"nagi" poems
Naalala mo pa ba, noong magbukas ang Nagi?
Pagkahaba pa ng pila, umabot ng Yabu dati.
Kahit pa nga yata Yabu, ay kayhaba din ng pila
Araw-araw laging ganyan, kaya dapat maaga ka.
Sa katagalan pagdaka ay nagkaupuan na nga
Ang babae ay sisigaw, at susundan ng iba pa
Bigay todo ang pagbigkas, tila baga walang bukas
Rinig mo ang tinig nila kung ikaw ay nasa labas.
Sunud-sunod na araw pa, na kami ay nasa Nagi
Itanong mo pa kay amo, siya po ang aming saksi.
Kung paanong alas-onse'y, naghihintay na ng taxi
para sa pila'y mauna, at nang makakain kami.
Ilang buwan din siguro ang sa mundo ay dumaan
na ang pagdalaw sa Nagi ay biglang naging madalang
Na mula sa bawat araw, ito'y naging linggo-linggo
Kalaunan pa ay naging Enero, Pebrero, Marso.
Lumipas ang mga taon, at ngayo ay Pebrero na.
Ngayon na lang uli kami doon sa Nagi nagpunta.
Ang dating mahabang pila, ngayon ay tila wala na
Alas-dose na noon, tanghali na po partida.
Noong pumasok na kami'y sumisigaw pa rin sila
ngunit dinig mo sa boses na ang sigla ay wala na.
Kahit yung pitsel ng house tea na laging inihahanda
Ngayon baso-baso na lang, tapos manghihingi ka pa.
"Nakakain na po kami, puwede bang bukas na lang?"
"Mayroon na n'yan sa Mega, pati na sa Katipunan"
"Huwag ka nang magmadali, hindi na dapat agahan"
"Kahit anong araw pwede, kasi nandyan lang naman 'yan".
Tayo'y magaling lamang ba, kapag bago at simula
kapag bago sa paningin, kapag bago sa panlasa?
Na 'pag nilamon ng oras o kinasanayan mo na
ay tila pinagsawaan at pinagwalang bahala.
Kailan kaya darating, ang sa aki'y tinadhana
na sa aking pagtangkilik, hindi ako magsasawa?
Na kapag nakita ako'y ramdam ko ang galak niya
at ang puso ko'y lulukso marinig lang ang ngalan n'ya.
Malamang ay naglalaro ngayon sa iyong isipan
"Tungkol pa rin ba sa Nagi, ating pinag-uusapan?"
Huwag mo na itong isipin, sagutin mo na lang ako
may pila pa kaya ngayon, sa bagong tayong Ippudo?
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 4:48 AM UTC
***For Mom:
(b. 1925; d.2016)**
She held on to the sunlight
longer than anyone thought.
Palms swayed as she breathed
in all her strength,
all her power
until it all calmed
peacefully,
serenely.
Night cooled
as barren
descends, now
a dark that sings no stars
or sweet songs of life.
Her last breath
carried by crows
brushed across my cheek quietly
as I did not get to her in time.
As my sorrow fingered with my heart,
I saw the hungry abyss descend with her smile,
Still I heard in her whisper,
“do not mourn for me,
like our ancestors before,
I have found the balance
in natural tones;
in the music of stars
and in the songs playing
on Owl’s wings.
Do not mourn for me, my loves
I am alive still in the flow of worlds.”
There is a weight
taller than Denali;
heavier than Big Mountain;
I carry it with me
in my back pack
next to my jeans and dreams
as I follow her tracks,
smiling with her life.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 12.29.16*
For all of you who "liked" and or commented on this poem I thank you from the bottom of my heart... your words are a comfort to me and my dad (I showed him the comments)... you have touched us deeply... I hope all of you the best...
And Nagi, you are wonderful in your kindness and a special thanks for shinning a "light" on this poem....
Curt
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
In my box, with rictus grin
they could not straighten with a pin~
I lay before my friends and folks
and seemed to smile at silent jokes~
and some did wonder, what was planned
but little could they understand
how I looked on from up above
and hovered over those I love~
it all went off without a hitch
the biker said I was a *****
and with that word, the motley crew,
they blocked the doors so none passed through~
They dimmed the lights, to set the mood
and turned the music down to 'brood'
and every guest then took a seat
and fanned the sweat of stinky feet.
The biker wiped his eyes, and said,
'It's very hard to see her dead,
but it should come as no surprise,
that Nagi, with her smiling eyes,
made this request of all her friends,
and here's the list, and there's some pens.
She'd like you all to listen, while
her written works are read 'in style'.
And if one title strikes a note
of relevance, is what she wrote,
then jot it down and pass it to
the one beside you in the pew.
and at the end of every row
stood someone with a basket though
it wasn't clear where this would go
my friends and family had to know
the basket filled to overflowing
you read the one you picked, not knowing
I was watching from on high
and busting out, my old laugh-cry
'Twas several hours that had passed
and people dying to be gassed
Could this one be the very last?
the final poem that Nagi cast?
The friends and folk of my rich past
applauded, it was done at last!
and headed for the open air,
and as they reached the doorway there~
a book was handed to each guest
My dying wish, you'd all be blessed,
and finally you would have, to own,
a coffee table book, a tome
And every poem I ever wrote
contained within the pages, note
the title, it was all my own
'The Forced Readings of
Nagi Ramone.'
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 5:58 PM UTC
*Falling Man & The Mountain
The gathering of stones grew
the higher I climbed,
I could climb no more
realizing too late
the mountain would never touch your sky.
~~~
Never meant as invasion,
just some coffee and hi.
Maybe talk some about
the Birch and Oak
down by the small stream;
or the way wild marigolds told
of their sun soaked scent;
and how long ago our youth was spent
star gazing from our grand mother’s porch.
Your’s from a small town in Italy;
mine from the country side of Pennsylvania.
~~~
While I will climb no more,
I am not sorry for the journey
as it was made honestly
like the wind, Spring touched,
as it whispers through the valley
bringing green grass and clover.
Aztec Warrior 1.15.16
NOTE: I wrote this poem after reading Nagi’s poem (“High Value”)
and Vicki’s poem (“the moss and the moon”). Both poems spoke to me and inspired this poem of introspection, since I have been chasing “skies”
and am in need of a “waning moon”... Thanks Nagi. Thanks Vicki.
Your poetry truly does inspire. So I hope I have not in any way
disrespected you or your poetry.*
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
(Dedicated to our dear bhakti friend and kindred spirit
Catherine Jansen)
Catherine dances
around the cremation grounds
with the Nagi, Sadhus of Lord Shiva
skulls and snakes dangling from
their fearsome necks
Her unique eye is able to
behold beauty in the
dreadful and sublime
Cat's heart belongs to Banaras
also known as Varanasi, Kashi
City of Temples and Light
to die in Banaras is considered auspicious
and augers salvation
With Love and Compassion of the
Divine Mother
Catherine showers happy gifts
on orphaned street children
Clutching Barbie dolls and flashing
brand new dental smiles
they dance with her along the Ganges
Catherine dances with an all seeing camera
in her hands
Zooming in
and
Zooming out
of the sacred, human, transcendental experience
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 7:37 PM UTC
our sisters in poetry
aren't seen on the site's pages
do you recall them
the loveliest gals
ever welcoming of heart
our Nagi and Winn
we miss their presence
they really knew how to write
and were wonderful
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 2:00 AM UTC
it really is an actual word, it's translatable as something
between nudist, and a man walking with his
torso showing...
there's a lot of idiosyncrasy involved -
etymology serves thus:
nagi - which has a male pronoun
differentiation -
the female counterpart?
naga.
Nagasaki?
toot p'ah... a french
variation into making a frown: hą hą hą.....
że sł'i!
so... the word of vector imbeciles...
nygus....
there's real geopolitik involved....
real places, real people... isolated people...
which probably experienced the wrath of
the wehrmacht and the soviets....
real people, real places...
hence the idiosyncrasy....
linguistics aside,
much more fun than talking about chimps,
in all earnest honesty...
chimps? chimps?!
only fools and broken branches?
by now i'm starting to think:
(i'm drunk, so) :
what the **** are you on about?!
i sense no use of l.s.d. - so... what the ****
i don't get them, those bewildered westerners...
they didn't see the second coming in 1945
with the unearthing of the nag hammadi library?
o right... the word in question: nygus...
nygus -
**** knows where that came from...
probably siberia, but even that is uncertain...
it could actually mean a half clad man...
a man exposing his torso....
nygus.... nagi...
(male)....
naga
(female)...
it's actually quiet fun watching western civilisation rot
in the linguistic hell-hole it's at...
i.e. how pronouns don't translate
or simply aren't incorporated into other
grammatical categorisations...
so... as a pole, if i had to resurrect myself,
would i place the genesis at auschwitz...
or at marienburg?
never mind the question, the word nygus still bothers
me... it's specific to a geopolitical locality,
it is locality, per se....
it has no basic meaning in
the location i now occupy...
and it has no direct confrontation
with being applied for a desirable purpose...
what i'm seeing in discussion these days
is akin to the seperation of church from state...
but on a more abstract canvas:
subject from object... which really is covert
for attaché:
and that's what it will always be, should the feat be
given a historical allowance of a century's worth of dispute.
it was clear in the first place:
church and state...
|
the vatican as a church-state;
but those are "real" bodies, in that they are
diplomatic, and therefore bureaucratic...
this next divorce? i.e. the subject from the object?
my intestines have no knowledge of my brain,
and my brain has no knowledge of my pancreas...
i do think the state segregating itself from
the church was a decent checkmate....
but enforcing this objective positivism...
i.e. ****** subjectivity?
the divorce is going to be as violent
as that in the historical framework of
the seperation of church from state;
although "less" violent,
in that: more suicidal among the young.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 4:20 AM UTC
and this is what they say, honestly, this is what
they say:
mają burdel w gębie,
a tu im fiołek zorem: jakby mowa
o pałacu Wersal!
what's that translated as?
you have to try harder, cutting out my mother
tongue will be as hard as your concept of
revising me writing with my right hand,
forcing me to write with my left hand...
they have a brothel in their gobs,
lo! they are deluded that their tongues are violets:
as if they were talking about the palace of Versailles.
europe is europe...
tym całusem swą matke?
with such a kiss your own mother?
nic mnie już nie dziwi
(nothing bewilders me right now)
serio
(seriously).
starałem i starałem mieć cierpliwość
z angolem... ale po dwu-dziestu lat:
straciłem, czy też zapomniałem
tą niby cierpliwość?
bo mnie kurwa wkurwił po szczyt gdzie moja
krew zaczeła wrzeć!
ohyda! pfu! jakby we mnie mongoł!
ubierz swój zór w coś podobnego do u'ropy -
eh?
tyś nagi jakby proto mit adam'ah;
ale tyś nie on: bo sam gawędzisz: nie istniał...
no, prawie - jak ty.
i shudder to think what the next defence of capitalism
will reveal itself as:
why haven't they noticed cultural darwinism
just after they identified cultural marxism?
no one is even keen to acknowledge
cultural darwinism... the whole concept has left
the realm of science... a long time ago...
it's a cultural motif...
but it's not acknowledged
as such... why?
why is no one i'm listening
to throwing the term about: cultural darwinism,
cultural darwinism... cultural darwinism...
oh believe me: we have the infrastructure,
we can open auschwitz the moment you say: go!
so what happened? some cut your ***** / tongue
off?
the west is effectively talking into its own *** -
the russian doping scandal?
did you follow up on the bradley wiggins scandal that
was hushed to the point where they all turned
seagull and tried hushing that scandal with
mer... mer (finding nemo... marp)?
eh? hear that one?
the west is nothing but a
claustrophobic globalisation agenda... and some weird
**** about a transgender movement that
tried to **** around with the laws of grammar
so that when i speak this western language:
i'm speaking siamese, while trying to run a marathon.
Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 11:07 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Died While Trying
(prompted by an idea by Nagi)
“Every day you play with the light of the universe”
-Neruda
The glory of killing an old man already dying
Is heralded by the clinking of colorful medals
As a president is helped into his Mercedes
By white-gloved lieutenants wearing golden aiguilettes
The old man dying in his bed was a challenge to evil
Through the love-letters of freedom he wrote to the world
Ambassadors of hope that could not be recalled
Just as a subtle injection cannot be withdrawn
A flowering of ideas in verses freely exchanged
Crushed beneath boots polished by frightened houseboys
May 21, 2025
May 21, 2025 at 11:26 AM UTC