"emollient" poems
i.
Society keepeth their amour' in a box
Hidden, unrevealed, secretive, locked;
Me and mine Jane, shalt be open as a flame,
As on mine knee's I peck upon her toe's;
Again and again.
ii.
In the midday hour's when her back and neck get's sore
Mine fingertip's shalt caresseth her epidermis;
With sultry emollient, from her head to her feet.
I rubbeth in deep, as tis she shalt falleth asleep
As the best massage she's ever hadst,
Put's her into a trance in mine hold:
In peace she slumbereth,
Into a romantic kingdom
Stacked with ourn affection's gold.
iii.
Over an hour-plus thirty minute's,
Mine sweaty Palm's art tender;
Though it was all worth it
To mine queen mine soul surrendered;
Entering in her shuteye, I entered in locking ourn leg's, head's, arm's: closely cuddling-pillow's feathered.
Here at this moment, nothing else in the world mattered.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
i.
the Hibiscus is the paradisiacal
armistice of quagmire and wind:
leave it there anchored to Earth.
ii
when it rains, it bows to no one;
when it genuflects to no bird,
it trills on the red of the moseying hour—
nobody sees the Hibiscus.
only the children of the vandal.
iii.
last summer we had makeshift
bubble machines and in the high-rise
of the twilight's cradle, we ran
viciously against the humdrum town
blowing bushels of laughter at
the dreary populace — the brooms
to a sweeping rustle, unsettled dust
mounting the ether.
we hurtled across the
infantile roads like they owed us something finitely attributed
to our locomotives.
iv.
the Semana Santa had gone by
and the season, no matter how promisingly redolent with emollient brush
of wind and laboring silence, held
no reprise — the Hibiscus,
it is not alone in the quiet verdigris.
v.
somewhere amid the hubbub of city,
there is a pendulum of line biting
the shore of waiting repeatedly.
only steel scaffolds erected and no
flagrant scent aroused. peregrinating
in the haloed hour, the nascent furl of
belch from vociferous iron-clad beasts
in all of EDSA
and when i look at people around me
they look like gumamelas, finally,
yet i am
not coming home.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:15 AM UTC
Ingénue, Ingénue
mellifluous intonation;
within my ear
intangible embrocation!
Emollient to my inure
lithe and lilt affections-
A panacea, a talisman
fetching provocation.
Ingénue, Ingénue
Why must you fall
into such fugacious
dalliances?
Becoming and comely
are you
The cynosure of men
dissembling by demure
Ingénue, Ingénue
how easily I imbue
sempiternal scintilla
into naive little you
Lo, during my brooding-
arrive in halcyon gambol,
Dulcet or Saccharine
Is it me or you?
Ingénue, oh Ingénue
an epiphany, so true
a furtive labyrinthine
past the offing of you
None so opulent
cast more than penumbra.
T'would simply be Pyrrhic
to go on, continue.
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
Acquiesce here my love
Ameliorate my heart
The assemblage of circumstance provides dulcet ebullience
An efflorescent dalliance conflated into cathartic becoming
My bucolic bungalow made upon your callipygous
A young Life’s denouement
Your evocative elixir fetching
An erstwhile emollient embrocation
Your eloquent fingers find their way to frisson
My felicitous chatoyant gambols in glamor like a halcyon incipient made ineffable by the look of the ingénue
The labyrinthine inglenook lagoon leisurely lithe
The murmurous daffodils wink at the insouciance of your beauty
A panoply panacea, the half shadow complete as an epiphany
Quintessential to feminine riparian resplendence
Your mellifluous voice, an opulent offing, the sumptuous summery soliloquy of an angel
Cools my soul like the smell of earth after rain
Your propinquity ripples the scintilla of my spirit
Your surreptitious smile like a zephyr quietly whispers
Its redolent seraglio sempiternal in my thoughts
As skyward gazes like saccharine gossamer lilt with the knowledge of our raveling juxtaposition
a masterful pastiche, the cynosure of divine revelation
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 9:25 PM UTC
Bathtubs don’t work for quantum suicide
But every time I take one,
A part of me dies
What was nice under the crescent aglow?
Drunk on stars, or the moon lit show…
Ash of night, cradled what was once mine,
The repertoire of ever-syncing- jawlines.
Puissant is the chalice, its exaltation shined so bright,
Bestowed liberation underneath the chatoyant light,
The open windows left niveous fogs-
Breathed -stained –air, against crystal *****
Alive and one, under the entire earthly tempo,
Together left her organic imprints of art nouveau.
Beneath the warmth and petrichor ground,
The Lord and Lady commence to be crowned.
...Tree roots sink as veins of gods.
The serpent whispers his mellifluous facade...
The sharp shove of love’s first arrow
Lover’s spit, a seed for cupid’s bucolic furrow.
Scripture of Solomon’s *** temple of doom
All within the nicotine-stained-blue-infrared-bedroom,
Velvet allure, bellies of vigor,
The cold point, the pulled trigger.
Dance of Thelma, ancient cults of non-lovers
Feasting north, under the Horned God’s antlers.
The concoction of the widow’s deviated lust
Skins alive, the excited wolf-mans’ husk…
The gun’s mouth ex hailed bullets of smoke
Piercing hot wounds became tender lilts in up word strokes.
Still, they brought, perforating ice knives through the chest
Catching fades perpetually, just until two came abreast.
The shadow dalliance and hair pulls leave those weary,
The anise flower seeds sanction the suffering query.
What was once so beautiful at night?
Forgotten, as I turned red-haired-heathen in morning’s sight
So I take my hot bath, inure in my offing.
Emollient paean of the porcelain,
...which is my skin
See you, my ethereal being,
In short time spring will be fleeting
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
Emollients are hard to come by
For this agronomy of my soil.
The hay is vague, the crops are spoiled.
I want, I toil, I quail the mail.
I'm tired, detailed, drawn as a
Pawn to the business grail.
My stool needs Emollient
My head needs painkillers.
Last nerves have got my words
My country and home
Needs a exfoliate !
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Today
I smell sweet
like waffle cones and honey
Today
you sweep up
my delicate heart
put it in your khaki pocket
and here I am,
soft and blind for you.
It’s all I want to be
These days
surrounded by sweets
whispering sweet nothings
sneaking nibbles of sugary skin
These days of spring
They’re all I want,
have,
or ever will.
Like waffle cones and honey,
Today is the day that I’ve wanted for years.
The day I dreamed of while whisking.
When your hands find the parts of my body, emollient.
And my nerves are pounding like a stampede
that drum up the smell of my perfume- honey.
The dream. The man who waited.
The man I waited to love.
Surrounded by decadence
with our decadent love.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
kiss my neck
with your warm
voluptuous breath
bury me
inside your wet
emollient death
until darkness
descends
like gravity
and light
bursts
from inside
of me
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
_15.01.21_
It’s 1987.
She’s smiling at the waves cascading,
looking out at a world that didn’t exist.
In the emollient, rosemary morn’s glow
pregnant with prickly pear scents
a cherry-pickled dress crashed into the foam
and up bobbed a nest of blonde.
Kissed by the wind; nourished by the sea,
I watched my sweetheart flee.
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 3:40 AM UTC
Cynosure of all eyes
A sight for sore eyes
Coveted girl in the neighbourhood
There's a horde outside
Waiting for the exhibition of the diamond she owns
Beauty dripping on you like cream on a cone
That kind of glare that could make a man blind
A glint of hunger brimming in my eyes
A hunger for your love
I feel a scratch in my stomach
Could be butterflies and more
Like which world are you from
Your body is built like Rome
A round of applause when you walk
With the je ne sais quoi in your possession
You are a model and there's no doubt
Born into la dolce vita
You don't seem to have a scar
Mona Lisa of the present time
I sailed the world searching for you
Because I heard your dulcet tones
I fell into the waters
Are you a siren inviting me for hostage in your treasure nest
Hollywood stars in the flash of the cameras
Smiles beckoning and taming my wild heart
Do you have the midas touch?
You're glittering like gold
My solicitude for you is because I love you
That's the deepest secret in my heart
I've failed to pen down my emotions
Scared they could tear me into pieces
When you walk away from me
I may not hide my dismay
So I'll become an introvert till I heal from the pain
She embraced me with remorse in her eyes
With emollient words in her whispers
Nibble on my ears till the frown faded
Like Hansel and Gretel we've escaped from the witch's house before
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss like Romeo told Juliet
A reverie about The Ravishing Queens in our lives
Enchanted by you like I'm under a spell
Maybe it's the music giving me this epiphany
I'm hoping it's true love not an infatuation
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 4:19 PM UTC
it is the lower limb,
that dries, the skin
that itched. now
we have emollient
typed in braille,
made of soft paraffin.
is there a hard form,
my brothers used liquid
on their hair, parted
severely, on a particular side.
i have a cardigan buttons
that way, thick and warm.
when greased we feel we
may be going to sea swim
the channel. legs all sticky.
it is the lower limb that dries.
sbm
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
SALVE
pungent and potent
an emollient embrocation.
my sweet succor,
the
salve of my soul
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 10:51 PM UTC
It’s 1987.
She’s smiling at the waves cascading,
looking at a world
that didn’t exist.
In the emollient, rosemary morn’s glow
pregnant with prickly pear scents,
a cherry-pickled dress crashed into the foam
and up bobbed a nest of blonde.
Kissed by the wind, and nourished by the sea,
I watched my sweetheart flee.
Jan 2, 2021
Jan 2, 2021 at 2:02 PM UTC
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PF23EtYwvMs
There lives a touch of the Divine inside my soul tonight
and as I surrender to its peaceful ways I begin to awaken gently
I am a wayward soul in need of Godlike essence,
a Seraphic beauty that unties with every silent prayer.
My heart allows the inner flow of the Divine to intervene,
as scented thoughts penetrate and perfuse, I meet my Divine
muse;
In this quiet paradise for one I am connected to all beings
and all beings are connected to me, through love.
Tonight the incense shall burn inside this ancient kiln
"Yarim Tepe"... softening the edges of my emotions,
like a Divine emollient, and turning me to softer shadows;
The sound of inner peace shawling, I breathe
and as the soul meets the night, my dreams take flight
In this Divine journey of discovery, I am content
to co-exist, aside its beautiful liquid golden light.
Mar 25, 2023
Mar 25, 2023 at 6:54 AM UTC