slowly breath out trying to avoid creating a stir
pause here at the gap between instruction
of the current and the mastery of the next
i flicker between fears unfounded yet persistent
strip off layers of perception only to cloth them again
in some other unnatural garment of paper thin ideal
this struggle exhausts me and i flounder at the escapism
i am left here in the silence
once more
to become still myself as i reconcile the loss
how it came to be baffles me
but i know i must come to terms
i am trapped within and will not find easy egress
the darkness gathers my attention
i search it for meanings
it by inaction speaks
it by force of its encompassing nature
gives birth to visions
creates echoes in the mind
that are not really there
but are real enough to the perceiver
a lone dog shouts his displeasure
a lawnmower begins its guttural journey through
a landscape
a child's joyfully laughing shout
these strange noises come and depart in an instant
in the the minds eye
each has meaning and creates image of each thing
as it would happen
but it is just a thought
just an image
the darkness has not moved
has not revealed a sound
it is more alive than i
eye flutters open to visual noise
and i am free
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC