"growers" poems
i.
Brandon and Jane
One heart pumping their blood;
Soulmates, eternal love.
ii.
Brandon and Jane
Names written on alleyway wall's;
Undiscovered by man,
Treasure's of God.
iii.
Brandon and Jane
Revealed for all to seeith;
Manifested to the naked eye
To her I seek to pleaseth.
iv.
Brandon and Jane
Together interconnected glow;
Ourn flower garden is planted
We art the growers of touching soul's.
v.
Brandon and Jane
Mine flesh is her flesh, as tis her's is mine.
Mine pain is her pain, as tis her's is mine.
Mine name is her name
Filipino divine.
A kingdom with an empress
Jane sardua, lady of time.
vi.
Brandon and Jane
Coalesced in sacrosanct lullaby's;
As newborn infant's, and before the age
Of man we were to find. To find one another
In a moment's blinking eye, I kneweth her, tis
She kneweth me, I searched the beaches and thus
The sea's, as I landed in Clarin, Philippines;
vii.
Brandon and Jane
Forever to be,
Resplendent
Symphony's
Of soulmate
Seeds. Together
Forever
scintilla
Serene.
©Brandon Cory Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication ( Filipino rose) poetry
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
Walking in bare feet a midst in orchards
A many trees make up these flourishing orchards
Many people harvest from these trees.
Even the growers exchange in the orchards.
I have in youth taken from their branches.
Walking in bare feet a midst in orchards
A many trees make up these flourishing orchards
Many people harvest from these trees.
Even the growers exchange in the orchards.
I have in youth taken from their branches.
But where and what shall I grow in these orchards?
What trees may I sprout that others may harvest
as they walk a midst in orchards?
What will God reap from me
when he enters the gates of the orchards?
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
a commune back home not hippie
buy 300, no 500 acres great land
in Codroy or misty high hilled Avalon
built great big house wraparound porch
beset by rocking chair by the sea yet
in the woods at end of road all brown dirt
growing gardens, herb and vegetable
pulling weeds but keeping good green ****
brewing beer by own hand
group work but not always group think
friends lovers writers growers givers
all come to stay
making great pots of stew and strange brews
awakening brought far from Peruvian Torch homeland
telling stories all somehow great fables and anecdotes for life and living and love and everything that's good in the long run
at night over bottles on beaches by fires
we worry these are funeral pyres
for our great little social experiment
fear of leaving loving womb
of isolated salt fish by sea commune
real world so crass&brash; an unctuous affair
where here instead guitars, ukes
silly screaming little buddhas recite poems
by gleaming eye fireside
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
Small town sounds
Unlocked doors
Not that many cars.
Main Street grocery store
Nickel candy bars.
Church Street,
“Sunday shoes”,
Parents stood outside and smoked,
Kids caught with cigarettes
Would have allowances revoked.
Corn Growers
Push mowers
Friday football games.
Everybody, Everywhere,
Knew everybody’s name.
Summer shouts
Paper routes
Cub Scouts once a week
Boys and girls in sixth grade
Dancing cheek to cheek.
No shirts
Blue jeans
Walking through the beans
Witches, ghosts and scary things
Every Halloween
Greased pigs
Little League
Swimming lessons in the lake
Talking back to teachers
Was a BIG mistake!
Teachers had hard paddles that
They were not afraid to use
Parents told them,
“Go ahead.”
And they did not refuse.
Bicycles everywhere
Pocket knives
Truth or Dare
Water balloons,
Kids Cartoons
Fishing in the creek
Not it
Gravel pit
Games of Hide and Seek
Bible School
Golden Rule
Jesus Loved Me This I Know
Several generations
Watching children grow.
Laying on a blanket
Watching shooting stars
Teachers went two towns away
When they went to bars.
Home grown tomatoes
Juicy burgers nice and thick
Eating home-made ice cream
Until all of us were sick.
Nine o’clock bedtimes
The nights were very still
I still hear the small town sounds
I guess I always will.
PwL 5/5/15
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Step 1: Legalize all drugs and treat their possession as a public health issue, as is practiced in Portugal
Step 2: Get all nonviolent drug offenders out of prison and (A) into treatment when dealing with harder drugs like meth/coke/heroin (B) get the *** growers some jobs doing what they're good at, and watch as the extra tax revenues progressively revitalize both local and national economies. (1)
Step 3: Fill the new vacancies in the nation's prison system with the entire US government and the top 1% of income earners as punishment for their hubristic crimes against nature and humanity.
Step 4: Forgive all debts and redistribute all of the assets of the aforementioned parties among the entire population, but especially the impoverished classes, to create socioeconomic balance.
Step 5: Decentralize the economy and rebuild it along the lines of federated, autonomous municipalities, based on common ownership of economic resources, free education and healthcare, and participatory democracy. Once this is done, we can let the former government and 1% out of prison. (2)
Brought To You By: Homunculus For President (but not for very long, because being an authority figure would sort of contradict the entire essence of the society I just described) 2016
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 3:48 AM UTC
it is small and has
a coat of fur
on this fact we'll
all concur
a dozen or more
were kept at the lab facility
where a researcher was
testing their reasoning capability
these animals are prolific
breeders
they're extra-ordinary
off spring seeders
they can be problematic
to growers of grain
many years ago there was
an infestation on the western plain
if you see them running
around your house
you'll say unto yourself
them critters ain't grouse
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 7:05 PM UTC
Stagecoach trundled, rutting, wheels
Soily grasp, grabbing at the earthy recipe
Cart....horsing around the outdoorsiness
Ferris wheel spun, gathering passengers
To overlook the show ground, smattered
Four legged races, saddled with encumbents
Bobbing in display formation. Far above
I caught sight of circular ribbons emblazoned
Lapels holding onto prize winners, suffering
The pin ***** jabbing at willing winners
Left foot first, hopscotch to the flap of tarpaulin
Billowing their precious overgrown greatness
Of perfect vegetalia, proud, excessive....of the
Dinner plate variety. Don't touch their polished
Surface, they deliberately await photographic
Validation; future growers, challenging champion
Chompers, terrorising super-veggie heros
I wonder what becomes of former ground growers
Do they take a back stage bow? Uprooted with
Those of a lesser kind, jostling for saucepan space
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:11 PM UTC
I let my words drip onto a keyboard, since I don't cry anymore.
I am shocked that we never have time to talk, saving breath for breathing.
I cut down trees to reveal the forest.
And at my poorest, I never blamed you for being true to the version of you, you felt most comfortable in.
A second skin, for skin walkers.
I've had more and less,
in less space than one can have with the bitter tastes of phrases caught in the back of the throat.
What we wrote on pine trees scars me,
taking far too long to heal over.
But I grow as growers do. And so do you.
Aug 14, 2011
Aug 14, 2011 at 1:58 AM UTC
In this farmhand garden
I spray out words
To be avocados.
Tomatoes. Anything green
Red or yellow. A gaming
Meadow with me as its
Lyrical rancher. I pick out the bad
Roots to be made into weird clothing
And picnic lanterns.
Because you can't have a good picnic
Without the freshness of the growers
Garden..
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 9:45 AM UTC
I am the borrowed time giver
I wait by the edges of beds
I prop up the corners and smooth out the wrinkles
I'm also the turner of heads
I am the lone sea breaker
My whisper it shepherds your dreams
You have awoken on a
Distant shore, it seems
I am the voice of antiquity
Tethered to leaves on the wind
I am the cloth that covers you
When you have sinned
I am the borrowed time lender
Your hope, it rides on my wings
I am the broken mind mender
All I can do is offer you these things
Mine is the touch of changes
Though none of them I can claim
I sweep up the mirror pieces
That reflect your shame
I am the blind leading the blind
I have no secret gift
The truth is what you'll find
When the veil you needn't lift
We are the worm food growers
The crawlers, they rule from below
They eat up the dead and squeeze out the living
And time marches on just so
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
a rumor is circulating in gardening circles
on the continent of England
the said rumor has traveled along a long vine
to the down under land
we the vegetable growers of Brisbane
are very disturbed about what we've heard
to us the rumor sounds rather absurd
we've taken it upon ourselves
to send a letter to the British Garden Society
asking them if the rumor has any propriety
sometimes a story
can be misrepresented
especially when the details of it
aren't correctly presented
we're seeking clarification
from those who have the right oil
as to whether the rumor
has any truth in the soil
this is the rumor that has been doing the rounds
and it relates to the High Grove grounds
a Yorkshire man who was sight seeing there
has said that he saw Charles the regal heir
talking to the garden slugs and snails
whilst walking amid the lettuce and kale
we know that his highness loves chatting to the trees
and he's often spoken to the earthworms and bees
we're totally confounded to hear of him
talking to garden pests
and we're hoping of this behavior
the Prince will soon divest
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
Bit of a scruffy scoundrel sometimes isn't it
around ones face like a lions mane it will sit,
Varied lengths shapes and colours
the growers are all like brothers.
It's not just ****** hair
some dont just stop and stare,
others want to touch the beard
maybe reading this you think that's weird.
Taking pride of place upon ones face
designer stubble there's not a trace,
like giving your pet a comb and groom
to some a shave would spell doom.
Though this may sound perverse
to touch it would be no curse,
pogonophiliacs want to give it a stroke
to others they sound like crazy folk.
Cooks we may not all be it's true
we love our women like our beards too,
adding in a little oil and sometimes butter
served to make their hearts flutter.
( C ) Grant Dickson 04/10/2018
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
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Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
a rumor is circulating in gardening circles
on the continent of England
the said rumor has traveled along a long vine
to the down under land
we the vegetable growers of Brisbane
are very disturbed by what we've heard
to us the rumor sounds rather absurd
we've taken it upon ourselves
to send a letter to the British Garden Society
asking them if the rumor has any propriety
sometimes a story
can be misrepresented
especially when the details of it
aren't correctly presented
we're seeking clarification
from those who have the right oil
as to whether the rumor
has any truth in the soil
this is the rumor that is doing the rounds
and it relates to the High Grove grounds
a Yorkshire man who was sight seeing there
has said that he saw Charles the regal heir
talking to the garden slugs and snails
whilst walking amid the lettuce and kale
we know that his highness loves chatting to the trees
and has often spoken to the earthworms and bees
we're totally dumbfounded to hear
of him talking to garden pests
and we're hoping of this behavior
the Prince will soon divest
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 6:50 AM UTC
Come enter the darkness
Come witness a monster, a man
Of features of a rare creature
With a clear path for a seeker
With a life of a greeter. Stay warm in this cold world with heater
Away from the gangsters and strippers.
Join the growers and hipsters.
Free like in the Castro and Mission.
Always in the corner, being a loner, getting high like a stoner,
being awake unlike an employee and being free.
Don't you see the system of delusion where they draw the conclusion but it's time take back the power and find a resolution
And lead to a revolution
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
endless miles of dark pavement
hours of white knuckle horror
illegally transporting pounds
processed into oil
curing her cancer –
new age family doctor
with a medical card and an interest in chemistry
distilling Everclear creating hope
1 gram a day
rear-view mirror road-rage
only wishing to be safely home
14 hours to go with a life on the line
watching a plant heal all that ails –
networking growers into family practitioners
dropping the bottom out of Big Pharma
one human being at a time
freely functioning as philanthropists
looking only to see families restored
Robin Hood as a pothead –
nothing could be simpler
than curing cancer
just grind up ****
pour 191 proof over the top
strain and keep the liquid
low heat cook it down
until only oil is left
5 drops of water
and a coffee warmer
decarbonization
then eat it
a grain of rice at first
then increase
to a gram a day
60 grams in 90 days
just try to die –
watching her gain weight and coherence in front of my eyes
seeing it again
knowing the truth
living in a lie
saving lives as I cross them
modern day travelling physician
carded
but unlicensed –
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
Come enter the darkness
Come witness a monster, a man
Of features of a rare creature
With a clear path for a seeker
With a life of a greeter. Stay warm in this cold world with heater
Away from the gangsters and strippers. Join the growers and hipsters. Free like in the Castro and Mission. Always in the corner, being a loner, getting high like a stoner, being awake unlike an employee and being free.
Don't you see the system of delusion where they draw the conclusion but it's time take back the power and find a resolution
And lead to a revolution
Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
To the reader scroll down to skip: I have been posting from this account since 2012, I think. It is possible that I may delete all of this in the next couple days. I have no static readers, so it won't matter much, and this is not an emotional gofundme with words to stay here. This is just an explanation of choices before me. This is the last place on the earth that I exist. If this goes away, I'm sorry, and I thank you for all the time you spent reading me. Good luck to you all in either direction the wind blows us.
A lot of stuff has been moving for me
People fading and being swept out of my life
Tectonic plates beneath me are sliding apart
Vibrations shakes my bones, then rattle my organs
Tie up as many loose ends as I can
What else can I use to hold to steady
Do I let the maelstrom of inner fire consume me
Do I let clench the earth to keep things together
Do I release my carbonic form into ash to float elsewhere
Do I slide into the depths of the sea with new shackles
Unfortunately coins only have two sides
And I have only one life
That is possibly too few or more than I deserve
Depends on who you ask
All the people I have came across
The wanderers, travelers, lovers, highway men
Minstrels, talking shadows, the shackled, growers of moss
All of them and others that need mentioning
They have no say or choice
I am starting to wander if I do
The scale will tip in one elements favour
Whatever it is, it will be greeted by my coin flip
Rot with dignity or embrace life's next trip
Best part of the result
I am the only one who can read what gravity puts in my hand
Jul 15, 2016
Jul 15, 2016 at 4:42 AM UTC
the sky in california is a different shade of blue
the sort that whispers in your ear
and tells you to rest
the sort of sky that beckons you
to sleep
the marijuana breeze a blanket over your body
the sky speaks to us all
to the crack addled maniac wailing in the riverbed
to the almond growers laughing in the fields
to the housewives caking their faces to cover bruises left by their lovers
to the ******* kids speeding on the freeways
in early autumn when the heat makes children cry
and the forests fall to fire and wind
the sky tells you to close your eyes
and wait
in winter when the sky is more gray than blue
and the ocean thrashes with wild anxiety
the sky tells you to wait
and in the spring when the rains finally come
and the hills burst with green
the sky tells you to wait
but in the summer when the sun never goes down
and the roller rink never closes
the sky sings to you
and tells you to wake up
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 5:06 PM UTC
Looking out across the farm, I am disarmed…
not generally an alarmist,
I am charmed by the sheer magnitude;
Grow two-thousand fifteen stands emerald green in the evening sun
As all 87 girls stretching up and out
as per the scrogg instructions,
some super cropping and a little topping
has forced the crop to the top tier of excellence
in defiance they rely on us, the growers
or tenders of the medicine
but moreover, the sunshine and proper nutrition…
much like a child that needs to be kept safe
and fed healthy,
these babies also crave love and compassion
and, after a fashion, they bequeath these gifts back onto us
in the form of perfect female flowers
flowing freely with the sap
containing chemistry capable of curing cancer
ending seizures
and generally improving the overall quality of life
for the non-abuser.
“Come to Oregon!” I say
as this is the place to be
to freely see what can be
when a few likeminded individuals
join forces and redefine the land
and what it means to be a farmer
and crop tender. –
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
Coffee bean
Live a caffeine life style
Feel a bit flat white
Drinking up your Java
Nothing going right
Off you go to marshals
Coffee quick to go
Can’t stop now for friendship
Got to work you know
Get into the office
Sitting at your place
Don’t you get your lifestyle?
Caffeinate rat race
Always in a hurry
What’s the hurry for
Got to earn a living
Got to get some more
Growers don’t plant poppies
Theirs nothing left to glean
Just dig up the garden
And plant some coffee bean
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 5:23 AM UTC