My weapon is voice today
'tis careless
a spell amoungst curs
it puts close friends in their places
and worried
(behind my back)
It kisses with mischeif
and muddies stray-fully

My weapon is played
a trial
a tool
to bring about my isolation
Then i may exit without notice
and unfollowed
a relief, in release

My real work shall begin abroad

Everything is such fun in the beginning,
when it’s new and undiscovered.
i’ll try almost anything.

What is meant by almost?
All these stupid sick **** roles we play,
all this pretending, why?

i want to believe there’s something
behind the curtain
besides a windowless stone wall

Something inexplicable
his/her majesty of everything/
living/dead/never existed.

William Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter.
Being both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.”
Actually, Blake didn’t say that. i am lost.

is it possible to love after what has happened?
the rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal.
my ex still stalks

as recently as two mornings ago,
all her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury.
Why so desperate to return to crime scene?

An admission of her own guilt?
Excessive compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)?
Another excuse for getting drunk?

When we waited for the elevator going down
You said, “Let’s just get this over with.”
i understood completely.

i, who worships my own death.
i, who ****** on my own grave.
i, who gets bored faster than speed of light.

i, who suspects killing around every corner.
i, who sleeps restless.
i, who worries.

i, who loves women.
i, who does not understand women.
i, who is a woman.

i, who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career.
i, who is a nobody.
i, a man with no place to stand.

i, who belongs to a family of
blustering flirts, flatterers,
kidders, thieves.

We sit at the table,
monkey-wrenching hand over fist lives.
Forget about the eyes.

Watch the fingers.
Don’t listen to the speeches.
Words are intentional distractions.

Where’s your wallet?
Gypsies? No, we’re not gypsies,
more upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets.

Do the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you?
No, none of them are our kin,
but we know people who know people,

infidelities in very high places.
All i’m saying is,
once you reach a certain level,

we’re all family.
i will make success happen,
with or without you.

I am fragile as glass, fragile as silk.
You could but look at me
And I might crumble, a sculpture made of sugar.
And yet I have stripped away the layers of myself
Going on, always going on
Trusting you
To foolishness, to distraction, (to destruction?)

And I keep on shedding my disguises.
I keep tearing them down
Each after each and /oh!/
I am so small inside,
The universe pressed into a pebble
And trembling with its unresolved might.
And what if you touch me
And I shatter?
And what if you touch me
And find I'm not what you were hoping
You would hold in your palm?
(And what if
You recoil
And don't touch me at all?)

What if
My shivering gravity
Meets your soft light
And muddies it somehow, makes it less?

Sometimes I fear I am
Untouchable
By nature.
At once delicate
(the way a butterfly's wing will crumple and wilt
If your fingers touch it)
And devastating,
For there is so MUCH in here
So much that wants out.

So much that /bends/ toward you when you come too close
Like glass heated to smooth billows
Where once it was sharp and brittle
(and will be
Again.)
Don't you see?
You could take me in your hands and shape me,
Make me different forever,
And walk away to leave me cold and cutting again.
You could,
And I would leave such burns on your palms
And you would create
Such edges in me
Such fingerprints
Such caverns of space where the light gets in and won't leave, trapped and pressing and empty,
Unfillable.
You could do all of that.
And I could let you.
And I could let you close, knowing this
And... I /do/
I do and it amazes me.
I do, I tear off my many masks with eager hands
And smash them at your feet.
And I don't know
Why.

December 18, 2013

Words stab like knives. Each syllable uttered slices deeper into the nothingness that is this emotion.
Actions break bones. Pressure mounts and mounts until the sharp, quick snap ends in a flash of pain.
Caring suddenly becomes your worst trait. It muddies the waters of a once clear pool. Give. Try. Fail.
Repeat. Something so important becomes something you put so much effort into that you beat it half to death. The mystery is gone. The excitement is gone. The surprise is gone. The anger never leaves. The fighting never ceases. The hostility, rage, disappointment, misunderstanding, and fury never die.

It is still salvageable, so long as everyone agrees. As long as one person is not at their breaking point, you can always go back. Go back to the mystery, the excitement, the surprise. Effort is crucial. Patience is key. Understanding is vital.

Love lives.

A dark dark blue overcomes gazing sight,
As a blue, tinge of black, blanket covering you,
Concealing all that's real, and it defeats all light,
To fend the soap of your skin,
And to blight the harmless lively solar sight.

It comes softly, the night,
A bitter cold to make things sweet,
The blue muddies deeper and deeper black,
It is overtaken by shade,
And makes all things dim in midnight gloom.

The fade comforts you though,
Relieving senses, melting worries, soothing temper,
And challenging thoughts edged in
A deep and mournful life:
A heretic, monster, evil to the world.

But lives, as yours, were
Just ***** grains of sand changed to glass
Neglected, and gone to last.
You'll never know the dark
As it has when it made you then: happy.

So please, take a step,
Make a move and love the darker hue,
Relax as the dark does for you,
Worry for the worried, but not your own,
That is for me and the dark to do.

Beyond the Veil of Our Inverted Universe:

I must wander

Beyond the thinnest part

Of our inverted universe

As we are outside of living


Living the whole of a dream

While dreaming

Fragments of

The Mirror of

‘Reality’


Truth is only to be felt

For we see

Only what we wanted to see

And think

Only what we wanted to think


But only feelings

From sparks of infatuation

To chasms of the deepest sorrow

Is authentic

In and of itself

Mercilessly

Beyond our desperate

Need for control


And there

Beyond the veil

Of false possessions

And

Expectations



Is

You


The authentic truth

Of

You


Beyond all thoughts

Rationality and

Physicality


Merely an intense feeling

Intertwined

With the untamed feeling of me


Two branches of lightning

Bursting through pure darkness

Briefly revealing the

Landscape of our universe

With the collision

Of our pure

Being






















When the Sleeper Wakes in Sleep:

When the sleeper ‘sleeps’

He wakes, on the other side

Of Plato’s Cave

And sees time and time again

Often in fragmented consciousness

The world that truly is

“Bigger on the ‘inside’”

“Smaller on the ‘outside’”


It’s like forever standing

Within a mirrored cylinder ring

Keeping faith to its seeming

Infinity

Even though only

Reflections are being seen


Reflections of the

Geometry of love

Thoughts

Unseen beings

Consciousness

And

Gravity


These and more

Floats around the exterior

Of this thin fabric of reality

Bumping into us occasionally

Letting us feel its obscured shape

But never witness its true property


Only through momentary slumber

When we open our minds eye

And peeks at the other side

When we drift away-

Unguarded by our perspective-

Through all of spacetime

And drift closer to the veil

As if through a plastic foil

Can we see and softly touch

The ‘matters’ of truth in life


See the wrinkles

And ripples in time?

That’s where runaway dreams

And forgotten past hide

You will see yours

And even all of mine


That’s why I can live

Again and again your happiness

And joys of mine

With near absolute clarity

Manifested through twinges

And longing

With the help of the night


That’s why

When the sleeper ‘wakes’

He can no longer

Bear this world of bright shadows

And must rush back

To the brilliant world

Under the dark sunlight


That's why

I leave the lies for the morning

And truth for the night

When you're weary of

My dazzling praises

You can dream among

The starry sentiments

Of my moonless sky






















A Brief History of that Muse Song:

The weight of thoughts

We hold deep within

Gather and increase in mass

Till we’re beings of immense gravity

Attracted at the moment of first contact

Never letting go


Even through the unseeable distance

I can still feel your pull-

Feel time stretch into infinity

Feel nothing else within my hold-

From our fateful event horizon


Even though we’re both vessels

Of very little voices

We’re far from empty

We’re far from silent-

With every unspoken word-

Not let out to wander and

Disperse-

We bear the roaring wrath

Of neutron stars deep within

Our Soul


And such

Is our ‘Density’






















Purity:

I believe that

Names can physically

Mold a being

Without human intentions

As accidental drops of ink

Muddies the water

Yours follow the opposite

And being true to its essence

You are indeed eternally ‘PURE’


Pure, in the winter lakes

Of your soft pensive eyes

Color of the earth, the dust of existing


Pure, in the crescent

Of your laughing eyes

Hiding no sorrow

Dragging me along with you

When it descends


Pure

In the ripples of your soul

As I felt every drop

Seen in your dazzling smile

Unseen, in the dreamer’s dream


And I, indeed a dreamer

The ‘MOON’, the ‘STARS’, and

‘A MYTHICAL JEWEL’

That radiates not

Within or without

Except under or carrying

Your light


If only I can be your moon

A source of comfort but

Only at your darkest

Never to steal your shine


Except

I am merely a solitary bird

In love with the spotless lofty sky


I may praise it

And lament in its silence

But I can never caress it

Possess it or even

Comfort it


So it shall be

For even a storm of the sweetest dreams

Might taint the purity of a cloudless night

As the night begins to deepen in this lonesome soul
Will you still be here
When St. Jude calls my name and when the insomnia begins to crawl
Will you love me as the blood turns to quick sand
Am I still breathable?
Am I safe to touch?
As the contagion muddies the mind and burns the body
When my skin turns to ash and my mind to mush
What will become of us then?
In this hapless state of angelic demise
The soul begins to crumble
The mind begins to wonder
And a love laid in stone can be worn away by the wind

I believe that

Names can physically

Mold a being

Without human intentions

As accidental drops of ink

Muddies the water

Yours follow the opposite

And being true to its essence

You are indeed eternally ‘PURE’


Pure, in the winter lakes

Of your soft pensive eyes

Color of the earth, the dust of existing


Pure, in the crescent

Of your laughing eyes

Hiding no sorrow

Dragging me along with you

When it descends


Pure

In the ripples of your soul

As I felt every drop

Seen in your dazzling smile

Unseen, in the dreamer’s dream


And I, indeed a dreamer

The ‘MOON’, the ‘STARS’, and

‘A MYTHICAL JEWEL’

That radiates not

Within or without

Except under or carrying

Your light


If only I can be your moon

A source of comfort but

Only at your darkest

Never to steal your shine


Except

I am merely a solitary bird

In love with the spotless lofty sky


I may praise it

And lament in its silence

But I can never caress it

Possess it or even

Comfort it


So it shall be

For even a storm of the sweetest dreams

Might taint the purity of a cloudless night

Winter’s coming.
I feel it in my bones and my body.
I sense it.  I smell it.  I see it in the mirror.
I stand here now with
My back against the fall.

I stand here with my back against the fall, and
Try to remember all that I have learned.  I
Try to comprehend what happens in the end, and I
Try to pretend that the falling snow will melt,
And that my hair will turn dark again.

The early snows DO melt, for winter is a malicious *******.
A brief hot sun melts and muddies the early snows which
Slosh under my boots and cause me to make a mess on the living room carpet.
I track the mess down the hall, shed my clothes and kick my muddied boots
Into a corner, and
Stand naked in front of the mirror, with
My back against the fall.

I draw a bath of warm memories and
Congratulate myself on the success and excess of an ungrateful life.
I laugh at cold winter outside the window until I realize the birds aren’t singing. Where are the birds?  And the flowers?  And the children playing in the yard?
The mirror, and the window, steam up, and suddenly I can’t remember anything!
I use my palm to rub the steam from the glass and see only leafless trees and the
Icy reality of truth.  I stand, staring, with
My back against the fall.

I dry and dress and know that I must clean the mess I have made on the carpet.
But the carpet is ruined and I roll it up and throw it out only to discover and uncover
The failures and sins of summer.  And I stand with
My back against the fall, and
Then I understand it all!

The leaves will come again in spring, the grass will grow, the birds will sing.
The children once again will play, the sun will drive the cold away!
My sins have been forgiven and forgotten and no one noticed my failures but me.
And as others stand with their back against the fall, I may be a memory,
But I will not be here.  I open the door and step into winter.
PwL 3/20/15

I love rain. I love the rain of my heart when it feels like
it's only going down, down, down; I love the rain
in the back of my throat that causes a fog in my eyes;
I love the rain in my chest that slows down and muddies up
my heartbeats; I love the rain of my fingers when they ache
from the moisture in the air; I love the rain of my eyelids
when they ease closed after a long day; I love the rain
around my feet that makes them cold; I love the rain
in my ankles that refreshes my step; I love the rain
of my quadriceps that seems to clog up my own will;
I love the rain in my elbows, sitting on them and looking
at the deepest friend of a friend I will ever have; I love the rain
in the bridge of my nose that reminds me to hold my head high;
I love the rain as it washes through my hair and chills,
warming my shoulders; I love the rain on my shoulders themselves
as they push and shove through it in order to wrap around
someone too small and cold; I love the rain around my hips
that are hiding, to be protected and concealed; I love the rain
in my brain as I forget what the sun looked like; I love the rain
in my bones that feel very deeply what the sun looked like;
I love the rain in my soul that knows that when the leaves rot and
the wood decays, that smell only means summer.

Here I take a chance
A chance to say what I am
To not be judged but to be heard
A place I know my voice will rise
I am a christian
It means something different to everyone
Some is bad other are good and some don't care
But this is what a Christian is to me
I like to think of myself as a new generation Christian
What is this you may ask
Well let me tell you
It's someone who loves everyone
But isn't that what we are supposed to do you ask
I say it is but others say they do
They do but they say to hate those who are in same *** relations or are transgender
I'm not saying it is all
No not all indeed but some
But I love everyone
I believe that you should be who you want to embrace who you are
To shine through the crap people throw your way
Every life is precious but I believe you should have a choice if you want an abortion which I'm told is wrong
I'm for gay marriage because you love who you love and what I say won't change your mind
But does this not make me a Christian
Because to me the only things that matter about being a Christian are believing that Jesus is the son of God and that he died for everyone and rose again
And that you should love the sinner and hate the sin. Everything else just muddies the water
So I am Christian but I'm a new generation.

Day by day
I feeleth less decay
Because of mine love
Because mi amour',

Night by night
Mine heart only enlarges
Im madly for her
Her love to me is priceless

Second by second
Hour by hour
Mine amare for her groweth
As if a budding flower.....

Year after year I waited for mine queen
Past life lovers, meeting once again.
And she feeleth as the beast, though I'm really that beast...
She is the beauty, the reina of mine angelic feast...

And as she goes through tough times
I shalt be her sweet,
When she muddies her toe's in mistakes
I shalt wipeth with oil and myrrh upon her feet....

And on her forehead I shalt kiss her
And leave mine saliva peck,
Mine love to be left as traces
From mine kisses upon her neck....

And when the evil creepeth in her life
I shalt taketh her Downfall's and maketh her mine wife,
In dying days and living and good bad and right
I shalt maketh her anew, and maketh her wings taketh flight....

I shalt mail her heartfelt word's
By mine poetic hand,
They shalt arrive at her door
By speedfast demand....

And when she read's mine soul on paper
She shalt knoweth how I feel,
For this I've been waiting for her
I shalt maketh all of her dream's real...


©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Brandon nagley
©Elsa Angelica dedication

Donde mis pasos resuenan
en el eco de mi mente
una mariposa se calla
y parpadea.

La luna me mira
y sonríe,
apiadándose con benevolencia
como sólo ella sabe hacerlo.

Me tumbo en mi cama
y lloro
lágrimas de amor
por ese alguien que no existe.

La miel de mis labios
es agria y salvaje.
Por eso tal vez cada beso que doy
miente
y cada cosa que digo
duele.

Sólo nadie puede entenderme,
por eso estoy sola.
Sólo nadie puede amarme,
por eso te quiero.

Sólo la luna de mis labios resuena en mi cama.
Sólo aquí me lloro,
y el azabache de mis ojos
enturbia la realidad
con sus fluídos azulados.

//

Where my steps echo
in the echo of my mind
a butterfly shuts up
and blinks.

The moon looks at me
and smiles,
taking pitty with benevolence
as only it knows how to do it.

I lie on my bed
and cry
tears of love
for that one who doesn't exist.

The honey from my lips
is sour and wild.
Maybe that's why each kiss I give
lies
and each thing I say
hurts.

Only noone can understand me,
that's why I'm alone.
Only noone can love me,
that's why I like you.

Only the moon from my lips echoes on my bed.
Only here I cry for myself,
and the jet from my eyes
muddies reality
with its bluish fluids.

Fasten your seatbelts
For the ice the heat melts
Will be dealt
We’ll receive welts
From Earth’s belt
Her pain will be felt

Crazy cancer
Lazy dancers
Don’t have answers
But as enchanters
Conjure banter
Of absurd slander
And crowd panders
To darken lanterns

Flooding the gate
Money to make
Muddies the stakes
So they act fake
To catch a break
Becoming snakes
With stunning rakes
For nature’s ****

Carbon emission
Cancer remission
In need of incisions
To heal our decisions
Yet denied permission
By a wealthy commission
Utilizing superstition
And pure fiction
To ensure friction
Fueling oil addiction

The hurricanes
Assuring pain
Are curing stains
Of carbon shame
Until what remains
Stays in nature’s lane

I hide in dreams
From Poseidon’s screams
At polluted streams
From brutish teams
Of the crudest greed

To break our code of mourning
We need the noble forming
A case for global warming
Against the vocal storming
Of the slogan storing
***** adoring
Public scorning

We need Atlas here
To fix the atmosphere
As those here
Impose fear
Against peers

Their success equals destruction
So acting responsibly is obstruction
Pushing the planet to an eruption
Of cataclysmic disruption
Due to cynical dysfunction

A tidal wave
Of vital days
To fix our maze
Sits in a haze
While we’re slaves
Digging graves
For the brave
In their way

Shame...
Makes me want to hide.
Pull the covers up,
Remain inside.

Shame...
Muddies the water,
Robs me from being authentically me;
Bona fide, don't falter.

Shame…
Distorts reality,
But it's banality, so
Relax the hyper-vigilanty.

Shame…
Is like two *******,
Whispering about my defects
Keeping me in stitches.

Shame…
Is an unwanted cloak
That I'm taking off now,
To live, bespoke!

Crazy how you let things get to far.
Especially when your hearts filled with scars. I’m cold as ice but you seems colder. My tears gleamed eyes makes me wish I was bolder.

I don’t know you. But this feeling is real. The smile you have makes all the looks you give ****. I always have a predisposition that’s muddies up my vision. You an I where so much alike an that’s why I can’t get you off my sights.
I’m desperate but not in love but you make me feel butterfly’s An yield me from the lies. I tell myself, in my dreams. That you an I are deeper than any poem. I’ve come to lye in the bed You’ve made filled with jagged nails. Our hearts still jaded. Sweet like marmalade I’ve gotten sweet on you. So give me an answer what do you want to do.

Walking brown hallways of -
February on a moody afternoon
Disregarding material drama , an eye toward
Port Lake , bursting with poetic -
value and quiet companionship
A ruddy featured friend with blue eyes , clothed
in colorful hardwood and evergreen
Placid , olive waters , engaging songsters
A gallery of riverdancers , bottom muddies and
shoreline wonders , a solemn , religious -
vision of the highest order , a plan as no
other ..
Vivacious , musical and needed* ..

Decorated, renovated.
Look at the beauty that God created.
But the truth is that it's so underrated.
Constantly slated.
Feeling sedated as I wander outside, looking at the moon and the stars at night.

Flora and fauna can co-exist, but that notion is frequently dismissed.
People are in their heads instead of taking in their surroundings.
Clay muddies the water and leaves us all floundering.

Dividing opinions multiply around the world but to me it doesn't add up.
How much less stress it is to realise we're blessed.
Unfortunately, I must acquiesce to the fact that we're lost in the wilderness.
Corrupt governments and run down countries.
Bootleg products being sold on Gumtree.

What a shame.
But the game is the game.
We need codebreakers to break the code to the safe.
We need warriors who are unbelievably brave.
Courageous enough to realise they may end up in a grave for opposing the status quo and refusing to be a slave to the system.

Hold up, wait, listen.
Do you hear the door?
It's the ambulance and the Feds.
They've clocked that their patients don't wanna take their meds.
And the inmates are digging escape routes under their beds.

They've come to drag their captives back to their dens to continue making profit out of them in the tens of millions and billions.
They're aiming for the trillions.
These money hungry crooks don't even care about civilians.

It's sounds like doom and gloom.
But it's not all out of our control.
We can appreciate the bloom if we look deep with in our soul.
Take some time to look inside and you will find your perfect role to play in this game called life.

We can all do it if we strive.
It gives us a reason to be alive.
A road you can travel down with your wife.
Nuggets of wisdom you can feed to your children, so they don't wander like pilgrims, but work towards a fairytale life like Rumpelstiltskin.

An orange orb encircles the periphery,
A sunset on a cliff
Torrential rain
Muddies the orange hues.
This cliff is for remembering
Things that must be remembered,
To be embodied, and then
Let go of
By dissolution

The cumulonimbus clouds
Must release rain
In order to dissolve.
You too,
Must process
All of your trauma
To be free from it
So you can become like the sky
After a storm
During a sunset.

Crying will not help.
  It only nourishes the weeds
    That block the entrance to your goals.

Crying never helps.
  It only muddies up the path
    That takes you you to a better place.

Crying is a waste of time.
  It just delays the work it takes
    To get around the obstacles in life.
              ljm

Wear your brogans sonny boy
as your trompin' round -
this here creek lest a gator
snapper peers with a hankering for ya feet* ...
A sprinkle o' garlic on dem
liver's will surely bring the
muddies to the top o' the river
..
If the cattle's moving
dem shellcrackers are a
schoolin'
When the moon is'a bright
'n white dem crappies will
hit all night ..

If we are a compassionate land
That genuinely cares about others,
We shouldn't separate families
And rip kids out of the arms of their mothers

And then place them in foster care,
Or in what John Kelly would call
"Whatever," thus allowing the Trump
Administration to play hardball.

Refugees seeking asylum:
Look at how we cruelly mistreat them.
They follow the rules and knock on our door,
And then look at how we greet them?

Ah, so being cruel is supposed
To be a deterrent. That will explain
Why certain leaders feel that they
Can justify being inhumane.

The children--one was just a year old--
Are often taken to different states!
In both the mother and in the children,
Imagine the trauma that this creates.

And then Trump further muddies the waters--
Playing the usual Trumpian game--
And writes an obnoxious tweet saying
That Democrats are the ones to blame!

My country 'tis of thee, it's not our liberty
Or our humanity of which we sing.
Don't spout that righteous stuff, for we have had enough.
If it's all just a bluff, to what can we cling?

-by Bob B (5-26-18)

A stone
Was turned
And
Is turned

To find food,

To create space to build,

Or used to ****.

Progress only leads
To more of the above.

Forget humanitarianism.

I started reading the
Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space, including the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies and realized

We're just going to keep on doing this.

We are cursed
Variations
Of Cain's.

How long will we fight to prove
Our sacrifice
Is greater
Then all the others?

Funny how humankind
Muddies reasons for survival
For their true reason
For being

And

Unbeing.

I expect nothing
From myself
But happiness in the face of

The floodgates
Of our genealogy
That has no lock
Or key
Or God behind the peephole.

To be alone
Truly alone

And at peace

Is one's own masterpiece.