"meteoric" poems
impale olympic skies! their pacific
avarice, turbulence, mai-tai-dyed
oxycontin contradictions pull out
deep convictions to rift meteoric
and fall apart.
happiness apart.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
*stellar direction in undulating terrain
punctuated by meteoric columns of infinite light
imparting a clutching embrace to the face of now
lunar reflections form a fluid nocturnal path
to an osculated gateway of fertile encompassment
culminating in breathless pillows of untabled silence
stars without fault grace the expressive heavens
while muted words gaze out through rooftop eyes
cascading over living stone in waterfalls of emotional geodes*
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
(Earl Jane Nagley)
i.
My sweetest king,
I am here waiting for you,
I clasp on to our love.
ii.
All my life I’ve been searching for you,
Now I have you in my arms,
I’ll never let you go.
iii.
Don’t be weary my love,
Let my love kiss your fears away,
My warmth as assurance I’ll stay.
iv.
My eyes wander in the skies,
As my heart shouts your name,
I’ll wait, I knew we’ll meet.
v.
Oh my darling,
No matter how long it will take,
I’ll take all risk, just to be with you.
vi.
So soon my soulmate,
Our patience in love will be rewarded,
We’ll be together, forever.
vii.
When we’ll meet,
I’ll enclose you tight,
Nothing will ever take us apart.
(Brandon Nagley)
viii.
Mine saccharine select
I'm here mine pet;
I grasp thy breath.
ix.
All mine day's
I've groaned in pains;
Now thou art mine, a meteoric grace.
x.
Now thou art here
Mine eye's hath dried, I'm over mine tear's;
For comfort hast given me a home in thee.
xi.
O' love, lover, queen
O' verily we shalt, we shalt meet;
Whilst conquering the demonic beast's, with armour divinity.
xii.
If it takes a thousand light year's
Please knoweth mine soul, mine spirit is near;
As tis eternity I wilt be with thou.
xiii.
On the many moon's, in a kingdom high room,
Where there's no need for a tomb, nor the news, no deathly hellion there, Mocker's nor baboon's; just ourn swoon.
xiv.
We shalt meeteth
O' we shalt meeteth;
And when we do, may the heaven's open and the ark showeth it's gold, mine queen Jane, mine soul.
©Brandon Nagley \Earl Jane Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry \Hari-Reyna incorporated
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
Meteoric Buick
Slick *****
Frantic frenetic
Majestic kick
Chick shtick
Shashlik
Nicotinic stick
Lick flick
Hermeneutic heretic
Magnetic rhetoric
Hick logic
Strategic
Plastic music
Tick click
Bucolic Bardic
Peptic druidic
Rustic emetic
Sceptic
Polymeric quirk
Sick trick
Turmeric trimeric
Septic *****
Wick crick
Derrick
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 12:27 AM UTC
Obama jetted
back to Africa
soaring aloft on
gulf stream swank
a posse of
oil company execs
in tow, intent on liberating
Dark Continent
fossil fuels from unjust
underground prisons
American
entrepreneurs
angling to get the
upper hand in the
high stakes global
resource poker game
pulled a big time race card
to trump China’s
full house
On Goree Island,
political paparazzi
popped and clicked
a perfect image
of the neocolonial
white clad President
framed in a doorway filled
with dark shadows and
heinous memory of the
unspeakable horrors
of global trade
leering from
the portal at the
Gate of No Return
Obama welled with
meditative epiphanies
of personal seachange,
and the vicissitudes of life,
pondering his meteoric rise
from a Land of Lincoln
State Senator to
American President
in the span of
one golden
9/11 decade
At a
South African University
Town Hall Summit,
the fist bumpin,
mike droppin Prez
telepromted the
star struck folks with
solemn universal civil rights
pronouncements,
wrapped in the riddle of
the pursuit of peace,
hidden in the enigma of
the reverence for
human dignity
Later in the day
Mr. Obama sat at the
feet of a comatose Mandela;
whispering into his ear
why an Afghan peace
eludes him, why his
drone strikes rain
death upon innocents
and why his democratic
republic defiles
the civil liberties of its
citizens to ransom
a daily diet of fear
But Madiba does not hear
Mr. Obama’s feverish
confessions; his
ears are closed,
he dreams only
of the paradise of
liberation he earned
for his life's hard wages
Music Selection:
Gil Scott Heron
Western Sunrise
Oakland
070213
jbm
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 11:14 AM UTC
While tufts of gloom engulfing the sky,
With no space and time between
Us, you and I,
soak ourselves in the stationary delight.
Like a hypersensitive scheme,
Yet an irreconcilable vibe,
You smoke, and I sigh.
While others argue to be or not to be,
You and I, standing in front of Robert Frost’s fork
—to smoke or sigh
Without hesitation,
You choose to hold a cigar in hand,
I choose to release an unknown in mind,
And sigh.
We then, ask each other why
You say, if you ever woke up in evisceration,
You would quit smoking
I say, if I ever woke up in nonentity,
I would stop sighing
Basking in the glow of flickers,
Inhaling the essence of meteoric laughters,
We look into each other’s assuring eyes
—I respect your choice,
as much as you respect mine.
Palpably, we’ve educed a compromise
It’s neither you smoke, nor I sigh.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:11 AM UTC
If you look at everything a little sideways
You would be amazed at the intricate connections between everything in this life.
Everything is poetry, just as poetry is everything.
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 7:12 PM UTC
The embers blushed before the caressing eyes
of my new lover reaching out to snuggle against
the flickering light of welcoming warmth
naked and close
the room smelt of subtle wood chips and ash
roasted coffee beans and aftershave lotion
sexuality.
She was radiant in her skin tone
so exposed to accentuated curves
carving the fireside flame
into a furnace of wantonness. Uninhibited.
The snow outside cocooned the cabin
into a nest of togetherness.
I found here basking on a bar stool
eyes cast deep in thought on a gin and tonic
contemplation of dejection.
" He found another woman"
" Oh yeah, I just found my own woman!"
We giggled into the glass.
"Take me home to the mountains
of your mind and share with me your
meteoric rise to a metaphoric magical kingdom
where poets live and dream!'
" I have a furnace waiting for you"
" Lets go !"
Very short introduction to ecstasy.
Two days later
I dropped her off mid-city
near a replica of the Statue of Liberty
in a shopping window full of
picture postcards.
I had enough stored in the memory bank
to write a whole new dash of fireplace poems.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
All perish whence they quest for immortality,
Such foolish dreams will result in fatality.
Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality,
Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality.
Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme,
Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime.
Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing,
Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain.
My seat of notions drives me to calculate,
While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate.
Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning...
My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning.
Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively,
Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key.
Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures,
Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures.
To crave two heart beats align in synchrony,
To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory.
Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze,
My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece.
Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling,
The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling.
'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds,
Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes.
Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments,
Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments.
To be offered aristocratic absolution,
From my humble plebeian resolution.
I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay,
Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 3:40 PM UTC
Stellar flûte, la chaleur fulgurante, battant éthérée, tandis que son âme à moi, que tu qui garde ...
(french tongue)
(English tongue)
Stellar flute, meteoric heat, flying the ethereal, whilst its mine soul, that thou keepeth...
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Elsa angelica dedication
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
.
(Earl Jane Nagley)
*i.
My sweetest king,
I am here waiting for you,
I clasp on to our love.
ii.
All my life I’ve been searching for you,
Now I have you in my arms,
I’ll never let you go.
iii.
Don’t be weary my love,
Let my love kiss your fears away,
My warmth as assurance I’ll stay.
iv.
My eyes wander in the skies,
As my heart shouts your name,
I’ll wait, I knew we’ll meet.
v.
Oh my darling,
No matter how long it will take,
I’ll take all risk, just to be with you.
vi.
So soon my soulmate,
Our patience in love will be rewarded,
We’ll be together, forever.
vii.
When we’ll meet,
I’ll enclose you tight,
Nothing will ever take us apart.*
(Brandon Nagley)
**viii.
Mine saccharine select
I'm here mine pet;
I grasp thy breath.
ix.
All mine day's
I've groaned in pains;
Now thou art mine, a meteoric grace.
x.
Now thou art here
Mine eye's hath dried, I'm over mine tear's;
For comfort hast given me a home in thee.
xi.
O' love, lover, queen
O' verily we shalt, we shalt meet;
Whilst conquering the demonic beast's, with armour divinity.
xii.
If it takes a thousand light year's
Please knoweth mine soul, mine spirit is near;
As tis eternity I wilt be with thou.
xiii.
On the many moon's, in a kingdom high room,
Where there's no need for a tomb, nor the news, no deathly hellion there, Mocker's nor baboon's; just ourn swoon.
xiv.
We shalt meeteth
O' we shalt meeteth;
And when we do, may the heaven's open and the ark showeth it's gold, mine queen Jane, mine soul.**
© Earl Jane - Brandon Collaborations
♥ Lovers Incorporated
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 8:27 AM UTC
Wash me away in your tears (forever keep me here)
Dig a great deep hole
Bury the truth in the pit of your soul
Layer that diamond with every emotion ever felt
Kiss bliss goodbye until you earn it yourself
Black and white night while the heat of Jupiter sits on your shoulder
(The God of meteoric wonder)
Snow falls in middle of Summer, and still leaves you breathless
Shameless, and unknown
We have worth, you, I, and Mother
Dancing among moonlit sisters and brothers
Swaying away with the sky
Die, die, and then some
I will no longer
Wash me away in your tears (forever keep me here)
I shine at night in the pit of your soul
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
I'm pacing the corridor,
that desperate zone
between insomnia and insanity,
sanctuary of eccentrics
and junkies
chasing a word, a fix,
a revelation,
an allegorical mix
of purple haze, logic and similes...
It's a race of attrition,
of addicts incurring
meteoric costs of opportunity
irretrievable,
surreal,
euphoric,
and misunderstood...
like mania
this corridor precedes time
and space
it is the beginning
of faith and exploration
and revelation....
dead poets live here...
~ P (Pablo)
(7/31/2013)
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 5:41 AM UTC
Sidereal gaze enriches casual lays beneath the shimmering firmament
Glorified passions is the indignity of benighted scars and brandished armaments
Scour with the owls proctoring over the night for signs that penetrate the tight
That ooze new light and wage an epigamic fight
Temptress like a mainlined ecstasy enlivening a heightened empathy
Our love towers above suburban muses and urban ruses
It showers with meteoric power and consummate flowers that it chooses
The misfortune of star-crossed affections
Is the serendipity of empowering but inclement afflictions
Impenetrably vast like a cavernous space
To make us tremble in insignificance at the petty rats that race
Our lambent passions erupt with paroxysms immune to an unbuttoned snooze
Oneiromancy glistens with prophetic eternities dreamed awake with inordinate *****
Playful jostles and succulent pretended jilts lionize our blessed fates
We reckon with eternity by adducing modernity at its current rate
We disavow transient objections just like gravity impounds its own weight
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
it is hard to translate emotions
into words and be wholly honest
our humours swirl ambivalently,
like vagabond alphabets which
have not found their words
as if insufficient time has
lapsed after the meteoric
impact of feeling, for the dust
to settle and for the words to cool
from the heat of the present tense
and all we can cough out is
soot: scorched and subjective,
a hurried attempt at translating
a restless disquiet into lexical entities -
ordered, grammatical.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 7:23 AM UTC
I've never taken acid,
So why is the world melting,
All around me every day?
When did 1984,
Brave New World, A Clockwork Orange,
Fahrenheit 451,
Animal Farm,
Lord of the Flies,
Become historical works?
Proudhon, the French Anarchist,
Declared, "Property is theft",
A pity he is long dead,
He'd be another rock star,
With a meteoric rise,
And likely be president,
************ leads to
Salvation" his quote too,
Would make a catchy slogan.
A man ahead of his time,
And a sad symbol of ours,
How the hell did we get here?
When clowns can be elected,
To Congress and the White House,
And truth has lost all meaning,
We've gone through the looking glass,
Fallen down the rabbit hole,
And I fear there's no way back.
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 3:04 AM UTC
A soul left in darkness' wake can yet again be freed
For there's always a crown hidden behind the color of fire
And this fire can always warm a heart so cold
And yet smirks on burning time's tested and tempted dreams
To provide a sweet, yet bitter taste of love's own mercy
A gracious fall is love, the last denominator always is pain
And the pain is often greater than the love itself
At its shores there is hope, then the full and blue moons, light and bright sparks in stars
And within this hope, lie the wishes and dreams of the fallen few
Dormant as the saffron in the rocks, hushed as the silence in the glaciers
For a sinner's love is his love to sin
For a saint, it's the best sermon that life's seen
The rose slowly chokes under the gaze of discontent
*Charming as a black rose, a woeful soul now begins
Entwining into the lovelorn chains of thorns, white lilies altered to red*
Now as a feather falls to crush a heart
A speck of sand ending this meteoric blast
With the soul now resting in the darkness once again
The rose breathes a silent whisper and disappears into the air
Molding to be the enigma a lover beholds
The kaleidoscopic perfection of the faucets in life
To contradict the evils that is ever present in our hearts
© 2005
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
~for mark john junior~
the spigot turns counterclockwise,
oft I wondered why,
is it the magic way to make
things rise...
'pon occasion, the water shuts off,
turn left to right or vice versa,
no juice no bath and life starts
to stink, especially under armpits
and you think
how many love poems does one soul
in his lifetime possess,
and can I do better than my last...
if at all
sometimes you stare at a blankenship
ocean adrift, pirate hijacking victim,
no grub, no paddle or map,
but an empty water bottle
baffled you ask it
to point north,
laughs at you, asking,
"am I a compass,
or you,
a complete ***
a seismic groan out loud,
registers on
Florida's hurricane wind watch
how come this to be
meteoric loss of metaphor bridging,
search the Internet for the ******
of poetic inspiration, and an
error message delivered:
"plagiarize, or better luck next time sucker"
patience, football, thy women,
will in time realize the artful truth realized:
"Creativity is allowing oneself to make mistakes; art is knowing which ones to keep"
Scott Adams (creator of Dilbert)
so
go forth,
make mistakes plenty,
keep some good,
the pink ones fyi, my fav,
look that quill in the face,
and give the lazy ******* some lip,
reminding it,
it gets paid and ink drinks,
by the word
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
I looked up
and saw the meteors
in my daddies eyes
fiery dreams
that had been held up
by a wish and a prayer
I saw his disappointment
that the show ended too soon
but perhaps one day
there'll be a time
for us to shoot the moon
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 5:54 PM UTC
Some budding minds of larvae
become slaves to indoctrination
holding ransom to their morals
with mundane anticipation.
Ants and Bees take to the streets
dragging dignity through the trip
while sharks above hound them
discipline at the crack of a whip.
The struggle of paying to work
catches the children by surprise
though the nature of nepotism
gives others meteoric rise.
Ragged, they stay warm
through the fires of finance killing
so that the glutenous worms
can feed off the standard of living.
And those who live in glass mansions
have their view clouded by rain
as they look down at the masses
with contempt and disdain.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
~~~
Postface: This Thing Called Poetry
postface - a brief explanatory comment or note at the end of a book
or other piece of writing.
~~~
*more and more will come,
'tis the nature of,
'tis the burden of,
this compulsion,
this undeniable, irresistible,
emotional chain,
a synapse from
connecting ganglions of nerves,
what we call poetry
each poem
a winnowing,
a narrowing,
the landslide of a moment,
a perspective erected,
a momentary monument
intended and left out overnight
for perpetuity's sake
a finished poem is
a broken telescope,
stuck on a single view,
a broken kaleidoscope,
forever flash frozen
upon a
permanent fruited plain,
a still life salad
walk a few footfalls
to the sandy beach,
humbling,
this vastness,
this billionth universe of
trillions of grains,
each a microscopic starship,
each a poem uncovered, exposed,
weathered and worn,
living among friends
a few taps onto this tablet,
table scraps,
leavings of chalk marks
of poetry,
same,
grains,
metaphoric, meteoric,
a billionth
of something both
dead and living
yet,
still and always,
a simple postface
still required,
a must have,
a necessary
a 'the end' official
sign your name,
your truest signature,
emblem
not of ownership,
but of completion,
here I was done
here I wax spent
sign my work,
so I know this grain came from
my weathered and worn
work, still living
and will be so known,
long after this body's form
as week is but
a few grains of sand*
~~~
July 2, 2015
NML
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
Memories like faded Monet’s
windswept pastels and periwinkles
permeate into one hour. The Blue Hour...
the hour lost in the world of egg yolks
Pirouetting the equator line
that divides
the latitude that lusted for the sun, the stars,
the cobalt sky.
with solace it longed to be departed from
The milk washed violet dreams
where vigor seeks
a meteoric silence that ushered
Azure rays igniting light
that cracks behind the clouds beaming
whispers of secrets
unveiling echoes of Gymnopedie No.1
As it dances in the breeze
The wind doused by the rhythm of
the pulsating waves by the indigo shore
Deafens my senses
Deafens me
Deafens my world.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
Born ****** and confused,
Cradled near our mother, fused
By cords of love to replace
The cords the midwife cut.
Growing curious with the years,
We stumble, fall, and scream; tears
Of rage our parents see
As rage of vitriolic ease.
Bony pains in skin too thin
For our shuddered growth; our skin
Elastic tortured thus
Erupts in meteoric fuss.
Hormonal sin of endless flesh
Writhes wicked, silken; her dress
A gauzy show of mental glimpses,
Caught in thought, like kisses.
We reach an end to just begin,
The wall they built was far too thin
To stop us in our desperate race
To join the rats within their chase.
Now we're there, we would return
To wicked thoughts, how they burn,
But less than pain that we now feel
As adults in our ordeal.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
you are the generative one
the seed of infinite aspiration
palaces are built in your honor
patterns of movement and measure
can never upstage your immobile empire
your nobility is inherited
its inherent in the smallest flower
its a form of dynamic retribution
for simply becoming conscious
is never really all that easy
so breathe and surround yourself
with memories of meteoric impermanance
the tragedy of seeking in your reflection
a relief from all this suffering
is symbiotically all-perceiving
that life is neither necrotic nor entropic
as every cell is erotically pulsing
and longing for its opposite
until it fully gives itself to love
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 4:21 PM UTC
I fear:
I. the end of days
like some irreverent foot that with one mismotion
destroys an anthill,
and so the beauty of this world and
the beauty of you will be
lost
confined to a memory rife with inconsistency
II. that the tiny spark of hope
of faith
of desire to grow will
sputter in my palms
despite my cupping hands against the wind
and I will sink below the depths I am
III. that when I bare my soul, I expose my mind
and the utter nakedness of my intentions come to light and
I will be
known
IV. death and its cousin omniscience:
do those who loved me see me now?
Will I watch you love another when I leave?
V. knowledge, for knowing the truth invalidates inaction
VI. ascension, for I am unworthy on my own to rise, and
who will catch me in my meteoric fall?
VII. that we are all but endless and
eternity whispers to us in our
mortal state
reminding us in echoes that our heartbeats are merely
countdowns.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC