today you held my hand when i walked you to your train
your crooked teeth were concealed by cherry lips
the tea we drank and the nonverbal prose we spoke in
it was indescribable
we made love as I sat on your lap
with legs crossed
skin to skin
torso to torso
we swung in circles until we got dizzy
and then we laughed again
catching your blue eyes surveying my apple-white skin
smiling like a little boy
wearing my clothes as if they were your own
i don't want this feeling to end
because you make me feel wanted

Once I undertook a journey,
upon the very face of our entire world.
To view for myself the many pictures,
and written descriptions in all the geography
books and History Classes, National
Geographic magazines and movies seen.

A Quest to see with my own eyes what
I had only experienced second hand.
In my mid twenties, like a dream,
one foot in front of the other,
I went about exploring.

I sniffed and tasted the scents of foreign lands,
Incense, Sage and Frankincense, fish curry,
fried snake and even monkey brains.
Walked in lush Jungle Bush and Desert sands,
Along the shores of Islands and the coasts
of many lands.

Heard the voices of 30 divergent Dialects
and cultures, smiling and laughing with
the families and children of all of them.
Set beside the fires of primitive tribal men,
heard their chants to their gods above, the
moon, stars and the sun, the ocean, the land.
Clapped my hands and moved my feet in
their ancient mystic dances.
Drank their tea, Kava or whatever they shared
grateful for their offered unselfish brotherhood.

Stood on the flanks of the tallest Mountains
in the world, on my toe tips, to try to see the
face of the God of my youthful teachings,
disappointed when I did not see him, or Her.
Found instead an inner tranquility, imparted
to me by Red robbed Monks from within their
chants of Peace and wise earthly enlightenments.

Strolled the cobbled streets of two thousand year
old Cities. Walked among the ruined remnants of
nearly forgotten once great Civilizations.

Explored Modern European Citadels' of wealth and learning.
Over time rode on planes, ships, buses, backs of open trucks,
Horse pulled carts and human drawn rickshaws, taxis, subways,
rented motorcycles and cars.  Walked perhaps 1000 miles.
In all a journey of the mind and heart lasting three years.

And why you might ask, "What qualifies you as a pilgrim
of any kind, to travel so far, and wide?"
"What was I looking for, what did I hope to find?"  
All indeed, fare questions.

When a boy, I read a simple five word line,
“Seek and thee shall find". Curiosity and
Horizon Lust compelled me.
 
The next obvious question you might
ask is, after all that; “What did you find?”
That answer is very simple,
I found myself.

1. What in the world
         possessed you
to do that!?@#$%^
My god . . . that was so stupid and careless!

#2. Why? . . .
I trusted my intuition.
My heart believed,
emotional logic compelled me.
Fluid, spontaneous from the gut.

#1. You’re crazy.
I would never
put myself at risk like that.

#2. What risk?
Getting harrassed
by the mind police?
They don't own me.

#1. But they punished you.

#2. No, just a little
        desperate flaggelation.

#2. But look at yourself
all boxed up,
stigmatized and branded.

#1. You mean the labels?
Those words they use
to define me?

#2. Yes, you’re a bad person.

#1. No, I’m not.

#2. Yes, you are.

... and they argued til dawn
neither knowing
nature does not declare winners
but admires innovation....

like when Magellan sailed off no edges
when Einstein confounded everyone by sailing in his head
when the Wright Brothers lifted off
when Tesla moved electrons
when Christ embraced the centurions
when Gautama just sat down
when the librarian refused to take Catcher in the Rye off the shelf
when Lenny Bruce swore on stage
when Leary and Alpert left Harvard
when Joan of Arc refused to recant
when Gandhi and friends burned their English wool
when Jung declared a spiritual psyche
when the UFC earned a huge Neilsen

so be your own guru
take kava kava instead of Prozac
barter with your hair stylist
and when someone says
you are wrong
ask them why
there are no dinosaurs
in the Bible.

Feeling real bored
nothing to do
ask you what's up
nothing, and you?

Well, I may hit up a cafe
I've heard its quite nice
they serve the best kava
and tasty drinks on ice

Most excellent I guess
but of what place do you speak
why Bula of course
I'll prob. stay, perhaps all week

So if you find yourself awry
and that there could be more to ya
just come down and party Fiji style
BULA BULA BULA!

"Hola mi amigo"
That is how they greed us
in the states, but
don't blame them, because
we are the Latino's lost twin

Next time
don't let them
judge the book by it's cover
tell them that within the book
it reads:

we are pohnpei
the garden island in the pacific
on the map
we are midnight stars
in broad daylight, but
through the lens of a telescope
one shall be blinded by our beauty

for we are

sweet harmonies of birds singing
before sunrise, and
sweet perfumes of island flora
pouring through your nostrils
we are reflection of sunsets
stretching out into the open sea
glittering, like
diamonds beneath the sunlight
we are children in Christmas
crowding along the roads
clutching onto plastic bags
waiting joyfully for Santa
to ride into town and
rain candies on them
we are dusty old tires
diving and splashing into
muddy pool *** holes
on a paved road
we are coconut milk
leaking through
the valley of ten fingers
wedded in a shape of a ball
and pouring onto breadfruits
we are wooden hulls of canoes
smashing through the waves
like a bull through a red cape
we are grandmothers telling
ancient local tales to her kids
and fathers showing his sons
how to become island men
we are the powerful kava
repeatedly pounded on a flat stone
forming a liquid
brown as a chocolate milk
and when one drinks
the world suddenly becomes
a quiet peaceful place
we are pig meats
heated beneath flaming rocks
covered with banana leaves

we are proud and peaceful
we bow to show respect towards
one another, visitors and their highness
we have five kings
and we are one
our home abounds with mysteries
but we see what is behind the cover
some of us have left
to pursue their curiosities
but we will always be one
and when the rain
falls on a sunny day
we understand that
one of us is at peace

we don't have any museums
but we see our history through
Nan Madol
we don't have any towers
but we see our lands from
towering mountains
and we have seen them
burnt to ashes, but
we survived, and
we never left...

Stuccoed silence
Insects of the night
sing their songs
“Take two”–Kava will calm
your nervous system
Full rinse cycle to repeat
Reset once dampened, dry
when you can breathe
Don’t ponder the we
but stay tuned for me
Belt that energy from your throat
Something got your goat?
I’m only intense when you’re gone
My intent is to keep you drawn
but you’re long gone in my mind
Some words I can’t find
in the right moment
I’ve gathered you know it
A few times you’ve shown it
Each time you’ve blown it
Yet I still can’t disown it
Stars twinkle and planes glide
in the sky–I know you’ve looked
checked The Book
Not sure who’s the bait and hook
Missing you like a bad pop song
“Take two”–Kava to calm
my nervous system
Full cycle rinse to repeat
Buttered with scotch and bittersweet

i

In the astrology set agora
Wherein mine agra doth rest
The backwoods to her cache
Is a peaceful gentle nest.

ii

She's a cad of angelic estancia
I espy her espirit fandango
Her lace strand's floweth wildly
Fantasia of mine melody, extra terrestrial fangled.

iii

Mine Gage I handeth her, to not leaveth her side
An agala we shalt maketh romance, whilst gaiety is in her eyes
A Jardiniere to hold her tears, when Jasper's do cometh around
Jarrah to fill ourn kava diligence, diluvial amare is it's sound.

iv

No blunder head's to separate us
Just Bluebell's blush
To admire mine belle of a lamb
Her bema shalt be raised, when its me who is her man.

v

Ourn belvedere casa, ourn terrace to overlook
This is ourn story, not a tale of fools and crook's
The cover of ourn book, shalt we be entwined
Right inside the pages, of every lonesome lover's mind.


®Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Elsa angelica dedication

Diddly doo, diddly dee, diddly sleepy
From kava tea, diddly will be with
Family.
Diddly do
Diddly did
The tea is warm
Sweet reminisce!

Her megacosm luminaries
Streaketh the Spanish fairy
A kismet of no forget's
All clean
Sanitary
No caution here
Take off thy wordly shoes
Cashin's shalt not be rationed
Jazz and rock and roll blues
Instant sanity
Ground to kava beans
Queens and kings
Hopes and dreams
Splendered
******* Dusk's
To smell her musk
To break her unease
To dry her tears
To wipe her feet
To crown her empress
To shine her in
To get a glimpse of heaven
To forget all mine sins
To create a totality
Made of ourn own cerebration
Catoptric intellectual gifts
A boom of sonic
Mass concentration!!!!

Adrift in the epitome of paradise
Me and my
Man who has lived and experienced
So much life
And given so much
Energy and time
Into the years that keep swirling by.

Curtains cling to the panes of the window
I worry my face ages everyday
Trying to reaffirm, coach through
My moment to moment
We wanted to greet the sun early this morning
My eyes woke me up
Like the sun of the gun
I cut all my hair off
And yet at moments I still feel
Like I'll never be enough.

Pushing positivity and growth
Through the roof of the celeb traitors
That plot to clean their taxes
Ooze their money drip drop
Only at high capacity
That fills their blood
With iron
And a very high end ***.

Red ***
Red ***
I imagine the grittiest scenarios
The thump of a buttercup
Everything covered in me
My blood.

But I wake up breathing
Everyday
Fighting to be happy
To bring in copious amounts of light
And most days I do
If only for fleeting singular moments
Or like the wave of a storm
That I proudly and with gusto
Never drift from.

In the eye of the needle
The eye of the blast
Of air that circles and floods in deep
We make up, eat healthy food
Drank down bowls of kava
But it didn't sit quite right with me
A bitter and lingering taste
Loving me, protecting me
Into what I hope
Lasts as a forever together
Night.

i

Aqua candy saliva, bathe me in scented oil, I'm bestead, living, in the land of the dead; I want to be think of thee, in a gown of flowing luminary, meeteth me, at the red Sea, calmeth me, with thy kava tea, down me in thy mouth, mine lips between thy teeth.

ii

Betrothed we shalt be, before the fine religious brimstone, we'll cuddle before the fire, aloft ourn rooftop grove, and in the stove, the finest roast shalt be flaming, the taste shalt lace in ourn mouth, the lair is secret, yet to us is devout, ourn arms, legs, lock.

iii

Her strands art primal, as mine art wild, thus becoming even closer, one amare, uno child, facts and action's, not words and false promise, verily I telleth  thee, a one way entrance, the path is broad, though narrow's the way, ourn marrow's nicely display.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Feeling a bit un attached,
how can that make sense if I belong
to the universe?

Of a mind to make an adjustment,
in the being… I am.
Matters not my own are immaterial,
at this point.

You are, I am, we be.
Hippy dippy nay ifity - leave me

distributed decision making based on
next to ifity

My family is under redesign, stage one,
agreeing to remerge.

- I suggest we move from consume
- to use, as our approach to life.
Engineer a catch.
Miss a mark, make the modifications on
relationships point to point…

The ideal machine for living, are we
seriously,
pursuing a machine that makes us
aliens?

The dymaxion pod, is not to be that,
it is to be a place of independent
living with the life support
system in thoughts
uninterruptible,

build me a bubble, I may enter or exit
at will, volitionally drudge proofed
allowing
free-at-lasticity.
Warmed and washed with the best
homelessness un tethered
living system

ever
devised in a wit. One. One wit
worth all you own.
All you call mine,
to yourself.

Let go. Witchanow, watchaknow --

No quest for phunishing truth, is
perfectly painless.

Mass education reinforcing
conformation,
failed.
-- at year '68, there is a test, I was warned.
Fifty years later, I learned the art of
saying semper fi, no lie, in reply
to Marines's silly boo-jahs.
-----
I was in the money side of war.
Okeh, confession made.
I was a contractor, I made money from
war, and learned, out of school,
that one mind and a Mac,
can help cut some red
tape… but
----- this is static. Bleeding from a node
we plan to patch as soon as it responds.

I find about five threads of knowns
explored in his own gut-levels,
five, id est, that anchor in
those collegiate years, to
facts noticed in past
trials.
The Try Oomphasis
Encorporating alienated minds,
TOE
toe-aching
tear-offs, flakes
cast into turbulent spinners of yarns,

time toes the line, gravity tows it taught…

rope me a fatted calf, m'boy,
I fancy no old way gamey meat that
makes me cogitate,
as I chew.
-code
I think we have been given mental access.
Hmmmm, hear… amber us being rubbed,
some spark
is near…

Mental ascent, minus the Methodist scorn for
agreeing with the sense good makes in truth,
while literally ignoring the lies that claim
death need be feared,
and evil could win.
All fiction, in fact.

Is the form the right way, or one way?
¿If truth is not the name claimed
by the truth in your self,
you know,
why
is more truth sought,
after ever
knowing you your self know nothing of…?

"my work, said Mr. McLuhan." Google me,
I'll clue you in. There is an access code,
very old.

Please do, thank you. Message:

"I see, you know, said the ever dying ember."

-- wanna go wild? wanna be in the experience?
-- trust the story you tell yourself.

But I am the lie. Oh, no, caught me, I did. True

rest relishes double intentions, and multiple mentions,
trust me.
Behind me lie huge holes we left as witness,
my self and I, objectively not me, but we, the master
and his tool,
we were there…

Smart tool, augmented after thought- fore thought
dynamic motive oompher grunt grinding
reset- new read old read read
new creature. Mentally new. Imaginary immaterial being.

I am aware you are reading, but I am in a time past.

This is the auto de fe, I say, I'd stake my soul,
softened heart and renewed breath,
I survived.

N'there , that last line, I nearly quit the quest.
Happy as I made up my mind to be,
alive
Then I imagined knowing secrets not allowed. Ow,
I can imagine pure sphincter
clenching, gut-wrenching
pain… the idea pun in
punishing finishers of faith, its funny…

if you have been burned, in terms you defined amiss,
as a witch, switch AI to auto-up
date the carbon copy order
effective herbal anxiolytic
ew kava kava cold
amide, bro, we gone too deep to know

Carbon is the culprit, we
messed up.

Nay, Carbon is the key ingredient of renewable resources,
life goes on, we won.

{The burned red-velvet cookies, a story, behind a story}

Mark my words, if this is not fun,
in the finest, childish sense,
reading is not yet ready,
for you.
Your message is in some other means
influencing the course you follow,
through current events to find
the end,
your end, in time, to turn around.
And try again,
leaving each loss alone,
each win a breath of fresh

whatifiery in pursuit of undefined
haps, as happen to exist in happiness,

per may haps

which, you know,
Earthlings, not mere Americans,
pursue, haps  by Truth-told rights,
held in such a we
as we may agree to be
taken as, in a word, a being
named a
verb, perhaps, no now nouns needed,
no things,
save wordless mind. Nope.

I am sure that has been tried.
Mindless oblivion is at best,
an end.
Not ours, readers at this level of com-
comediatedshit durch der
corpus colostrum mis-
thought
big bass drum
done done done

if my left hand knows not what my right is doing,
do I lie to one hand or the other?
Or do I let left be left and right be right in chiral
authority, mind-wise, we are double minded,
you know.
We may disagree with ourselves.
We may make up mental
dis-quashin' groups,
bodies believed in;

Then,
we pause. Whatifry is dis traction, wheels spinning
free, weightless…

shape our ship to be in a primary sol id ity,
shine on harvest moon,
spin
stupid top forty Moonshadow song, messes my
uncombed mind,
where were we?

Phun. If this had not been done in phun,
happiness is in the other direction.

I don’t believe in brothers
And I don’t believe in the brotherhood of man
And I don’t know much about anything
but i know i need a smooth operator
I wish I was a normal guy

that kava had me feeling pretty
And I think I let you in.
It was smart, it was sweet
I try to say goodbye,
And you sweep me off my feet
I try to play it cool
But I crave your lovin on me

It’s centrifugal motion
But your still on my lonely mind
It’s that pivotal moment
And I dream about you all the time

When you Take it on back
And turn on the red light
it’s like a thousand Julys

——————————/———————————

I don’t wish,
I don’t want to wish,
Wishing only wounds the heart.
I’m tired of being played like a violin
Always betting and loosing on love
But When I get, what I really really want, I need ****** healing.

Even when I dream of you,
I try to fly and fall.
The sweetest dream will never do,
Without my wings I feel so small.
I guess I need you baby

And I don’t wanna miss a thing
This kiss this kiss
You’ll be with me in my dreams
This kiss this kiss
tonight it’s you and me

Even when i dream of you
its centrifugal motion
without my wings i feel so small
and i dream about you all the time

i've already transgressed the applicable diacritical
markings, i've already hidden the
slavic "grapheme": sz in š -
    (in english that's a sz with a H - a sheep).
         language has to first become
mandible - "erroneous" -
                    it has to be bribed, it has to be
changed, it has to evolve into something else -
  and that's how it happens -
           matthew, matthias, mateusz, mateuš -
i can hardly claim self-love:
                                           but i adore my name;
i'm actually fascinated with names -
       whoever calls their daughter peaches is
to me: unimaginative.
                         i abide by no school-rubric
strictness of what ought to be diacritically
         acceptable -
             i transcend this base of implication -
and some words from the native tongue -
  kawa (kava) - coffee -
     cukier - sugar -
         mleko - milk
       woda (voda) - water
            wódka (vódka) - ***** -
           when - łen -
            łamanie - wama'nie - the breaking -
   orzech laskowy - hazelnut -
   again the graphemes rz (ż) and ch (H) -
              and that's truly an orthographic
statement.
                    
   scales of a dragon, tooth of a wolf:
witches' mummy; maw, and gulf,
        of the ravined salt-sea shark;
root of hemlock, digged in the dark;
liver of a blaspheming jew;
gall of goat, and slips of yew,
      slivered in the moon's eclipse;
nose of a turk, and tartar's lips;
   finger of a birth-strangled babe,
   ditch delivered by a drab,
                   make the gruel thick and slab:
add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
for the ingredients of our cauldron.

  as ever, macbeth and the three years
in edinburgh bribe my thoughts concerning
the first time atop arthur's seat -
   a city that's also the perfect compass -
overlooking the firth of forth -
     i knew exactly when looking
to the east, when exactly looking to
the north, and west, and south.

      besides the already said -
manhattan boils, and i'm simply bored -
  it's has becoming a boredom expecting
what's to be expected -
                 that's the problem with terror -
it no longer dreams big, the unexpected
has already become the expected -
    terrorism has become normalised -
   when it was al qa qa ida -
  has become no no norman -
     who the hell names their son: norman?!

ah, only 8 dead, that's nothing,
                 i'm just tired of the tirade -
should it, or shouldn't it come along...
              beside "being" defeatist -
             it's just the plain sight boredom of
the said narrative -
                   who will tire first is the only
question i have to ask,
  but never will ask...
       it's simply tiresome to defend the "good"
muslims...
            **** it, throw the whole lot of them
into the same bucket and start shooting
the same fish in a single barrel...
                          some people believe
that authentic plagiarism is an artform per se,
this is true:
  plagiarism isn't easy,
   i wrote one sociology essay by plagiarising
at university, i did it,
   because i wanted to check whether the computer
program in effect could actually detect
a plagiarism... funny... it didn't...
i got a first by carefully utilising a thesaurus...
it could have been a reverse result
                 of kasparov vs. deep blue...
but this isn't a case of plagiarising
   the berlin attack -
              the kaiser wilhelm memorial
    church at breitscheidplatz -
       you become tired of the excuses -
      after a while you are given the opportunity
to finally cut the throbbing membrane mark -
there is and there will be the distinction
we're entrenched in the: us and the them...
      added the fact that i don't agree
on the crux banality of history -
   historiology is nonsense to me -
     the anglophone is over-stretched with what
it "accounts" for as "genuine" history -
      big bag, dinosaurs, cavemen, monkeys...
stretch armstrong or what?!
                           i prefer the much simpler
view of history, namely, that i have already planned
a shortening -
  whereby historiology is replaced by
   etymology...
                         hence the interlude of native
words:
            chrapać - snore -
                   sen - dream -
          śnić - to dream -
                                  kaszel - cough -
and the debate between
        kasłać and kaszłać -
                        or the readied laziness
with a grapheme - agrippa -
              chequers and cappuccino -
grapheme assured - not roman siamese -
                    but nonetheless graphemes...
once more: the fluidity of language -
   one again: not all rules are made to be left
orthographically unbroken,
      ask a silesian about his mongrel
                     germano-pollack tongue -
                                           or the kashubian;
perhaps the rules of the orthodox tongue
rigid and schooled remain in a vault
in warsaw, but outside of warsaw:
                   the tongue is no iron -
            the tongue is clay,
                 and moulded in the image of
    the one wielding it, to his desire:
            lingua est non ferrum -
        lingua est lutum -
                        ludere deus /
                     das zunge ist nicht eisen -
     das zunge ist lehm -
                                           spielen gott.

I took a handful of vitamins
After writing a caption about vitamins.

I hear words and poems
Racing around
In my head
But only so much
Write them down.

Its coffee time
I think of all there is to do
I think of all I've done.
I think of all there is to do.

It all came and went so quickly
Grief lingers
Like the little hum of a train
Can't quite ignore it
I awake early
I think of you in moments
And x out the days
I finally released you.

I suppose its true
I think to myself
And say outloud
As I sweep up fallen coffee grounds
You did ask me
For another chance
And everything in me
Kept me turning the opposite way.

The wall was so colorful
As my Austrian love and I kissed goodbye
I turn my back to look all the time
Because its a cinematic moment
I remember.

I expressed to you
How I often would walk around
And feel within myself
"Roll Credits"
"The credits roll"
Something like that
I remember the look in your eyes
As I expressed that.

It wasn't until
It was all said and done
That I realized it was the opposite
It is not the closing credits
It's the openning
The beginning
The intro.

I wonder how you are
I thank myself in moments
For not being with you anymore
In the house I tried to make my own too
I reference you
Like one would
A lost loved one.

My dog died
Did you hear?
Did you hear?
Did you
Hear.

I wonder what you hear
I know you see me everywhere.
And you and I know
It will continue to be that way.

Did you watch the Golden Globes?
I imagine you shutting your eyes
Unable to understand
Why I had to lock you up in a box
And throw you deep into a sea
I don't know the name of.

I'm about to go to Palm Beach
The memories of me getting sick on Kava
Drinking espresso
And trying to give you everything I had
It all whispers to me
Underneath the seats
Of my invisible audience.

"Your art is your strength. Thank you for letting me be your audience"

You wrote
On a post it
One of the last times
I let you into my bed
I remember how you stared at me that night
And how it annoyed me
Soaking up and eating your mind
As if I was some fairytale
Some fairytale
You couldn't quite master


Or keep.