I prayed with light voices, but a burdened heart;
You are not here--that I am supposed to know of.
But still, my mind cannot accept that we are now apart.
I am despaired by my own hands, by my own love;
Your images keep shrouding me--you keep haunting me.
Your portraits shout your name, but none of ‘em is truthful;
They reject my bliss, though they told me I was beautiful.
I keep looking for you in the shades: but all I find is blueness,
And as daylight grows mature, I feel but scarce and clueless;
I am entrapped by my own wishes, and I can no longer write.
Ah, ‘tis over now--I should declare;
I walk home and sleep, and decide I should no more be in love--
Some sheer charms I might better not be.

I was running across the moors, and secretly hoped I would find thee there;
Thee with thy own giggles and mockery and childish wishes;
Thee with a resemblance of moonlit skies on thy face.
Thee with a thousand arches in thy brown eyes;
Eyes that were genuine, hopeful; with spirits that would not die.
And those lithe hands; and thy handful of full lips;
Thou always startled me within thy black jacket,
Yes, that black jacket with gruesome naughty little pockets,
Thou always asked me to chase around the bogs;
While peering naively into the hidden summer spider webs.
Thou woke me up with thy morn noises;
Thou wanted to tell me a tale of castles, friendship, and promises.
Thee with a thousand smiles, hopes, and legitimate fears;
Thee with the sweetness of a moonbeam, thee with one hundred kisses.
Thou wert like a lonesome butterfly at first;
And on a shiny day I but caught thee;
and weaved my colourful love onto thy plain nest.
Thou shined again, and I felt but merited;
As time passed, I grew hungrier for thee--and always delighted;
Thou wert a summer to a pleasant summer itself;
Thou made my heart warm, and my seasons magnified.
Even my lavenders were stupefied by thy cleverness;
They were warm always, to welcome and greet thee at night.
Ah, my darling, my half spirit, my sweet;
Thou owned the second spare of my green light;
Thou wert my frost at conned summers, and mild winters;
Thou wert the white snow I played with--and its evening rainbow!
Ah, and at times--thou wert like a nature among yon shrieking green grass;
I smiled always, as I entrapped thee within my clear glass.

I should twist this story away, and welcome him;
Welcome whoever shines through my love--in reality, and in dreams.
I know I hath to celebrate him behind the furnace;
I shall smile sweetly and charm him by my maiden’s face.
He hath a lovely aura as the unheeded stars;
And his steps are awkward, but stately as the moon’s.
He hath smooth and virile advantages about him;
He hath a weather, but still he hath not thy playful air.
He is serious, thou art more festive and thoughtful;
He is cordial, but I findeth him at times uninnate and insoluble.
Ah, Immortal, he liveth but in a cold bubble away from me;
And so you know, the love of him is but a love of pain;
Sometimes I want to find thy face in his poetry;
Sometimes I want to see again, but your fairness.
Thy heart is, as thou hath figured, widespread within me;
It ambushes me and glides me around like a cheeky star;
But as thou gazed into me,
I found that thy charms were absolute;
I pampered this notion of thee--as I still do;
Thou wert my nymphic and immortal dream;
Thou art my sane and insane ambition;
Thou art my sand, my boats, my sails!
Thou art the sea worth a thousand miles;
And I care not what foul and fuzziness thy soul might carry;
I shall purify thee, I shall endorse thee, I shall welcome thee into my lonely heart!
Ah, Immortal, I am but a spoiled of ruins and wreckage now;
As I woke up t'is very morn, I knew I wouldst not see you tomorrow.
And guess now--how shall I define our once glossy, faint Sofia?
I do not want to pronounce to Sofia, ah, our very dwellings, a goodbye;
I shall never pronounce such; and on t’is I shall care for thy sayings not--
As telling such wouldst indeed be a remarkable lie.
Instead, I should dream again, of being by your side;
I shall be the terrified mermaid--but thee--my gentle merman;
We shall swim across the sea and startle the aquatics by our depth;
And thereon I shall dream of myself cherishing you--and holding you in my arms;
As I pray and bow and submit the rhapsodies of my heart, all day and night.

Ah, but where is Immortal, Immortal, Immortal;
Without whom my heart is bleak; and winters are hard.
Ah, Immortal; by whom rains are pretty, and colours are magnificently saturated;
By whom storms are no more storms, and no more downpours are petty;
By whom lakeside houses are not cold, and slippery rocks are not frightful;
By whom birch trees shall sing, and honey bees shall farm away for hours.
Ah, Immortal, by whom my poetry stays alive, and fed tranquilly by yon earth;
Immortal, by whose lullabies I fall asleep among the midnight’s icy hearth.
Immortal, whom my heart values, and urges me to love;
Immortal, by whose side debris are whole, and ruins picture unity;
Ah, Immortal, by whose singing melodies are songs, and rhythms are but poetry.
Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose words--the entire worlds are but Sofia;
And all merit and grace but belong to the romantic Bulgaria.
Immortal my entire darling; who taught me to see how the moon teases the sun;
And how the latter becomes fainted but mirthful, at t’is very realisation.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal, by whose absence I feel but frightened.
Ah, Immortal, do you think I should hurry--shall I fleet and run?
I shall meet thee again tonight, around the corner by the lake;
Before such an eve grows genuine--causing the day to turn fake.
I should meet thee before everything is but feasted and pierced;
And I shall bringeth thee my midnight poems and soliloquy;
I shall embrace thee by my myths, and relish thee within my solitude.
I shall make thee remain by my side, and keep shady thy burly night;
I shall, perhaps, make thee my mirth itself--I shall keep thee warm, and safe, and bright.
Ah, Immortal, one who was always aired by my fresh recitations;
One who was entrenched in my tales of craze, atrocity, and vanity;
One who cried by me like a selfish child--but at times, became the radiance itself.
Ah, Immortal, one within whose palms the moon is transparent;
And the harmony of night becomes more possible;
Ah, my darling Immortal, who was once infatuated with my nights--and 'twas apparent;
Oh, my darling, my own darling, my very darling--how I hath only words to play with!

Where is but Immortal, Immortal, Immortal,
My jokes cannot sleep, and even my eyes choose to stay awake.
My heart feels absurd, as it is not calmed and soothed by him;
Even as I can sleep no more, I am but unable to edify him in my dreams.
Ah, where is my Immortal--for as I scurry outside, I cannot locate him;
While he is but the golden lock I need to deliberate my heart.
Ah, my husband, who owns but the charms heartbeat cannot describe;
Ah, Immortal, by thy words--thou knoweth, vanished worlds are real to me today.
The rush of your blood still, knowingly, flows within my breath;
You look like that little lad proudly standing by yon bridge faraway.
Immortal, my little sound, my eager song, my profound lilac;
How shall you ever know what you mean to my heart?
To me, you are more than any gold, brown silver, nor white bronze;
You are my tears, my growth, and the height of my winter;
You own the youth and throne my heart hath always longed for.
Ah, Immortal, no matter how hard thou hath defeated--and perhaps, betrayed me;
Thou art still more immortal than a thousand suns outside;
And more mature than t’is benighted winter as it already is.
Ah, Immortal, 'tis hath grown silent again, and I need to greet my lavish worlds;
But for you know--your scent shall remain better than the sun's on its own, and more lively.
Ah, Immortal, and while those winds shriek, and hop, and wail;
‘Tis your voice still, that I but imagine in my *****;
And while their spread and take rule of their wings;
Thou shalt remain by prince, my ruler--the one I choose to be my king.

My heart hath borne thee since I was in her womb;
My mother's chaste womb--and there, just there--
I had but been formed by her sheepish threads.
Ah, and thus I heart her like t’is-but not as much as I heart thee, perhaps;
If I doth dream of her; it meaneth I'd but dream of thee;
And thou knoweth--my dreams of winter shall be but one about thee;
About thee--my vigour, my shadow in my traces, my vengeful spirit.
Ah, Immortal, Immortal, Immortal; my century of blessings, my time
and poetry of such an endless eternity.
Ah, Immortal, in whose heart there was purity;
And in whose love I felt reified, and no such tyranny,
Ah, and t’is loss of thee perhaps means a life of illness;
A time of neglect, but a loss of my valid youth.
I want not to age, for thou art, thyself, young and ageless and immortal;
I want to dwell but only in yon Paradise of thee;
And be fueled solely but thy desire, and not anyone else's.
Ah, Immortal, I want to feel but the flavour of thy skin;
And be engrossed but against thy stomach.
I want to be thy lily, and thy novel rose that shall never wither;
Ah, Immortal, I want to be little again; and thy most awesome lavender.

And thy blame--such as t'is one, shall mean a brawl to my destiny;
And its glam is but my fiery--while insuperable--destruction.
As I promised thee--I shall not be weary, I shall not be sad;
But never shall I love, never shall I be satisfied.
Ah, Immortal, I shall never agree to love again;
I want to keep my love for thee; for whom I shall advocate my youth,
I want never to share my trembling love with anyone else.
As I hath loved thee just now, perhaps I shall love thee forever;
Ah, Immortal, as how it usually is, thou shall be the sailor-
And ever the painter, in our very own colloquial poetry!

Immortal, my grace, my perambulations, my ecstasy;
Immortal, my good, my one, my irrepressible;
I hath fulfilled thy wishes, at least at present, to bear t'is alone;
But for you know, that life without thee is no Paradise;
And even when I am dead, perhaps my soul shall never lie;
I shall wander the earth still--to look for thee, my tears and my lost love;
And insofar as thou remaineth away, I shall too stay on earth; and never ascend above.

The sun's shining as is the rainbow;
Let's farm away where berries shall grow;
I shall put on my wintry winter shawl;
Before we welcome the red nightfall;

I shall meet thee and knock on thy door;
Then we shall dance across the moors;
Lovely hazes and hard yellow bees;
All are waiting for just I and thee;

Immortal wears his brown jacket;
With two long sleeves and one deep pocket;
I'm in my turquoise scarf and dress;
I'll bring my poetry and bird nest;

We shall witness out the chirping birds;
As we roam along the night's pale outskirts;
I'll be blended into his shy charms;
He'll be held safe against my arms;

Our utopia's in the back garden;
By a small road and a white haven;
I like its rustic tiny wild sculpture;
With some epic squares and structures;

None hath ever found this sweet place;
It is mere ours by the foliage;
Built from old oak that once went to waste;
With terrific charms that shall never age;

We shall sit by the streams of the nook;
I'll read him part of my story book;
He shall laze about and close his brown eyes;
While he says that love shall never ever die;

He shall devour his favourite candy;
Which he always has when he is with me;
Then we’ll grab chairs and joke on rooftops;
To watch birds sleep and a rabbit hop.

We shall there eat the finest of cherries;
And grab back home one row of strawberries;
Night shall descend and threat its own dusk;
It shall taunt us by its empowered mask;

And the moon shall just smell like green musk;
One that loving hearts are keen to ask;
But one still plainer than my love's;
One less striking than his jokes and laughs;

And seeing him is my comeliest provision;
Come to me again, and repeat our past visions;
Doth thou recall not, our once righteous dreams;
Which are finer than everything else may seem;

Oh my darling help me feel blessings;
Stay by my side and cheer our own utopia;
Thou, who meaneth to me more than everything;
My river, my lilac, my embroidered sonata;

I would like to age beside you;
By whom every day feels lifelike and new;
By whose side promises shall all be true;
By whose words I shall not feel blue;

I would like to die by your side;
And have you within my last sight;
By whom I shall utter my last breath;
Before I return in one happy death;

By whom I'll replace what was lost;
My cries at morn and cold midnight frost;
By whom I shall write about love and lust;
By whom I'll die and re-turn to dust.

By whom I’ll sail seas and oceans;
By whom I’ll pursue salvation;
To whom I’ll give the whole of my heart;
For whom my passion shall forever last.

By whom I'll breathe and live and die;
By whom I’ll greet nights and daylights;
With whom I'll pray to the One up high;
With whom I'll bow to Him in the sky.

i.

Her affection I needeth
To sustain mine living's;

ii.

Her smile I beseecheth
Which is vital to mine breathing;

iii.

Her laughter is mine medication
The herb to mine being;

iv.

Her blood everafter
Is lifeforce, is life to mine eyesight and seeing;

v.

Her loyalty meaneth the world
O' how perfect she is a woman, the image of a queen, a real girl;

vi.

Her amour' is the path on which I abode
O' mine wife, mine soulmate and life, without thee I wouldst not be whole;


©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley-Filipino rose dedication
©Lonesome poets poetry

I know wot steps not to take caused in me the previous mistakes

I have driven swiftly down memory lane, I have  now misled the old habits of incompetence, incompleteness and intolerance into isolation.

I have now become a thing of substance ready to be filled again but this time around I take responsibility for my choices.

In my head is the lyllaby of SPECIAL FRIEND singing

I oppose the feeling of remorse and hug tight love and self forgiveness.

U HAVE NO IDEA WHAT DIS MEANETH COS U HUNGERETH TO LEAD NOT

I'd rather be
Poor in this world
With mine queen;
Then haveth all the material's
That meaneth nothing,
In a world sinful, and unclean.




©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poets poetry

i.

Last eve', whilst mine Filipino rose
Was falling deep into her slumber;
I started to doze off, into hypnagogic state
I wasn't sleeping, nor was I fully awake.

ii.

In the midst of this hallucinatory reality
I couldst discern a tender mild voice, betwixt this actuality;
The strong yet forward word's spoke as this to me
Brandon, "doth thou want to cometh home to JESUS CHRIST" ?

iii.

As tis the word's JESUS CHRIST were in italic bold font
From the way it was saidst, it was sung as an angel wouldst singeth his name up in heaven; someone, not knowing whom, asked if I wanted to cometh home, was this an angel, or a dream?

iv.

Ive hadst encounter's with demonic being's daily, as tis I've had angelic encounter's as well, wouldst twenty seven be mine last;
As I've thought of this a many whilst's, as tis every musician of mine I've loved died at this age, as two plus seven equal's nine.

v.

Nine, mine favorite number, mine sport's digit always chosen as a boy, nine, the number meaning completion in all religion's;
The figure representing the completion of life's own cycle, as tis so many star's completed their journey at 27, was I being called?

Ivi.

Didst someone asketh me to cometh home? Back where I belong? To the star's? To God's son? Number's alway's meaneth something; in mine bible, in all religion's, in all thing's, as tis angel's speaketh in front of thee or in dream's, was that mine angel? Calling me?

i.

Within the oven
Wherein the thirst is never quenched;
Mine sweet Jane cooleth me
With her word's, and love to me meant.

ii.

I liveth for her the morrow
I liveth for her sunder the eve';
Her everything to me meaneth all thing's
She's the lifeblood, whom I need.

iii.

Mine aching body needeth her
Mine hand's, they needeth her feel;
A birthgiver to mine happiness
Mine gosh, her amour's so real.

iv.

****, beautiful, masterpiece of God
For her mine soul, belongeth to, and throb's;
I'll seeith her soon, in the Asian fogged dawn
I'll seeith mine muse, the pure one of God.

v.

She's all I desire, when the flood's do rain
She's the glory in sadness, in mine pain;
She's whom I liveth, when mine blood leak's
I canst sayeth none more, I'll let mine love speak.




©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/mine Reyna/soul

The day of Pentecost had fully come, as they met in one accord

A sudden sound, a mighty wind, a token of the Lord

Cloven flames, tongues of fire, as thy sprit thus descent

Prepareth the soul for gentle gales, yet convicted to repent



A miracle yet of the mind, upon prophets of old

To preach to nations intelligibly, effects to thus unfold

Perplexed and thus bewildered, as languages be spake

Other tongues of utterance, the faith of Christ awake



A solemn feast brought to a halt, a mighty great concourse

To hear the good news of the Lord, observed with some remorse

To meaneth truth and yet be mocked, to claim they’re full of wine

God chose the weak to confound the wise, as branches of the vine



The day hereby thus prophesied, by Joel of centuries past

The miracles, signs and wonders, fulfillment brought to last

Peter’s message communicated restoreth divine favour

The fruit of Christ resurrection, he ascended our great saviour



Fully clothed with power, his rising yet not disproved

The supernatural phenomena, his word shall not be moved

The same Jesus who was crucified is both our Christ and Lord

As still proclaimed amongst the earth, which we could not afford



Allegiance owed to he who reigns, who sat on David’s throne

The highest honour in heaven, our hope in Christ alone

A sense of awe, an awesome joy, others joined to listen

As the multitudes were saved and to see the Lord’s love glisten


Written by Geraldine Taylor ©