"janes" poems
There’s a place, where licorice vines have climbed,
Deep in the night, that only children can find;
Where leaves of waxed paper on trees are hung,
And what grows on the branches is sweet to the tongue.
Garlands of butterscotch, chocolate, and mint,
In their bright wrappers, sparkle, and glint;
Bubbling springs of sarsaparilla, through the valley are poured,
Washing sugar beaches with reeds of sour chord.
Swedish fish swim in soda geysers with bliss,
While fizzing pop-rocks spurt, spittle, and hiss.
Sunset clouds of cotton candy sweep past in the sky;
Trees sway in the delicious breeze that smells like apple pie.
Skies will rain down skittles, when there is a storm,
Pelting molasses window panes in a giant swarm;
Sour gummi worms are dug up, free to take,
In the grainy, nutmeg layers of the coffee cake.
Carmel creams, Mary Janes, Black Jacks, and Almond Joys,
Coconutties, Jawbreakers, Carmel Rolos and Long Boys--
All these grow, in lines straight as peppermint sticks,
Planted in brown sugar, on fields of cinnamon toothpicks;
But when the sun lets out its first ray,
The entire land just melts away
And children don’t remember where they’ve been,
That whole night asleep, but they wake with a grin;
And through the whole day, their dreams will entice,
Until they visit again, the Land of Sugar and Spice.
8/9/11
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
The Trinity Hours, I open the fridge,
much like how between us, I created a bridge.
A row of flat Corona beers,
as flat, if not more like conversations when you were here.
I remember as I pick the bread knife
memories of a long departed past life.
I reminisce those shoddy arguments,
how the silver needles were just intoxicants.
Will you be happy now,
If I accepted your I TOLD YOU SOs?
Believe you me, regret is what I came back with
from the Rehab for the sick and addicted.
I lied awake at night,
cursing obscenities galore and cried.
Wishes for a repeated penultimate
hit of sweet ****** did not abate.
Missing both my Mary Janes,
stripped of all but poisoned veins.
I waited for Dr. Smith's prescriptions,
pseudo-trance, my stage for revelations.
Sunken eyes, then too blind to see
now look at silly internet memes.
Remembering how they made me laugh,
while you yelled on the phone you'd had enough.
I wish I had paid heed, when
the poison had been but a seed.
I wish I had lowered my own defense
when everything you said did not make sense.
Seven months and Seven days it took, finally
the doors of the Rehab from its hinges shook.
Let me out back to a shade of my former self,
this change without you is worthless.
Even though I am cured by societal norm,
I pretend to be, yet in my dorm.
Despite being free to roam the world,
this letter is dispatched from my own Rehab, with love.
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 7:48 AM UTC
sunshine seeps through blue dresses
and laughing echoes via open windows
with rays on my shoulders
and caresses on my nose.
splashes of rainwater glisten in the sun
with camisoles and lingerie above.
fulfilling stances of smiles and buoyancy
as i sway in my mary janes.
my snow-white blouse feels loose.
i inhale with ease
as the humidity offers a veil
over my bare shoulders.
the bitter moon has inched over
the prospect; the blue skies
have twisted and crooked to black.
dust lynches off disgusting, damp garments.
the moon hits the violet vests,
and cries are blocked by closed doors.
there is artificial light on my skeleton
and slaps printed across my face.
this deceitful place.
with obscure deceptions on every corner.
this circle of life really is bittersweet.
day is kind and night is not.
when the gangsters come out.
when mommy and daddy aren’t so ecstatic.
when brooklyn is authentic.
and your snow-white blouse feels tight.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
Children, gather round
Your second parent calls
A simple box
Wooden and metal
A face of glass
Adorned with two knobs
Take your seats
And take off your shoes--naughty!
Elbows off the table
Legs crossed, hands clasped
Black and white
Levittown
Like your mary janes and stockings
Your president birthed
And mourned
Mother’s in the kitchen
The window outside your little world
Is black and red but not white
Malcolm X, and all the rest
Standing up for their territory
Little girl, the country’s changing
Pick your daisy
We’re not crazy
The bombs come closer every day
Haven’t you seen Castro
And our fiascos by the bay?
Great Society
Social Security
Aid for the old and poor
Dinner’s ready
Mother’s specialty
Credibility on a plate
Crudely disguised
Plastic, fantastic, and uniform
Yet your mind is so hungry
That you eat it all the same
And give it no thought
The window’s widening
Its light reflected
On that glowing omniscient face
Color! Color!
Bright and vivid
Dancing at your fingertips
Brother’s gone off to Nam
Off with your skirts, your stockings,
Your mary janes,
And that awful ribbon in your hair
Burning dope
The rainbow bathes you
In its splendid glory
The birds in the sky
Like rolling thunder
Hawks tearing at the doves
****** falling to the trees
Agent Orange
Fire, death, destruction
Where’s your meal now?
Johnson stumbled,
Faith has crumbled
And so have the foundations
Of your enclosed walls
Bobby’s groovy--
No--he’s gone
And King’s dream
Escaped with his last breath
White rabbit,
Gentle rabbit
Sing your peace
The country’s ablaze
At home and away
Stand your ground
Chicago, Ohio
Each one’s a battlefield
Time for dessert--
Licking lollipops
LSD
Clear your plates
For a second course
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
(Dedicated to my mother, Juna Marie Nagley- happy mother's day momma!!!)
O' Màthair, Màthair, from whence I birthed.
Best friend, mine Angel, mine guide; Disguised
As a lady at birth; it's from thine womb from
Whence I arrived, this is a thanking thee, to
A flawless seraph, mine Màthair, mine Màthair-
To thee; whom do I compareth?
Anglamotharia, thou hath always met mine need's,
When mine knee was scraped, and when I got sick;
Thou wouldst alway's protecteth me. Eyne blue as
The sea's, hair blonde as the street's thou hath
stemmed from, Anglamotharia-Jehovah's chosen
One, mine host of host's, guardian from the ghost's
Who always tried to hurt thy own son.
Anglamotharia, from whence I am from-
Latha màthair math; angelic one.
(Second part is a mothers day dedication to my mother in law Evangeline sardua- Earl Jane sardua my Queens mother....)
Adlaw Malipayon inahan, dearest mother-in-law, the Apple to Jane's vision, hardworking, gentle-calm. I thankest thee for showing Jane the right way's; the way's of God, the way's of love, O' heaven knoweth thy name.
Adlaw Malipayon inahan, woman who knoweth none time, for thine family is thy priority; thou cookest and cleanest, thy labor hath heavied over time, mayest the Lord bless thee and keep thee, and the Lord make His face shine upon thee. And be gracious to thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee,
And give thee peace. Mayest thine abode be a blessing from Mount malindang-west unto East. Mayest Yeshua guideth thy feet to where dangerous travels cometh and goeth. Mayest the word of God always from thy mouth appear and floweth. Mayest this mother's day, be a remembrance to thee, Evangeline; thy love hath not been forgotten, this is mine gift and thanking to thee.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©mothers day dedication to two special mother's ( Evangeline Sardua, janes mother, and dedication to my mother juna Marie Nagley, ) happy mother's day to both of you and may God shine his face upon you!!! With love Brandon!!
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 1:51 PM UTC
The Circus gongs excite the Throngs in nighttime Never Land –
They swarm to see the destiny of Freaks at their command,
While Acrobats step pitapat above the shifting sands
And Lady Fat sits down to chat and oozes charm unplanned.
The Dwarfs in suits, so small and cute when marching with the Band,
Ask crimson Clowns with frozen frowns, to hold a mutant hand,
While Tamers’ whips with withered tips, throughout the winter land,
Lure Cats entranced through hoops enhanced with flames of fires fanned.
White Elephants in big-top tents boast black-tusk contraband
To regiments of Sycophants who overflow the stands,
But No One sees anomalies, and No One understands.
At night’s demise, the dither dies, the lonesome Crowd disbands,
Down dead-end streets the Horde retreats, their tattered rags in strands,
And Janes and Joes reweave their woes, for thoughts of change are banned.
To play a part in Three-Ring Art, I thought I’d try my hand –
I mastered skills, I felt the thrills, I breathed and seethed firsthand –
But destiny denied to me to taste a lifetime spanned
With tightrope walks and trapeze chalks ... excepting second-hand...
For alcohol provoked a fall, as if a reprimand,
And now, a heap, I sometimes keep the ticket office manned...
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
restless summers swimming in lemonade
my shiny janes and your
mud sloshed loafers
swayed like the gulls of our
crayoned fence of a sky
daisies you would crown me
with rings of weeds i'd wed you
lightning bugs stain my lashes like my
fluorescent tears you brush away
dewdrops on my rose embroidered cheeks
i continue building forts armed with flashlights
with puppets of shade that guard me till morn
again i am locked within my tower feeling your
weight of shining armor as you take my locks as your stairway
but the night fades within you
i let down my hair
but you are not there
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
Are only the tools of the trade
To swinging ***** and easy Janes
Like these now attempting to muffle their shouts
In the purple suburban evening where God knows
Only all the neighbors are striving to listen;
A couple of loveless friends ********
Each other out of breath and full of big plans—
And now I’m sure that we can,
Just listen to her moan!
A man once told me I’ve got to give it to her
To stick a son in there.
I might ask, but there’s no need now to beg
Because we deserve it too much.
Our dry spell is all wet tonight;
Are those the cries of a baby I hear,
Or our bedsprings squeaking?—
It only hurts a little when he gets this excited
But instances are excusable
*** folds in memory
And ****** success caresses forms into forms
I know she will be beautiful
Her beauty will come to her as easily as it passed me by
I am not sad, neither
And the sweat, his sweat drips from his naked chin onto mine—
I tell mom and dad that’s fine,
I want another brother.
They make noises in their room
Which are so loud they keep me awake.
So they decided to make them after dinner,
When I am trying to read.
Sometimes I listen to them very carefully, but
Then I have nightmares of
Them hurting each other.
They are making noises now;
Something not good is happening.
Oct 20, 2010
Oct 20, 2010 at 6:30 AM UTC
I love you. So much it hurts.
But what hurts more
is the screaming
and the yelling
and the insults
I know you love me
so much it hurts
watching me progress from
mary janes to high heels
from face paint to mascara
but one day I'll be gone
and our emotions
need to stop playing
tag
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 10:55 AM UTC
The Twenty-nine Janes
Jane Jane Jane
Jane Jane
Jane Jane
Jane Jane Jane
Jane
Jane
Jane Jane
Jane
Jane Jane Jane
Jane Jane
Jane Jane
Jane Jane
Jane Jane
Jane Jane Jane
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
On a bench in a park I sat alone
to watch the sun go down
and as I watched
the girl with the braided hair
sat next to me
I taught her about life
she lived where shadows roamed free
in a house on a field
with harboured secrets
silently, assuredly,
she mouths out to me
touching my hand
living the life I left behind
the girl with the braided hair
talked with me
I distract her from life
she pranced around in white mary-janes
in a blue gingham dress
with too-mature worry
sweetly, cautiously
she laughs with me
brushing my hair
living a life she wished to live
the girl with the braided hair
watched the sunset with me
creating her own life
where no shadows dared to roam
in a castle by the sea
with fairies, and light
sadly, wishfully,
she rests her head on me
dreaming her life away and I realise
the girl with the braided hair
is me
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
we lay on our backs smoking cigarettes
the summer sky full of stars right above us
and i wanted to kiss her vodka-tainted lips
and trace the curves of her face
of her collarbones
to lie between her hips
and taste her
i reached for her hand
fingertips away from hers
and she held it
and it was enough.
we sat on my bed
her head in my lap
and i braided her hair
her warm laughter spilling out
her budding lips, rolling off
her sweet tongue
and she played with the hem
of my skirt
i wanted to lean down
and press my mouth to hers
and make her mine
i pressed my lips
to her forehead
she beamed
and i thought
it might be enough.
we sat on the swings in the park
the wind played with her hair
her tiny feet in mary janes
scraped the dirt
and her arms wrapped around
the chain of the swing
i wanted to grab her face
to bruise her
to kiss her hard and
angry
to leave her
breathless
i pushed the swing
she squealed and my name
was on her lips
and it was
quite enough.
she cried in my bath
her cheeks mascara stained
her hair sticking to her face
wet
her words slurred
mouth delirious
she shrieked and sobbed
and i held her body
close to mine
pressed my lips
to the top of her head
as she screamed
and it would
never be enough.
we danced in my backyard
barefoot on the grass
her sundress swirled around
her knees
her sunburnt skin hot
and rough and
salty
we drank strawberry daiquiris
she said, "tell me what heartbreak tastes like"
i told her
i loved her
i told her
i wanted to make her mine
i wanted to show her the stars
i wanted
to be enough
i wasn't enough
she kissed my cheek and left
heartbreak tastes like her.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 3:01 AM UTC
I used to have these shoes,
Worn down and eventually to small.
But I adored them,
Danced in them till the joy faded and they could no longer hold me.
Black and new,
I once thought of the places they would take me.
Dreaming of childish possibilities. Never knowing that they could hold happiness.
I wore these shoes when you loved me most,
Growing and never fading from the feelings of those Mary Jane's,
The lace socks so pretentious.
I wore these shoes when the world was pure.
Way back when pretty things fit little girls,
And daughters where meant to love fathers.
I remember them more,
As you fade into the years.
A flash back of what I have thrown away.
Worn Mary Janes,
Still shinny but they fit so tight,
That day you left me behind.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
take off your tank top
shuck off your short shorts
remove your heart-shaped glasses
squint til my mouth is a skyline
and mountains form my teeth
mess up your makeup
clean your cuts, old and new
shrug off your lonely soul my love
put on a smile; dive down to pluck
pearls from my dusty guts
burn your mary janes, baby
peel the covers from your pink
while i dissect yesterdays disguises
i'll be a blank slate; fetch the ink
they're waiting so patiently
just to hear from us ♥
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 11:47 AM UTC
I found myself hugging my closet this morning
I got up, walked over to her, stood in front of her and stuck my hands between some things hanging,
Put my cheek against the cold plastic of the hangers, and it felt right
Now this sounds strange
But something became quite clear to me when I felt like my closet was hugging back
It's not the things you wear, it's how you wear them
My closet loves me because I wear my clothes freely
I never wore them to please anyone else
That's why when he told me he wanted me to wear something else I said, "No."
Because my fashion is a part of me and it has been
Whether I was in the fourth grade, wearing my lily pad skort, pink Mary Janes and a neon green top
Or in college,
Unapologetically sporting my baggy white tee, ripped jeans, Birkenstocks and socks
I will not submit to you
My clothes love me back because I am not afraid
My closet hugs me back because she knows that I will never again let a man tell me
"That's ugly."
My fashion is my power.
Let it ring from every tower, you will not tell me what I can put on this body ever again
My body is my temple, and it was not built on your land so you can
Shove it
-E (c) 2017
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 2:03 PM UTC
Two new ladies walked into the project kitchen for morning tea, one was lithe, petite and attractive, smiling, welcoming, the other, tall and lumpy, plain and withdrawn with eyes averted.
Clearly the planet treated these two women differently. Their different auras could not have been more stark, more reflective of how the brutal game is played universally..
This great eternal injustice meted out to all the plain Janes, everywhere.
I greeted them both, then, recognising the hurt, the galling expression of the expectation of another rejection, reflected in the big girls downcast gaze…. I reached out, made a gentle fuss of her, drew her into the group, gave her warmth and equality…all in a very human, non- demonstrative way ……
And, do you know, I was rewarded, with a miraculous emergence of dancing, alive eyes…. and really, the loveliest smile in the room.
M.
Hamilton,
NEW ZEALAND.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 10:57 PM UTC
The surgeon changed her nose
To a perfect classic form
And people forgot the original
Until her twins were born.
Surgeons can reconstruct your features,
Turn Plain Janes into beauty queens,
But surgery stops mighty short
In fixing those tiny genes.
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC
I saw an ad in the local paper
A reunion for the class of 54
I decided I would attend
I’ve never been to one before
It should be grand and lots of fun
So I rented a tux and black tie
Put new batteries in me hearing aid
Bought a wig and polished me eye
I emptied a bottle of old spice
Did me toupee nice with brylcream
I soaked me teeth in steredent
Then gargled with some Listerine
I soon arrived in splendid form
Smelling my very best
It was held in a hall at an old folks home
A place called the shady rest
It’s the fortieth year and it’s very clear
Every one is out to impress
Even the Janes that was always plain
Wore their most elegant dress
They came round with name tags
But didn’t have one for me
Then suddenly I remembered
I was in the class of 53.
©Hazel
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
in mary-janes and ironed pleats
i learned about the world;
my knuckles bruised from wooden rule
i did what i was told.
"redemption comes in just one form,"
crowed sister mary-grace.
"accept your dear Lord Jesus Christ
and then you will be saved."
we learned of all the stories
and sang out all the creed.
we swallowed what they gave us
without choosing what to eat.
perhaps if we thought before we ate,
we might yet have been saved.
alas the poison has gone down
and sent us to our graves.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
There is a girl who wears velvet
and a white string of pearls.
She loves black Mary Janes
with white ankle socks,
and cherry garcia lips,
that leave those soft stains
on white table napkins.
-
A knowing smile,
a simple smirk,
a drawn out wink,
is all it took
for a black and white lens
to capture this girl
who wears velvet
and cherry garcia lips.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 12:30 AM UTC
Personally I think the photo
That really captures ‘me’
Is the one of a little blonde child
Perhaps two or maybe three
Donning a muddy navy blue dress
And little scuffed up Mary Janes
With the widest most manic grin
Little fingers clenched tightly into fists
As if to say to me
“Let’s tear this **** up!”
Aug 27, 2011
Aug 27, 2011 at 4:56 PM UTC
The world of today is as crazy as hell
Over populating cemeteries and prisons as well
I don’t know, can I go for a day or a minute
Without the possibility of another getting in it
I don’t mean to judge, but the love, I don’t see it
Seems we're keen to get it on, if I'm wrong, then so be it
Now, if you’re reaching this consensus, then the well runs deep
That the world has its issues and the people got beef
The government getting swoll from the toll off the backs
Of the Johns and the Janes, and the Jills and the Jacks
What we earn in return is a zero and a nothing
As the politicians lie, because it’s all about the fronting
Putting on airs for the world and a camera
Need a glass of water, cause their tongues’ got stamina
Smiling real pretty, cool posing in relief
But, the world has its issues and the people got beef
Oops, did he stutter, when he uttered an explicit
Live at five; another political statistic
**** if we do, **** if we don’t; really
Now, enter Uncle Trump; yeah; this is getting silly
He’s rolling out his plan, but see, the Congress ain’t buying
He’s an amateur, a fruitcake, and won’t stop lying
But, it’s not about you and it’s about me
See, the world has its issues and the people got beef
Who the hell are our enemies; and don’t you understand it
That the Russians and the Chinese are rolling up the planet
Kim is just a fat boy, playing in his backyard
ISIS is so over, and Assad is just a ******
Too much time on the swans and the bulls
When we need to get a handle on the weasels and wolves
The terrorist not withstanding, we’re gotta have peace
Cause the world has its issues and the people got beef
The Chinese are smiling and are as friendly as cobras
Ready to attack, when you bend your *** over
Russians are aggressive, but, sly as a fox
Two-faced as a ****** and as ***** as socks
Bottom line, I think its time to put faith to the test
Put diplomacy in a coma, cause it’s time to flex
Raise the bar and push them hard; show we're knocking out teeth
Because the world has its issues and the people have beef
Grab the big stick and leave the Twitter alone
Release the forces, scrap the voices, leave the weaklings at home
The strategies are on point and our forces are primed
Put an end to the posturing and the wasting of time
Time to command, not to pander, Mr Commander-in-Chief
Cause the world has its issues and the people got beef
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
my name is jane ,though i am quite plain , im more than enough, to drive you insane.
my name is john , i hit the **** on stage i dance ,wearing janes thong.
my name is claire , my beuty is rare, but its not enough , john dont care.
my name is jill , and i get a thrill , when jack gooses me , and i roll down the hill .
my name is jack , love jills rack, a lil sqeeze and shell be in the sack !
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 2:01 AM UTC
when you're a little girl
they tell you how
you're so pretty
with your messy little braids
and muddy mary-janes
but they never tell you
you're interesting
or clever
or good-humoured
as if you're useless
to be anything
but pretty
as if the world only loves
those with empty heads
and pretty faces
and that there is no
happiness
to be found
for one
with only
beautiful
thoughts.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 11:47 PM UTC
Back when she had pigtails and mary janes
The nice lady gave her a clean sheet of paper
and told her to write down what her mommy gave her
"She gave me my dimples and sparkly blues eyes,
She gave me my laughter and a smile so wide"
Now that she's got dyed hair and cut off blue jeans
The nice lady took out a clean sheet of paper
and that's when she wrote down what her mommy gave her
"She gave you your flushed face and unsteady hands,
She gave you your panic and anxious demands"
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC