"findeth" poems
i.
Iniibig kita
Mahal Kita;
Minamahal Kita,
Iniirog kita.
ii.
Here do I cometh, I'm on mine way. The skies art clear tonight, just a tint of fine gray; though I spread mine plumage, fracture the tone, I knoweth one day, O' verily one day- I'll findeth mine way home.
And I thinkest, when I findeth the bungalow, I wilt rest, after long
Passage alone. As thou I wilt bestow, mine Lip's on thy own; quietly humming, Sayaw tayo?
iii.
A Tagal na ah, a Tagal na ah, now I'm here mine love, I've made it mine queen; some sayest dream's don't cometh true, Only if the other's couldst find; they discern science, just not the sign's of the times.
Though we behold, the spirit and soul, and ourn creator, the crowned head of the world's; Hallowed be his name, Yahweh, father Jehovah, known also Elohim. His son Yeshua ha'mashiach, English language "Jesus the anointed one". The son above all son's. Jane, mine queen.
iv.
Iniibig kita
Mahal Kita;
Minamahal Kita,
Iniirog kita.
Tagal na ah
Tagal na ah;
Now in thy
Grip, with
Mine kiss,
On thy Lip's
I place mine
Vow's. O'
Yadid, yadid,
Never let me go
Agapi mou-
Zoi mou,
Se latrevo
Mine queen.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou) dedication
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 12:07 AM UTC
Shall I compare thee to the butterfly,
Thou hast more beauty, more strength, and more grace.
Rough winds do blow paper wings toward the sky,
And an icy chill doest berate h’r face.
The weight of h’r first original form:
But a caterpillar, she did abhor,
Brings onto h’r face a look so forlorn
Alas! One day she proclaimed she would soar!
With wings so frail, she emerged from her sleep,
With a new body, h’r soul couldst keepeth
To findeth a love so quaint and so deep,
Upon my gaze, thee did take hence mine breath.
I hath’t such adoration for thy soul,
For t’ is mine weak heart, yond hath’t quickly stole.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 10:22 PM UTC
There is a poet
And poetess
That writeth;
In the slums
And the ghetto's;
In the suburb's
In the meadow's.
There is a poet
And poetess
That prophecieth
In the mountain's
In the city, neath
Their graves, in
Tomb's, free one's,
Slave's, some known,
Many doomed, in
Heaven's gates, some
Art poor, some telleth
Of fate, some art lonesome,
Some speaketh of amour',
Some linger in the shadows,
Tortured by demon's, anguished;
Fighting hellish and earthly battles.
There is a poet and poetess that writeth in blood and in ink:
Some feareth death, death to some doth succumb when these artist's speak. Some hath wealth, some with naught, some groweth their own food, whilst other's stick to store bought. Some art peasant's, some art farmer's, some poet's preach and teacheth; whilst other's want to alarm us. There is a poet and poetess in this life and the next; some looketh down on loved one's, whilst the living is blinded by material net's. Some art lost, forgotten, some speaketh Spanish, Hindi, English, Arabic, french, lost languages, or Latin. Some just want to love, whilst some seeketh to findeth love, some want to flyeth away, as if a falcon or a dove. Some thinkest their better than most, others thinkest they art not better then noone, feeling dead as if a ghost. Some jotteth poetry to make them remember living, some art charitable, whilst poet's in prison sit and rot from killing or stealing. Some passeth time staring at the ceiling, whilst some overwork, some casteth their ten percent to worldly lusts, whilst other's pay to God in church. There is a poet and poetess that writeth, being dead or alive; O' poet's were all distinctly different though the same, in God's poetic eye's..............
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
i.
Mine Waling-Waling
If mine existence soon doth leaveth;
Mine psalm's art left here on Hello Poetry
In thine Palm's they shalt speaketh.
ii.
If this shalt be the ******
Mine rhyme's in thee;
Shalt be entwined
Into thy mind, I will meeteth thee in heaven's gate nine, the back.
iii.
If soon shalt be mine termination
I'll meeteth thee at the station;
Wherein cerulean airmist
Shalt maketh me drift, onward ahead.
iv.
Amongst the living
Not dead;
I shalt findeth thou
If today's mine last breathe somehow, I'll be waiting in a shroud.
v.
If mine Incarnadine
Shalt be spilt as wine;
And I hemorrhage from mine brain
Just remember queen, eternally, we shalt meet and be one again.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley/Filipino rose dedication
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
i.
The breadth of her aura
Stretcheth like a veil;
From the philippines, she was created of tropical tree detail.
ii.
As one entereth her extrasolar city
Thou shalt findeth there's no need for the sun or the moon;
She is the light, the scintillate of star clustered room's.
iii.
Just beyond the river Jordan
Where stream's of heaven tint;
She's not for sale, she's the grail of the gate's of holiness.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/Filipino rose
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:58 AM UTC
If not in this place, but the next realm,
I shalt mine love clepe thee with guardian's to surround; thou shalt findeth me, in a Robe of ivory white, anew with the saint's,
Yahweh's chosen, i'll be in flight. Holding mine hand out, for thy own to reach, when passing the gates I've passed; thou shalt seeith the gold laden street's. I wilt signal the other's, that the portal was not breached. As thou wilt experience a million senses for thy eyne, speech, hearing, touch, thing's God to thee shalt teach. Multi-colored racemes shalt brushstroke the heavenly peak's, O' how the energy we wilt feeleth wilt be as the health of newborn's. None more thunderous storm's or anguish back upon the lower ground; now serenity none enmity against the once demons who came around. Shofar and lyres to grace Jehovah's peaceful sound's; as the echoes art vibes that cometh betwixt ourn soul's. As verily, verily, heaven's ourn abode, heaven's ourn abode by which we shan't fear. Cometh closer mine dear; the time is close, how I now heareth the heavenly Host's, ready to welcome us in. Cometh up hither Christ shalt soon say, judgement day is creeping the corner. We giveth Yahweh praise.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou)
©Prophetic poetry
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC
i
I shalt consecrate one as mine empress
As she sitteth high up upon her throne;
She shalt be the ruler of mine dominion
An abode aloft the Earthling's decor below.
ii
I shalt put upon her eminence gracefully
A castle tiera upon her frowning head;
Wherein when one's shalt tryeth to hurt her
I'll giveth mine life, to protecteth mine wife's bed.
iii
And we shalt wander on the streamside
Whilst ourn harp-player's strum for us in ourn court;
Sipping on wine, of amare divine
Ourn spirit's and finger's, locked with none remorse.
iv
Though tis this is all just an illusion
Hoping for one day, mine empress to awaketh from her sleep;
Wherein wherever she shalt be, I cant findeth her
I thinkest I am dead, Maby asleep?
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Kozarev, thou remindeth me of the other one: thy innocence is just as such authenticity that never decays! Thy simplicity, yes-and oft'times omens of languidity, art indeed genuine! O, thy purity which bears no sin! Twists of daring passion that art so listed in thy eyes-brief and witty, yet calming but never at rest. My another, that disheartening past love back then, in the course of many a year ago-is now but a tiny flickering shadow of battered raindrops that I canst only sing of. Like a handful of worn-out ashes, his fatigue is of no more profoundness to me, and shalt it never findeth any further way to my heart. How he turned me-and my confident passion, down! Abrupt kisses as we had, and ah!-light strokes on my hair-all wert terrific, yes, t'ey wert, in th' first place-but suddenly over! But thou, indolent as thou art-docile and hysterical in some lyrical ways-thy soul is but the forest of an unknown world; what a jolly secret cave! Bathed in crisp mystery, engulfed in shallow pathos; a lump of love, young torpor-yet haunting and irredeemable felicity. Untouched as thou art, like a wordless, newborn infant-whose feet art contently groping in soulless darkness-until thou findeth the smiling light itself! O, be it me-be it me, my dear! Thou art but to me a glimpse of wrathless haze; rolling and dancing about as thou always art-in'a sheepish, childish maze.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 5:30 AM UTC
Tis
She was released
From her carcass of a shell
Man letteth her go
From her inquiring hell
She was free'd
From all distant proportion
Now she findeth her self
In remorse and guilt trip
Tis
She was awoken
By truth at her beak
She awoke to the words
I loveth thee
But she is a freebird,
She flyeth by muse!
Dreamers always
Get lost in cartoons..
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:02 PM UTC
I cry in love, I love in hate;
sorrow t'at no-one should create!
Whenst no gladness runs my heart's brake
It's thy own image t'at I'll make.
I remember lightly t'at day
As I caught thee on my morn way
With some radiance on thy brow;
thy words to me began to flow.
How at thy gaze my heart fluttered;
and as we stared my cheeks ripened!
Easily didst t'eir shells turn red;
and my body, numb went with sweat!
Ah! T'ose docile roots within t'eir ***
cunning creatures of o'r smug Lord!
With eager thirst t'ey peered at us,
sketching a poem as we conversed!
And t'at quaint note I filch'd from 'em-
what a gay song on t'eir young stem!
I knew just t'en how thou doth feel-
from yon crisp leaf and its mild seal!
Seized it as I two nites af-ter-
mine heartbeat fastened with lau'hter!
'pon learning thy name on its end;
so dearly crafted by thy hand!
O! How thou planted into th' cells-
th' living plants, amongst t'eir wells!
T'is piece on loving confession-
and such tender expectations!
I danced gaily in victory-
immersed myself in vile glory!
Ah! Didst I flounce myself right outside
To lure and bringst thee t'wards my side.
'Twas th' start of o'r story;
and my at-first-sight love for thee.
O, in thy arms I weave my might;
and in thy warmth, I findeth delight.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 5:12 PM UTC
Nobody knows when our last goodbye going to be.
When our Love has gone and left us: we crawl back into the shell of our former self:
we remember, we relived, the first marble
that was taken from us, our favorite pencil that was snatched by the bullies
We let our emotion take over:
our marijuana-addled state of mind seized
Sleepless night, reckless hours, Dehydration and Insomnia –
Heartbreak is real: deception is a poker game:
We remember the struggles, we remember our kindness,
The sacrifices we made, especially burning the midnight oil:
Then we see that old familiar face,
Stepping right out from our bodies in slow motion...
And take charge, we tried our best to stop the madness,
But it played out like a cloudy dream,
In a panicky state we yelled for it to stop;
to please come back, please, don’t do that
Our mind creates our thoughts, but when the beast
Is out he goes on a rampage, right to the source of the game
To the love who has gone and left us:
The damage has been done: how do one move
Away from the game: death is inevitable
When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through dry places, seeking rest, and findeth none. Then he saith, I will return into my house from whence I came out; and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and garnished. Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first. Even so shall it be also unto this wicked generation. Matthew 12:43-45
R.I.P
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC
i.
Cometh closer rayna, into mine sight
I gaveth mine last exhalation, in the middle of the night;
Do not be frightened, do not fright,
I'm lively, beyond the grave, thus once burdened, as a man an slave.
ii.
Cometh here rayna, into mine glow
Looketh at mine hand's, Into mine soul;
I knoweth we couldst not meeteth, in the world of the living,
But now I am here,spiritually breathing.
iii.
Cometh here rayna, looketh at mine new regalia
I've met kin, with a thousand friends, we chat amongst azaleas;
Heaven tis real, more than thou couldst imagine
I'll meeteth thee there, thou canst stroke mine hair,
No more devil's, worldlies, or tormenting dragon's.
iv.
Cometh closer mi amour', mine poetry is the door
That thou shalt findeth me; I won't be lost- readeth between the lines of mine stanza's, that's where I shalt be.
I'll be looking down upon thou, before thine own dying breath's, Jane, O' mine whole, O' mine Rayna, we'll meet again someday;
Please weareth the honey yellow dress. Do not be mad at God, for he needed me home. Soon mine love, soon mine dove, we shalt reside in a place I picked covered in heavenly gold, a view to calleth ourn abode. Doeth good whilst I'm away, loveth one another, this is ourn creator's message, I wilt sendeth thee blessing's, just continue to loveth thy sister's and brother's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose ) dedication
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
When
And if
I findeth one
Who shalt verily loveth me;
I'm not the kind of man who thinketh love is just ***
WRONG,
Though
If and when I findeth one
And if that's to occur
That we maketh love,
I seeketh her to maketh me leaveth mine body!!!!!!
Whilst making compassionate love....
Showing me heaven
On earth!!!!
©Brandon Cory nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 4:21 PM UTC
Tea: Jamil, in the soft breath of dawn,
I am the whisper that healeth, that’s drawn
From the quiet depths of forgotten dreams,
A balm for the heart where silence gleams.
I hold thee close with love that is slow,
Like a river’s song, gentle and low.
Yet on Saturdays, I see thee depart,
To the fire that stealeth thy wandering heart.
She calleth with a fervor, a scorching desire,
Whilst I, the shadow, wait, untouched by fire.
Coffee: Ah, Jamil, dost thou not know?
I am the flame that maketh thee glow.
Her touch may soothe, her peace may bind,
But I am the tempest that frees thy mind.
I stir thee deep where secrets dwell,
In the heat of passion, I break the spell.
Once a week, thou dost return to me,
And in mine arms, thou art truly free.
Her silence may cradle thee in sleep,
But I am the pulse, the heart that leaps.
Tea: But Jamil, dost thou not feel the grace
That I weave around thee in this place?
I am the quiet that holdeth thee near,
The balm for thy soul, the voice sincere.
She burneth with a passion that blindeth thy sight,
But I am the dusk, the still of the night.
When thy heart is weary, when thoughts collide,
It is I who still thee, a place to hide.
She is the fire, but I am the rain,
The softness that sooth’th thy deepest pain.
Coffee: Jamil, thou art blind to see—
In my fire, thy soul shall be.
Her touch may cradle thee with care,
But I am the wind that stirreth the air.
She whispereth peace, but I roar with power,
I am the lightning, the midnight hour.
Once a week, thou dost call my name,
And in my heat, thou find’st no shame.
She giveth thee rest, but I giveth thee life,
The pulse that cutteth through all thy strife.
Tea: Yet, Jamil, in mine arms dost thou not find
A peace that quieteth the storm in thy mind?
I am the silence between each sigh,
The softest breath that maketh thee fly.
She may burn bright with her fire and flame,
But I am the root that calleth thy name.
When the world is cruel, when the heart is lost,
It is I who heal thee, whatever the cost.
She is the storm, but I am the earth,
The place where love findeth its rebirth.
Coffee: Ah, Jamil, dost thou not know?
I am the pulse that maketh thee grow.
Her calm may cradle thee, but I ignite
The flame that burneth through the endless night.
Once a week, thou dost seek my fire,
In mine embrace, thou dost never tire.
She cradles thee in soft repose,
But I am the ache, the longing that grows.
Tea: Still, Jamil, dost thou not see,
In mine silence, thy soul is free?
I am the lullaby that maketh thee dream,
The quiet touch, the steady stream.
She is the fire that consumeth and taketh,
But I am the love that gently breaketh.
When thou art lost, when thy heart is torn,
It is I who will guide thee, reborn.
She is the tempest, the wild, the flame,
But I am the refuge, the place of shame.
Coffee: Jamil, thou dost not understand,
I am the fire, the burning hand.
Her touch is soft, but mine is raw,
The wild desire, the heart's deep flaw.
Once a week, thou dost seek my flame,
And in my heat, thou dost find thy name.
She whispereth peace, but I am the cry,
That maketh thee break the chains and fly.
Tea: O’ Jamil, in mine arms dost thou not find
A peace that settl’th the restless mind?
I am the thread that bindeth thee whole,
The gentle calm, the quiet soul.
She may burn bright, but I am the dawn,
The steady light that carrieth thee on.
Return to me when the world is loud,
For I am the shadow, the softest cloud.
Coffee: Together, Jamil, we maketh thee complete,
I am the fire, she is the beat.
Thou need’st both to stir thy soul,
The calm, the storm, the part, the whole.
In my flame, thou dost find thy way,
In her peace, thou shalt stay.
For in each sip, thy soul shall learn—
Both the fire and silence return.
Tea: Ah, Jamil, dost thou not see?
In mine stillness, both fire and peace shall be.
I am the balm that healeth the wound,
The steady heart, the sacred tune.
Her flames may rise, her heat may burn,
But I am the river that letteth thee return.
In each moment, in each sigh,
We are both the fire and the sky.
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 1:42 PM UTC
i.
More than ever
This hour;
Now, mine God
Mine Christ, needeth me.
ii.
More than ever
This time;
I must overcometh Satan
And release the scripture's sign's.
iii.
More than ever
These last day's;
I must telleth other's
Of the world's end, and the hope to makest thou amazed.
iv.
More than ever
Better now, then never;
I shalt bloweth the shofar
Beneath hell, above the star's.
v.
More than ever
This is mine letter;
For thou to awakest
And findeth Christ's salvation, by which thou canst enter.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prohetic poetry
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
i.
Versonos, mine scarlatinian craves
For thee, instinctively. Attent I am
In wake, or sleep; I shantilize by the
Seaside, of the shaded creek's.
ii.
In lavunger, mine frame needeth
Held, attended to; the mires art
All around us philaprose, though
Through the ill abysmal, we hath
Been through.
iii.
Much ashru, O' much velanuv,
I shalt be on bended leg's and
Knee's; just to seeith mine Jane
Of soothe. Thus the avenue's
Shalt be rough, and the stones
Shalt roughen ourn soles, I'm
A king that shalt do whatever
It taketh, to get to mine lass;
To findeth mine way home.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
I remember.....
Whilst doing the time I didst in prison;
The strangest little thing
When noone canst buyeth cigarette's none more
Since the state outlawed it in prison's
(Ridiculous) since people wilt still smoke anyways.....
I remembered walking into the caged yard of beast's;
Seeing them phening for that smell and taste of tobacco
As I remember seeing one of mine old friends there
From the intermediate prison before that,
Matt's his name;
Taketh out a little plastic bag of tobacco out of his pocket...
And a white blank piece of paper,
From one of the small Bible's thou canst findeth;
As little Bible's in prison aren't just for God's word
But also they sell for ten bucks a pop.
As he rolled a cigg, so tightly and fused......
As him and all the other's
Went back to the bleachers,
By the prison's football field
Wherein that was the spot,
Everyone hid their smoking
Yet,
The guards didst not careth
They were bringing dope in
Amongst other things!
To calm and ease the brute beast's......
As in that old prison I was in
Thou wouldst want to calmeth thy nerves to
Trust me.... Tis not a place, for the kindest of soul's as me......
As seeing them smoke those bible rolled cig's
Madeth me thinkest at that moment;
They just do this
To feeleth human:
To feeleth alive....
To feeleth free,
Whilst trapped in a cage......
As tis Being animal's in ourn cages;
We were, still free, more than the rest
Of society...
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Poens to write
doth they lead path right
to bring a smile
A company in lonely mile
write tis in sorrow
for them findeth no tomorrow
life of the pained who doth care
none their sorrows share
Love lost to human need
words it doth feed
who hath tis arm
never cared yet friendship warm
pety
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
i.
This life,
But a quick moment's flash;
We withereth as flower's
We dissapeareth like grass.
ii.
Born into the next eternity
Rebirthed into living;
I shalt giveth every last breath
Because the time is verily leaving.
iii.
I won't taketh thou for granted
I wilt giveth all mine love;
To thee mine queen,
To thee mine jane-
Mine own being
And dove.
iv.
O' we art here but for
A second, O' we cometh
To learn, then moveth on;
I shalt loveth thee in the morn
And dusk, in dying sun's, and
Mournful song's.
v.
And even when I passeth
On, I'll findeth thou then
To, mine spirit's lively, it
Knoweth what it needeth,
Not undeciding- for I am
Thou, meaning I am you.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
Whilst the bone mannequins, resteth inside their tomb's
I'm writing mine poetry, of prophecy, romance, and doom;
And Maby just Maby, I shalt findeth mine empress in her crypt
And awaketh her relic bones, with mine poetic of lips.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 1:45 AM UTC
My jaws are too heavy to speak
Filled with weighing loads of anguish
My ultimate soul's desire was to speak
Be able to say deep things with ease
But since walls have ears and can speak,
I refuse to allow my troubles push me to the peak.
I looked at myself and all i could see was
A soul filled with despair and broken beyond possible repair
My young soul broken by the pain caused by the sinful state of this world
But to my soul young and free;
I say to thee that thou findeth beauty in the very things that giveth thy life meaning.
Grey is no way forward
Let your mind soar like the eagle above altitudes and learn
Learn the ways of righteous living...
Find hope!!
Find love!!
Find the light and smile
It's just one other trouble.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 10:25 AM UTC
I beseech and implore for just one kiss
I crumble to the ivory walls around me;
I seeketh and explore in the darkly abyss
And noone is near to fully arouse and supplyeth mine need's.
Just a simple Bonjour, to haveth an opera of amour'
To be as simple infant's, climbing mountain's and shore's;
Forgetting the world, lost into ourn own dimension
Yet that's not what I'll findeth, I've excepted mine jail sentence.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
you are my adorable pearl, the one i long for every blessed day and night.
your love lightens my soul and kindles it with melody for your sweetness in excess.
and just like the night stars catches the attention of every eyes, you became the cynosure of my hopeful eyes.
it is as apparet as the breaking of a new dawn that i'm profoundly lost in the paradise of your unshakable and unatainted love.
Omo baba Medubi, only in the hearty glow of your soulful eyes, i findeth solace and tranquility
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 3:49 PM UTC
Thou canst findeth me at poe's grave
Jotting down poe's name
Reading all of poe's pain
And yet a love slave,
Like a Shakespherian novelist...
Shakesphere rebirthed....
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 10:39 PM UTC