Feet,
Wherever thou goest today,
Whether it's near
Or far away,

This I'll say
For this I know,
Whither thou goest
I will go,

This I beseech thee
This I pray,
Whither thou goest
Don't leave me astray.

"In the grave, whither thou goest."

O weary Champion of the Cross, lie still:
  Sleep thou at length the all-embracing sleep:
  Long was thy sowing day, rest now and reap:
Thy fast was long, feast now thy spirit's fill.
Yea, take thy fill of love, because thy will
  Chose love not in the shallows but the deep:
  Thy tides were springtides, set against the neap
Of calmer souls: thy flood rebuked their rill.
Now night has come to thee--please God, of rest:
  So some time must it come to every man;
  To first and last, where many last are first.
Now fixed and finished thine eternal plan,
  Thy best has done its best, thy worst its worst:
Thy best its best, please God, thy best its best.

Whither thou goest, hither or thither?
     Goest thou thither or nay?
Thou claimest thou goest far thither most farthest,
     yet hither thou art till this day.
For all thou proclaimest, when thou oft complainest,
     thou movest not one whit today.
I dare say thou puffest thy chest and thou bluffest,
     for this is thy passionate way.


(C)2019, Christos Rigakos

where goest thou deep
in concrete streets
of a wicked jungle
the rumble of
unsettling events; intense
concentrating
on escaping
these decrepit patterns
of useless existence
resistance to causualties
turning into familiarities
rear back to attack
fatal norms and society
pressing beliefs into skin violently
picking through dirt like worms
makes you squirm
and crunch the skin on your face
disgrace
to humanity
with their one ounce of sanity
equally dispersed among the public
disruptive you say?
that I've ruined the peace of this virtuous day?
do you sleep at night ?
with the right kind of dreams?
he beams at a perfect system
that thrives in secret tyranny
the irony!
enough to make you sick
and **** on the shiny shoes of the opresser
the ladder to heaven has collapsed and burned
so LEARN how to deal with death life and birth
ON EARTH!
this wont pay off after
no factor of mortality
plays into "divine reward"
like a ***** you're bored of misery and law
so thaw the boundries of
adventure and ambition
petition for ignition
to the revolutionary fire
the dire need for more wood to burn
take turns
melting away

Let me move slowly through the street,
  Filled with an ever-shifting train,
Amid the sound of steps that beat
  The murmuring walks like autumn rain.

How fast the flitting figures come!
  The mild, the fierce, the stony face;
Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some
  Where secret tears have left their trace.

They pass--to toil, to strife, to rest;
  To halls in which the feast is spread;
To chambers where the funeral guest
  In silence sits beside the dead.

And some to happy homes repair,
  Where children, pressing cheek to cheek,
With mute caresses shall declare
  The tenderness they cannot speak.

And some, who walk in calmness here,
  Shall shudder as they reach the door
Where one who made their dwelling dear,
  Its flower, its light, is seen no more.

Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame,
  And dreams of greatness in thine eye!
Goest thou to build an early name,
  Or early in the task to die?

Keen son of trade, with eager brow!
  Who is now fluttering in thy snare?
Thy golden fortunes, tower they now,
  Or melt the glittering spires in air?

Who of this crowd to-night shall tread
  The dance till daylight gleam again?
Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead?
  Who writhe in throes of mortal pain?

Some, famine-struck, shall think how long
  The cold dark hours, how slow the light,
And some, who flaunt amid the throng,
  Shall hide in dens of shame to-night.

Each, where his tasks or pleasures call,
  They pass, and heed each other not.
There is who heeds, who holds them all,
  In his large love and boundless thought.

These struggling tides of life that seem
  In wayward, aimless course to tend,
Are eddies of the mighty stream
  That rolls to its appointed end.

Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies:
    Yet, COLE! thy heart shall bear to Europe's strand
    A living image of thy native land,
Such as on thine own glorious canvas lies;
Lone lakes--savannas where the bison roves--
    Rocks rich with summer garlands--solemn streams--
    Skies, where the desert eagle wheels and screams--
Spring bloom and autumn blaze of boundless groves.
Fair scenes shall greet thee where thou goest--fair,
    But different--everywhere the trace of men,
    Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen
To where life shrinks from the fierce Alpine air,
    Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,
    But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.

Ah, paled and faded leaf. of spring agone,
Whither goest thou? Art speeding to
Another land upon the brooklet's breast?
Or art thou sailing to the sea, to lodge
Amid a reef, and, kissed by wind and wave,
Die of too much love?
Thou'lt find a resting place amid the moss,
And, ah, who knows! The royal gem
May be thine own love's offering.
Or wilt thou flutter as a time-yellowed page,
And mould among thy sisters,
Ere the sun may peep within the pack?
Or will the robin nest with thee
At Spring's awakening? The romping brook
Will never chide thee, but ever coax thee on.
And shouldst thou be impaled
Upon a thorny branch, what then?
Try not a flight; thy sisters call thee!
Could crocus spring from frost?
And wilt thou let the violet shrink and die?
Nay, speed not, for God hath not
A mast for thee provided.

Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;
But of the good to treat, which there I found,
Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,
So full was I of slumber at the moment
In which I had abandoned the true way.

But after I had reached a mountain's foot,
At that point where the valley terminated,
Which had with consternation pierced my heart,

Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,
Vested already with that planet's rays
Which leadeth others right by every road.

Then was the fear a little quieted
That in my heart's lake had endured throughout
The night, which I had passed so piteously.

And even as he, who, with distressful breath,
Forth issued from the sea upon the shore,
Turns to the water perilous and gazes;

So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward,
Turn itself back to re-behold the pass
Which never yet a living person left.

After my weary body I had rested,
The way resumed I on the desert *****,
So that the firm foot ever was the lower.

And lo! almost where the ascent began,
A panther light and swift exceedingly,
Which with a spotted skin was covered o'er!

And never moved she from before my face,
Nay, rather did impede so much my way,
That many times I to return had turned.

The time was the beginning of the morning,
And up the sun was mounting with those stars
That with him were, what time the Love Divine

At first in motion set those beauteous things;
So were to me occasion of good hope,
The variegated skin of that wild beast,

The hour of time, and the delicious season;
But not so much, that did not give me fear
A lion's aspect which appeared to me.

He seemed as if against me he were coming
With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger,
So that it seemed the air was afraid of him;

And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings
Seemed to be laden in her meagreness,
And many folk has caused to live forlorn!

She brought upon me so much heaviness,
With the affright that from her aspect came,
That I the hope relinquished of the height.

And as he is who willingly acquires,
And the time comes that causes him to lose,
Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent,

E'en such made me that beast withouten peace,
Which, coming on against me by degrees
****** me back thither where the sun is silent.

While I was rushing downward to the lowland,
Before mine eyes did one present himself,
Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.

When I beheld him in the desert vast,
'Have pity on me, ' unto him I cried,
'Whiche'er thou art, or shade or real man! '

He answered me: 'Not man; man once I was,
And both my parents were of Lombardy,
And Mantuans by country both of them.

'Sub Julio' was I born, though it was late,
And lived at Rome under the good Augustus,
During the time of false and lying gods.

A poet was I, and I sang that just
Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy,
After that Ilion the superb was burned.

But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance?
Why climb'st thou not the Mount Delectable,
Which is the source and cause of every joy? '

'Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain
Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech? '
I made response to him with bashful forehead.

'O, of the other poets honour and light,
Avail me the long study and great love
That have impelled me to explore thy volume!

Thou art my master, and my author thou,
Thou art alone the one from whom I took
The beautiful style that has done honour to me.

Behold the beast, for which I have turned back;
Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage,
For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble.'

'Thee it behoves to take another road, '
Responded he, when he beheld me weeping,
'If from this savage place thou wouldst escape;

Because this beast, at which thou criest out,
Suffers not any one to pass her way,
But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

And has a nature so malign and ruthless,
That never doth she glut her greedy will,
And after food is hungrier than before.

Many the animals with whom she weds,
And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound
Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain.

He shall not feed on either earth or pelf,
But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue;
'Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be;

Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour,
On whose account the maid Camilla died,
Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds;

Through every city shall he hunt her down,
Until he shall have driven her back to Hell,
There from whence envy first did let her loose.

Therefore I think and judge it for thy best
Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,
And lead thee hence through the eternal place,

Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,
Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,
Who cry out each one for the second death;

And thou shalt see those who contented are
Within the fire, because they hope to come,
Whene'er it may be, to the blessed people;

To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend,
A soul shall be for that than I more worthy;
With her at my departure I will leave thee;

Because that Emperor, who reigns above,
In that I was rebellious to his law,
Wills that through me none come into his city.

He governs everywhere, and there he reigns;
There is his city and his lofty throne;
O happy he whom thereto he elects! '

And I to him: 'Poet, I thee entreat,
By that same God whom thou didst never know,
So that I may escape this woe and worse,

Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,
That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,
And those thou makest so disconsolate.'

Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.

trace your faded prints upon the dirt
around them, mud congeals to form my hurt
failing falling stars confuse my path

I shuffle feet for miles but stay inert
all false the trails refusing to subvert
antipathetic strands to stir my wrath

The trees all flay themselves to spill the secrets
thou swore undying oath to never keepest
lest all worlds align to hide the truth

Pausing, taking breaths beneath the deepest
floors of pits that tenderly would keep us
undestined, lost and wild to know our youth

And seek you out I must, I must, I will,
at universe's end, a galaxy
where we would rest, reborn; become, to be
where every breath relaxes into still

Ever will you walk alone, until
you witness me in my entirety
Come, my unforgotten one, you see
arrival less one is a bitter pill

Oh do not die, for I shall hate
    All women so, when thou art gone,
That thee I shall not celebrate,
    When I remember, thou wast one.
But yet thou canst not die, I know,
    To leave this world behind, is death,
But when thou from this world wilt go,
    The whole world vapors with thy breath.

Or if, when thou, the world’s soul, goest,
    It stay, ’tis but thy carcass then,
The fairest woman, but thy ghost,
    But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.

O wrangling schools, that search what fire
    Shall burn this world, had none the wit
Unto this knowledge to aspire,
    That this her fever might be it?

And yet she cannot waste by this,
    Nor long bear this torturing wrong,
For much corruption needful is
    To fuel such a fever long.

These burning fits but meteors be,
    Whose matter in thee is soon spent.
Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,
    Are unchangeable firmament.

Yet ’twas of my mind, seizing thee,
    Though it in thee cannot persever.
For I had rather owner be,
Of thee one hour, than all else ever.

I trace your faded prints upon the dirt
around them, mud congeals to form my hurt
failing falling stars confuse my path

I shuffle feet for miles but stay inert
all false the trails refusing to subvert
antipathetic strands to stir my wrath

The trees all flay themselves to spill the secrets
thou swore undying oath to never keepest
lest all worlds align to hide the truth

Pausing, taking breaths beneath the deepest
floors of pits that tenderly would keep us
undestined, lost and wild to know our youth

And seek you out I must, I must, I will,
at universe's end, a galaxy
where we would rest, reborn; become, to be
where every breath relaxes into still

Ever will you walk alone, until
you witness me in my entirety
Come, my unforgotten one, you see
arrival less one is a bitter pill

When insect wings are glistening in the beam
    Of the low sun, and mountain-tops are bright,
  Oh, let me, by the crystal valley-stream,
    Wander amid the mild and mellow light;
And while the wood-thrush pipes his evening lay,
Give me one lonely hour to hymn the setting day.

  Oh, sun! that o'er the western mountains now
    Goest down in glory! ever beautiful
  And blessed is thy radiance, whether thou
    Colourest the eastern heaven and night-mist cool,
Till the bright day-star vanish, or on high
Climbest and streamest thy white splendours from mid-sky.

  Yet, loveliest are thy setting smiles, and fair,
    Fairest of all that earth beholds, the hues
  That live among the clouds, and flush the air,
    Lingering and deepening at the hour of dews.
Then softest gales are breathed, and softest heard
The plaining voice of streams, and pensive note of bird.

  They who here roamed, of yore, the forest wide,
    Felt, by such charm, their simple bosoms won;
  They deemed their quivered warrior, when he died,
    Went to bright isles beneath the setting sun;
Where winds are aye at peace, and skies are fair,
And purple-skirted clouds curtain the crimson air.

  So, with the glories of the dying day,
    Its thousand trembling lights and changing hues,
  The memory of the brave who passed away
    Tenderly mingled;--fitting hour to muse
On such grave theme, and sweet the dream that shed
Brightness and beauty round the destiny of the dead.

  For ages, on the silent forests here,
    Thy beams did fall before the red man came
  To dwell beneath them; in their shade the deer
    Fed, and feared not the arrow's deadly aim.
Nor tree was felled, in all that world of woods,
Save by the ******'s tooth, or winds, or rush of floods.

  Then came the hunter tribes, and thou didst look,
    For ages, on their deeds in the hard chase,
  And well-fought wars; green sod and silver brook
    Took the first stain of blood; before thy face
The warrior generations came and passed,
And glory was laid up for many an age to last.

  Now they are gone, gone as thy setting blaze
    Goes down the west, while night is pressing on,
  And with them the old tale of better days,
    And trophies of remembered power, are gone.
Yon field that gives the harvest, where the plough
Strikes the white bone, is all that tells their story now.

  I stand upon their ashes in thy beam,
    The offspring of another race, I stand,
  Beside a stream they loved, this valley stream;
    And where the night-fire of the quivered band
Showed the gray oak by fits, and war-song rung,
I teach the quiet shades the strains of this new tongue.

  Farewell! but thou shalt come again--thy light
    Must shine on other changes, and behold
  The place of the thronged city still as night--
    States fallen--new empires built upon the old--
But never shalt thou see these realms again
Darkened by boundless groves, and roamed by savage men.

Oh mad hatted,
push cart rolling,
wanderer
wither goest thou?

Are you looking
for cans?
coins?
money to keep
on living?
money to keep on rolling?

I hope you
find your way
or at least
a place to
stay.

You're not alone
mad ***.

Topping a rise comes a knight,
armour soiled and stained;
weary yet elated
riding his black steed.

The Princess in her tower sees
and gives a delighted cry.
She leans out her window
and hails the knight:

"**!Brave knight!
Whence comest thou?
Tell me thou seeketh me
for I wait for thee."

"Truly",answered the knight
"It is for thee I am come
my fair lady
and to take thine hand."

"I've sailed the seven seas,
toiled through forests and mires,
traversed deserts and dunes
looking for thee".

"Oh the joy!"whispered the lady
and cried,"My brave knight,
glad am I to hear thee but
Didst thou slay the dragon?"

Answered the knight,
"My dearest lady,
I have fought the giants,
conquered the orcs
and tamed the lions."

"Oh brave art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the mighty dragon?"

"I have escaped from dungeons,
caverns with unnamed fears.
Scorpions and serpents
I have crushed to the earth."

"Wonderful art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the fearsome dragon?"

"I have ridden the behemoth,
subdued the depths,
searched the clouds and
fiddled with thunderbolts"

"Magnificent art thou
my worthy knight.
But didst thou slay
the red dragon?"

"Lady,you are besot
with the dumb worm!",he said.
"I wonder if she",he thought
"has been crazed in that tower"

Sighing forlornly,
said the princess
"I canst not leave here
till the dragon is dead."

As the knight turned away
to ride back,she asked
"Whither goest thou?
To slay the beast?"

"Nay lady,nay
I go to slay the dunce
who wrote you
into that tower."

"What meanest thou
my dear knight?!
There is another knight
who dabbles in magic?!"

"Nay lady,nay.
He is not a knight.
He uses his quill
to weave his musings."

Cried the princess
"Oh mighty sir,
Oh Weaver with the quill!
Canst  thou hear me?"

"Yes dear lady,"said I,
"What do you desire?
What can I do
that will please you?"

"My dearest Sir!
Oh my bravest hope.
Slay the dragon
and make me thine."

"But my lady
as much as I desire to,
you should know there is
No dragon in the story"

(Silence pervades)

"Oh my dear knight!!"
cried the lady to the rider,
"Slay this goon
and we shall be one."

Uh-oh...Time to put down the pen and run.

The stock market, as we all know,
Can deal a mighty hard blow.
Some would do better
If they could unfetter
A penchant for 'Buy high, sell low.'

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st.
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May Time disgrace, and wretched minutes ****.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure.
    Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
    And her quietus is to render thee.

The dichotomy of the psychology
Of love is the thin line between
I am and I can be.

The taking of the status quo,
Lining it up before the firing line,
And asking Prisoner Heart if
Last wishes they posses,
Wishes wasted to confess?

The prisoner says:

I am the standing status quo,
When I should have been the
The questioner, on the firing line,
asking always, firing this bullet,
Quo Vadim?

"Whither goest thou?"


------------

An admirer of your indecision,
For it is the mark of
The Questioner...

Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for fantasy,
Therefore thou wak'd'st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it.
Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories;
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,
Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

As lightning, or a taper's light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise wak'd me;
Yet I thought thee
(For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight;
But when I saw thou sawest my heart,
And knew'st my thoughts, beyond an angel's art,
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then,
I must confess, it could not choose but be
Profane, to think thee any thing but thee.

Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
Thou art not thou.
That love is weak where fear's as strong as he;
'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,
If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have;
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me;
Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come; then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

Away you go paper plane,
Bring my presence to her.
Wrapt in this missive is pain
In each my mile goest my sane.

Travel safe my love,
Every inside contains pathos.
Health thy wings spread free,
And let winds take you to her with glee.

I do not know your return,
Or would you ever shalt be.
If ever you return a reply,
I'll be here waiting for your paper to fly.

Tarry I shalt, for ye mine dame. Whither thy nature goest; To shalt I followeth by intuition. Onuppan the van Gogh atmosphere, shalt we be interlaced, I canst sense thy trail; A grail of a holy special place. We art not physically as one at the moment, but by mine death and beyond I shalt meeteth thee. Lord, I beseech ye to maketh a way for me and mine lass, to become as one, under the sun; in these time's of slow and fast. All do I giveth to be with her heavenly father; Mine blood, mine sight, mine hearing, mine life. Mine aorta befoldeth her red pulse; I am her lord, tis she is me. As tis I shalt waiteth to toucheth, kisseth,holdeth her whilst she sleepeth. Tarry I shalt; for ye mine Jane, mine soulmate, we art one. One in the same.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication ( Filipino rose)

wither goest he?
traveling, traversing, rehearsing
the good doctor lingers in the doorway out
sometimes forgotton, but always, ever, perpetually
omnipresent
dictations and suggestions, hunches corrupting
helping one last time to cauterize, sterilize
cutting off the umbilical cord to humanity
nothing to slow it down, nothing to hinder, nothing to feel
cilia burned, silly-a me to allow it
is it a neccesary burden. a beast with a broken back
still slogging, blindly, towards an imaginary finish line
hoping there is only darkness there. rest. peace
he misses his shell. the whole world is asbestos
this is his hell. the soothing water sputters the flames to smoke
and miles away, tonto points and deciphers.
"*******" is what it says, soaring eagle
the white man is so trivial
primitive in his circular command center, melting legos to heat his hearth
hiring ****** to eat his heart
a trapper keeper. a pointed rose. a poisoned tip. a mental rip. a freudian slip
this place has no ***.  I mean.. class. class is what i meant.******
surroundings never touch the surface of my skin
and quantum physicists only complicate this perspective.
**** your logic! and **** mine worse..
why must everything be rehearesed? this is a curse.
a verse of a song I sing with a gun to my head

"Intreat me not to leave thee,
or to return from following
after thee: for wither thou goest,
i will go; and where thou lodgest,
i will lodge: thy people shall be
my people, and thy God my God.

Where thou diest, will i die,
and there will i be buried:
the Lord do so to me, and more
also, if ought but death part thee
       and me."

Tantamount to traitorous slime slips through
Unknown to me and most certainly to you,
Augmenting the treachery, bilious and bold
With a heart bent on glee and a conscience onsold.
Wither he goest the admirers do flock
With an indolence bent on quite mindlessness stock
And the weft and the weave of the right and the wrong
dedicate the tonelessness found in the song
Where an emptiness lurks in it's grey woven gown
'Cos the crowd's given up and gone out on the town
And the brainlessness bent in solutions then sought
Means the curtains are closed...and it's all been for nought!

Marshalg
6 July 2017

Alas fair Barns, draped b'twixt gilded gold,
sat on underground for riches untold.
Defense of the Nation'list he began
While scorning folks faces glazed'n'deadpan;
Fair Barns did muster up afearful roar
He'd told it once, Now he'd tell it once more:
Since the dawn of us, in modest abode
Have suffered missed hours, suffered plans unsowed
These pesky tube drivers, hath goest to
The deep pits of Hades, not yonder blue!
The storm he musterd set Aeneas to flight
As river of Tiberius sowed sweet delight.
The sybilline wisdom he did doth bear
Got him kicked off, without said recompence fare.