"makest" poems
Weary and weak,--accept my weariness;
Weary and weak and downcast in my soul,
With hope growing less and less,
And with the goal
Distant and dim,--accept my sore distress.
I thought to reach the goal so long ago,
At outset of the race I dreamed of rest,
Not knowing what now I know
Of breathless haste,
Of long-drawn straining effort across the waste.
One only thing I knew, Thy love of me;
One only thing I know, Thy sacred same
Love of me full and free,
A craving flame
Of selfless love of me which burns in Thee.
How can I think of thee, and yet grow chill;
Of Thee, and yet grow cold and nigh to death?
Re-energize my will,
Rebuild my faith;
I will arise and run, Thou giving me breath.
I will arise, repenting and in pain;
I will arise, and smite upon my breast
And turn to Thee again;
Thou choosest best,
Lead me along the road Thou makest plain.
Lead me a little way, and carry me
A little way, and listen to my sighs,
And store my tears with Thee,
And deign replies
To feeble prayers;--O Lord, I will arise.
15.4k
O Love! thou makest all things even
In earth or heaven;
Finding thy way through prison-bars
Up to the stars;
Or, true to the Almighty plan,
That out of dust created man,
Thou lookest in a grave,--to see
Thine immortality!
5.6k
from
On the Infinite Universe and Worlds
(DE L'INFINITO UNIVERSO ET MONDI)
by GIORDANO BRUNO
1548 – 17 February 1600
burned at the stake in Rome's Campo de' Fiori
THREE SONNETS
Passing alone to those realms
The object erst of thine exalted thought,
I would rise to infinity: then I would compass the skill
Of industries and arts equal to the objects.
There would I be reborn: there on high I would foster for thee
Thy fair offspring, now that at length cruel
Destiny hath run her whole course
Against the enterprise whereby I was wont to withdraw to thee.
Fly not from me, for I yearn for a nobler refuge
That I may rejoice in thee. And I shall have as guide
A god called blind by the unseeing.
May Heaven deliver thee, and every emanation
Of the great Architect be ever gracious unto thee:
But turn thou not to me unless thou art mine.
Escaped from the narrow murky prison
Where for so many years error held me straitly,
Here I leave the chain that bound me
And the shadow of my fiercely malicious foe
Who can force me no longer to the gloomy dusk of night.
For he who hath overcome the great Python
With whose blood he hath dyed the waters of the sea
Hath put to flight the Fury that pursued me.
To thee I turn, I soar, O my sustaining Voice;
I render thanks to thee, my Sun, my divine Light,
For thou hast summoned me from that horrible torture,
Thou hast led me to a goodlier tabernacle;
Thou hast brought healing to my bruised heart.
Thou art my delight and the warmth of my heart;
Thou makest me without fear of Fate or of Death;
Thou breakest the chains and bars
Whence few come forth free.
Seasons, years, months, days and hours --
The children and weapons of Time -- and that Court
Where neither steel nor treasure avail
Have secured me from the fury [of the foe].
Henceforth I spread confident wings to space;
I fear no barrier of crystal or of glass;
I cleave the heavens and soar to the infinite.
And while I rise from my own globe to others
And penetrate ever further through the eternal field,
That which others saw from afar, I leave far behind me
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
"So careful of the type?" but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, "A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go.
"Thou makest thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death:
The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more." And he, shall he,
Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law--
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--
Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?
No more? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music match'd with him.
O life as futile, then, as frail!
O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.
3.5k
Verily this day April fourth, two-thousand and seventeen; there's a boy and girl using razors as allayments, making veins as paintings.
Verily, this day April fourth, two-thousand and seventeen; there's a mother holding her young one in ashes, guts with limb's sketch the war-torn scenes.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a father toils on concrete and soil, breaking sweats for a dollar-
Fifty.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a fiend shoots fire in their blood with syringes, whilst kin makest family arrangements for other's to
Come visit daughter's and sons
In boxes whilst they sleep.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a poet and poetess write, O' how their word's do excite, whilst they
Dieth daily from secret pains unseen.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; a young woman's locked in
a semi trailer, smuggled by men from foreign labors, O' how her life shalt be
In a room with many strangers; she
Seeks to die yet wants to live.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; there's a broken child in
Many ghettos, whilst elite buy wives stilettos, dope dealing is the only survival, just to put some food in malnutritioned
Mouths.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; theirs a soldier in many lands, making wealthy men richer, whilst their bullets fly, they come home with the images they've seen, devastating guilt-messed up heads.
Verily, this day April fourth two-thousand and seventeen; there's God Almighty who's been with each of these people, in their souls he dost seest through, passed their skin, and flesh and bones. He knoweth
Their pains, hurts, he seest their loves,
Loves lost, though none of these people
Once hath stepped into a church. Though
God is not about religion, just for all to
Know his son; who took all of their pains
Two-thousand years ago up on the cross he gave his love. As each of these many spirits from all walks and ways of life, were all just the same, perfectly made and beautiful in God Yahweh's eyes. So his arms wilt always be open to those who hath that feeling of not wanting to live, for he sent his son yeshua hamashiach, (Jesus the Messiah) for God's own son for mankind's salvation didst he give. For poet as thou doth read mine words please do know this one thing, thou art not alone, for dear God Dost love thee, his arms art open for thee to come home to him.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
O Love! thou makest all things even
In earth or heaven;
Finding thy way through prison-bars
Up to the stars;
Or, true to the Almighty plan,
That out of dust created man,
Thou lookest in a grave,--to see
Thine immortality!
2.8k
The fall has been undone
The world is overcome...
Almighty Holy One of Israel
Possessor of the heavens and earth
Your name be great among the nations
Magnified by your Son's perfect work
The fall has been undone
The world is overcome...
All powerful Father creator God
Blessed hope and salvation
Your kingdom come - Your will be done
Unapproachable light eternal
The fall has been undone
The world is overcome...
Alpha and Omega, Beginning and End,
Faithful Rock and Redeemer
Lord, you alone are just and wise
Who can stand against You?
The fall has been undone
The world is overcome...
The fall verily hath happened
Thus there art demon's in
The world; though Christ
Saidst we canst overcometh
By his light and faith assured.
For ourn truth wilt makest
Friend's turn to enemies, and
Enemies to friend's; though it's
Yeshua ha'mashiach, on which
We shalt depend.
So mine dearest friend edward-starr,
With pain's wrapping thy skull; remembereth
Thou art God's child, not just some being of
Mistakes and flaws. We art to be perfected
In Jesus alone, for Christ hath made thee
A mansion, that soon shalt be thy home.
Hath faith Edward, thou art under
The protection of the great "I am";
He sent to thee, Jesus the king, to
Die for thee and every man.
For God saidst,
I am always with thee, wheresoever I mayest be;
Remember whom thou doth worship Edward,
Christ, the son of God, Yeshua ha'mashiach,
Thy Lord and healing king.
©Brandon Nagley and VS duo poem for Eddie starr
©Lonesome poet's poetry
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 8:15 PM UTC
i.
Mashiach, I beseech thee; sculpt and mold this hardened heart, for thy Glory's part; to be shown
Unto men. I quiver as a
Gun's trigger, mine
Cry's do fly to thee;
As mine wailing
Like life, hast
None end.
Blot out these fleshly lusts,
Taketh away these desires; wherein
Hell consumes me to smoke, mine eyes sunk in from stress, mine clothes cigarette sprayed- by the ashes I've tasted, and the sin's I've engaged. God Yahweh, help me remember thy merciful, tender, loving Way's, forgive me today, cleanse my soul and mine veins of all carnal destruction. Without thee lord, mine god; I canst not function.
ii.
Creator, maker of all afore and after,
God of the living; Jehovah of the eternal hereafter. Be a guiding lamp to mine dearest Jane's feet, walk with her, talk with her, for she doubt's at times as me. Makest her believe; showest thy warmth, and give her all she need's; as only thou provideth. Thou art ourn daily bread, let us not slip- but ride the clouds instead. Pity O' pity, hath on us lord; ourn bodies art thy vessel's, inside them the love thou doth store. I prayest this as a sinner, a thief, a liar, I prayest as a law-breaker, a deceiver, a shyster. I prayest as a broken man, in need of thy touch. I prayest for me and Jane, for thy mercy again, almighty; almighty, god of love with none end.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Prophetic poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedicated( prayer as well for you poetic form)
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
From dankest monsters we desire increase,
That thereby Cthulhu's rose might never fly,
But as the ****** should by time travel,
His tender hare might bear(the bear would eat the hare though) his memory:
But thou, contracted ebola to thine own bright laser eyes,
Feed'st thy light's rave with self-substantial diesel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
'So careful of the type?' but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, 'A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go.
'Thou makest thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death:
The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more.' And he, shall he,
Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law--
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek'd against his creed--
Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?
No more? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music match'd with him.
O life as futile, then, as frail!
O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.
1.1k
Life, be not arrogant, though some have called thee
Terrifying and delighting, thou art so; sowing random confusion,
Overthrowing mortals with unequal puzzles of both extremes,
Humans, condemned, to collect travails, improvident provisions,
Live, Life! But only through us, for thy are slave to imprecisions, conflated constant reversible, the free choice of souls' decisions,
Random and inopportune, thy bedeviling choice of hurdles,
Our swelled heads so vulnerable to robbers and roadblocks,
But cannot thou onfess, rare is thy victory, oft thy defeat.
Until we meet thy comrade in arms, our paths irregular coursing,
Of our own choice, so acknowledge thou makest our path to veer,
Impotent prince, 'tis always our hands, arms upon the tiller to steer.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 7:06 PM UTC
If thou be the spear that pierces my soul
Never will ****** seem so sweet.
The softest of places thou wouldst control
If thou enter, and never retreat.
Open the flood-gates to this waiting heart
The bolts to thy power will yield.
Love for thee oils them and no rust will part
Or bar thy way if thou makest a start.
Enter thy sword in this scabbard of mine.
Mine armour bides ready for thee.
Reside in this haven, love as divine
Thou wilt find with no other than me.
Sojourn within this palace my lord, white
Sheets of satin deck this my bed.
Thy lady awaits, so enter tonight.
For by the sweet morrow we shall be wed.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
i.
More than ever
This hour;
Now, mine God
Mine Christ, needeth me.
ii.
More than ever
This time;
I must overcometh Satan
And release the scripture's sign's.
iii.
More than ever
These last day's;
I must telleth other's
Of the world's end, and the hope to makest thou amazed.
iv.
More than ever
Better now, then never;
I shalt bloweth the shofar
Beneath hell, above the star's.
v.
More than ever
This is mine letter;
For thou to awakest
And findeth Christ's salvation, by which thou canst enter.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prohetic poetry
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Hear me when I cry, O God
of my righteousness, thou
hast enlarged me when I was in
distress, have mercy upon me,
and hear my prayer.
2 O ye sons of men, how long
will ye turn my glory into shame?
how long will ye love vanity, and
seek after leasing? Selah.
3 But know that the Lord hath
set apart him that is godly for
himself: the Lord will hear when I
call unto him.
4 Stand in awe, and sin not:
commune with your own heart
upon your bed, and be still. Selah.
5 Offer the sacrifices of
righteousness and put your trust in
the Lord.
6 There be many that say, Who
will shew us any good? Lord, lift
thou up the light of thy
countenance upon us.
7 Thou hast put gladness in
my heart, more than in the time
that their corn and wine
increased.
8 I will both lay me down in
peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord,
only makest me dwell in safety.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC
Not even Juliet,
Nor even Elizabeth Bennet,
Could makest this heart sin.
It is only you,
And only you makest
This heart see one.
One that could destruct
One that could build
Only one that could summarize
All emotions to one.
Because you,
You my darling!
Is my painting Liza
Of the masterpiece,
My Joan of Arc,
In the field of battle.
And the Cleopatra
Of this heart like pyramid.
So it is shall by intent,
That my heart is at best yours.
Promised that,
Not even storm,
Not even plague,
Not even starvation
Nor death,
Could separate my life with yours.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
Come close my dear son
Listen to what wisdom says
People may hear your words
But they feel your attitude
For action speaks
Louder than the highest voice
Words are empty drums
That makest a stormy noise
But contain nothing in itself
Even if your words are rotten eggs
But your attitudes is well furnished
People will surround you
They will kiss you from sweetest lips
They will place your position
Above the majesty and governors
You will be an apple
That ****** their eyes
So,my son,do not oil your words
To earn honour and praise
Do not mask yourself
by your sweetest lips
Everyone knew that words can't represent the heart
She only speaks for one's interest
But attitude is the mouth of the heart
Therefore my son,be wise
Follow what wisdom advised
Do what makes you happy
To your fellow being
mind your behaviours and deeds
For people may hear your words,
But they feel you attitude.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
Depression you have Become My Obsession©
Depression you have become my obsession of every waking moment
and oft while I sleep which is never too deep
You threw my marriage under thy carriage
and the carnage dost continue to this day I dare say.
Cloudy days bring you hither to my door and with them
mayhem that underscore how I dread thee all the more
You have taken me to thy brink such that I can no longer think
clear thoughts to lead the way to that better day
Taking pills is no thrill and makes my head fill with shrill
to avoid those awful thoughts that may end up to mine own ****
At my own hands no less, what a royal mess
is there anyone can who can bless me of this abscess
So I cower in the dark and harken back to the good ole days
when then things were cheery with my dear near
Those times when a hug and a squeeze be the cure
and sweet Louise that was for sure
Now, I must be patient or my physicians will makest me a patient be
and sit idly by as they apply their best effort...
To make me whole again
Andreas Simic©
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 7:08 AM UTC
Oh, happiness, your love is pure!
Thou makest the weary joyful again,
Your beauty is truth and truth is life
A sweet symphony of life's fair bliss,
Couching upon our numbered struggles,
Emitting hope of triumph in battles;
Where canst thou bridge and not be felt?
Of men and babies, who can resist you?
Desolation quivers, and swiftly fades,
As doth a man who runs from fire.
A priceless gift yet hard to come by,
Such as who find you, find relieve:
Of feeble men you restore their strength,
Of laden women you lighten their burden,
For a better morn, why not for good?
Thy song is sung in honour of life
A beautiful rhythm to suit all seasons,
For ever winning, for ever leading,
Like legends of old in unique array
Where with we're clothed in flawless beauty.
What a rare treasure, What a divine package?
We've heard melodies but yours is sweeter:
Sweeter than candies, sweeter than honey,
And all that you are, a fair virtue!
A standing citadel in our sorrowful land,
Where we bury our grief, and fetch joy
As a weapon of war against our troubles,
Singing along in a merrier tone
And finding meaning, in brewed passion;
The meaning you add to our brief lives.
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 5:06 PM UTC
Dear poetry
Listen clearly
Over the years
I shed tears
When you discouraged me,
yelled at me,
disowned me,
overlooked me,
insulted me
pushed me,
beat me,
cursed me,
used me,
abused me
vexed me,
addressed me,
**** naked me,
broke up with me
blamed me
Dizzed me
shamed me
and dumped me.
In spite of all this, I stayed
and obeyed
resisted
appealed
begged
agreed
put in work
read
learned
researched
wrote
spellchecked.
Dear poetry
Oh thou makest me happy
My one and only true love
Sent from the man above
I surely know you're mine
The signs are there this time
If the truth can't be spoken
This bond won't be broken,
I have never felt this kinda love
Maybe it comes from above
I feel so very safe with you
Anytime I can call you my boo
From you, I'll never ever escape
Not even in a Superman's cape
Each and every night I stay up late
For words, inspiration and for your sake.
Dear poetry
Listen clearly
This love is like a poison
And for some odd reason
It took me the first moment
And caused me pains and torment
I didn't think we could go this far
I'm now becoming a star
Though I'm not yet famous
My likes and views are numerous
And to say the least.
I'm now a poetic beast!
Dear Poetry
Tonight You look so pretty
Can you stay with me tonight?
I promise to treat you right
On ice is a cool bottle of wine
We can both drink and feel fine
And afterward, we can just curdle
And watch the stars twinkle
And gaze into the constellation
From where I get the inspiration
I will process into spoken words
Words sharper than a Sumarai's swords
With it, I'll win accolades and a price
And a voice in this poetic race.
You 've made me feel so proud
Therefore I'will hail your name aloud
Serenading you among many
At the award and honoring ceremony.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 12:15 PM UTC