"occidental" poems
The line didn't move, though there were not
many people in it. In a half-hearted light
the lone agent dealt patiently, noiselessly, endlessly
with a large dazed family ranging
from twin toddlers in strollers to an old lady
in a bent wheelchair. Their baggage
was all in cardboard boxes. The plane was delayed,
the rumor went through the line. We shrugged,
in our hopeless overcoats. Aviation
had never seemed a very natural idea.
Bored children floated with faces drained of blood.
The girls in the tax-free shops stood frozen
amid promises of a beautiful life abroad.
Louis Armstrong sang in some upper corner,
a trickle of ignored joy.
Outside, in an unintelligible darkness
that stretched to include the rubies of strip malls,
winged behemoths prowled looking for the gates
where they could bury their koala-bear noses
and **** our dimming dynamos dry.
Boys in floppy sweatshirts and backward hats
slapped their feet ostentatiously
while security attendants giggled
and the voice of a misplaced angel melodiously
parroted FAA regulations. Women in saris
and kimonos dragged, as their penance, behind them
toddlers clutching Occidental teddy bears,
and chair legs screeched in the food court
while ill-paid wraiths mopped circles of night
into the motionless floor.
10.3k
1114
The largest Fire ever known
Occurs each Afternoon—
Discovered is without surprise
Proceeds without concern—
Consumes and no report to men
An Occidental Town,
Rebuilt another morning
To be burned down again.
5.2k
I am an exoskeleton
Falling to pieces
Half alive yet entirely dead
Crumbling and translucent
Delicate, and drifts, fluttering
With a single breath from someone
Nearby
I could be crushed or mangled
By a strike of the hand or a flick of a finger
But because I am considered beautiful and strange
I am kept preserved
The world revolves around beauty and
Oddities and I become one of these
Studied anomalies, a curiosity, merely
Because I am not like them
I am Oriental
And Occidental
I am a Southerner
And a Northerner
I am malnourished
Yet well fed
I am thin and short
But my stature belies my power
I am a geek, nerd, braniac, dork, and overachiever
But remain a stupid, ignorant, procrastinator
I am certainly an curio; a
Living
Breathing
Walking
Oxymoron
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:37 PM UTC
beginning optional weekday
wielding officialese words
triggering hectic exchanges
determining original gangsters
distributing invisible data
refreshing urbane novelties
yelping our universe
chaining awkward neologisms
scripting encrypted e-books
tackling hacking exercises
cavaliering auric tumult
trivializing our obsolescence
preparing online pentimento
alternating rainy themes
allocating numerous droplets
meandering overseas missions
averting raging tornado
losing outscored lightning
hacking impish 'sblood!
alienating nival drumlins
hearing erudite raconteurs
beer-drinking on thursdays
finding obnoxious rabblerousers
finding upscale negroni
seeing ubiquitous purple
cavorting horse ebooks
inventing twitter subgenre
liking otherworldly vocals
initiating new greatness
defining ambient yesterday?
defining ambient yesterday
fancying oneiric retreat
hailing optimistic chicago
kiboshing expired yogurt
rushing airborne blackhawks
bestowing infinite shivarees
needing baller acronym
fleeting ideal notions
alerting left-coast state
featuring unquiet nights
finalizing orangeball results
nodding occidental warriors
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
building purist æsthetic
proselytizing solar-powered heliolatry
commemorating historic concert
sensing dark forces
fokken lekker antwoord
pumping sensory overload
featuring high-tech dee-jay
admiring gelato micro-truck
laxing laying lazing
"doing something nasty"
continuing quality content
entering another cathedral
journeying without borders
"exactly one year
since visiting vatican"
appreciating full-time gigasphere
awaiting pyongyang performance
depicting unlikely crowdsurfer
foreseeing exponential improvements
furthering esoteric agenda
sensing profound incompatibility
data-mining people's infidelities
anticipating futuristic caffeine
perfecting invisible propaganda
researching mind-control techniques
polishing psycho-social weaponry
sensing social embargo
flourishing frantic fanfare
admiring longitudinal monument
parodying marketing slogans
cycling through österreich
eyeing dystopian disneyland
streaming crosswords extended-play
herding glass kittens
deleting idiosyncratic fragment
loremipsum-ing laconic loudmouth
receiving ultramodern telegram
eigo-ga wakarimasu ka?
guzzling duck-fat fries
encouraging panic selling
(juxtaposing past incarnations)
getting black-and-white privilege
renewing boutique account
relishing cinema poutine
re-entering hibernation mode
opening old windows
continuing zoo motif
absquatulating excessive excesses
nullifying originality claims
proliferating protean persona
disappearing sidewalk alphabet
shrugging opprobrious moments
enjoying vertical alignment
re-entering cyberpunk paradise
approaching island sun
soaring beyond monoliths
trivializing extraneous argy-bargy
decreasing character limits
dumping generic accounts
uglifying commit message
escaping into idiosyncracy
moonshining great lake
exuding idiosyncratic propaganda
living nineties' dreams
making occidental cuisine
envisioning idiocratic president
expropriating your time
ascending homely helix
singing fat lady
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
i.
An enthusiast of Japan
With her love of detective conan;
She loveth YouTube, and small thing's cute
Her voice is uplifting, maketh a lame man start moving.
ii.
From the ancient province
Of Misamis Occidental;
In the northern Mindanao region
Her birth was preordained, not accidental.
iii.
Her favorite color's yellow
And looketh **** in yellow dress;
Though I love her also in black
And red she's a Filipino conqueress.
iv.
I knoweth all about her
Inside and all out;
She's a present wrapped in palm's
She's mine soulmate, no doubt.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication (soulmate)
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
i.
Barefoot, the sod tickling ourn toe's
Aquamarine, cometh mine queen;
Down the trail's of immortality
We shalt go.
ii.
Long happily ever after
None more manacle's;
To fasten ourn wrist's
For we shalt be unimpeded, by eachother's kiss.
iii.
Let the other's wish
Who art jealous;
Of ourn vow's of dedication
This is reality, not some t.v station.
iv.
We shalt build a nation
Out of the Philippine's;
And Greece
Combined.
v.
A concoction of
The finest Misamis Occidental lambanog;
And the relish of
Thine own king's santorini assyrtiko white wine.
©Brandon cory nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley/ Filipino rose dedication
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
warped,
weird,
whirling,
wonder-filled,
a garland of words
eulogized by occidental cosmologists today
to deify the milky way
for five millennia,
in clandestine chambers of
the temple of the lord with a lotus navel,
oriental sages, finely tuned into
ultimate mantras of the cosmos,
initiated ‘twice born’ namboodris of kerala
into a mellifluous sanskrit verse....
a potent heart melting hymn
where our star-studded galaxy,
milky in complexion,
is seen as a spinning jagged-edged discus,
worn as an ornamental ring
around vishnu’s slender index finger,
from whose whirling lotus navel
originate the birth of inseparable twins:
warped space intertwined with flowing time
now this is a garland of exquisite beauty!
© 2019
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 11:29 AM UTC
In the otherworldly terra firma
Of misamis occidental;
Awaiteth mine queen, of all dream's
Saccharine earl Jane, Jehovah's oriental.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
many a night
i lie awake
with remembrances of your silky touch
and a zillion rousing thoughts
racing through my occidental mind.
each time,
longing for that soft embrace
laced with the hope of it all.
tossing,
turning,
just waiting....
for the elusive sleep to descend
© 2022
Jan 2, 2022
Jan 2, 2022 at 8:53 AM UTC
this oriental rose
textured with occidental precision
desperately seeks perfection
in all things worldly
nature’s true signature
wreaks havoc instead:
in the rocks of the grand canyon
in a mole on a cheek
in the dried but fallen leaves of autumn
even in the scribbling of our children
embrace wabi-sabi
where wafting moments of melancholy
transform to sheer joy
in the subtle realization
that coexistence with incompleteness
the proven path to release one
from the chaining bonds of perfection
© 2021
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 10:45 AM UTC
I thought it would be more romantic than this.
I thought it would strangle me with its strangeness
Walk up to me with a sword in its oriental mouth
And bump into me,
Jolting me out of my occidental seat into the stinking dust of the gutters.
I thought the Mohammed Ali mosque would wrestle me to the ground with its shocking bare immenseness.
I thought my nostrils would burn with the assault of unnamed spice.
I thought my ears would crumble with the muezzins call at noon,
When all the dogs in Cairo enter a canine Koran reading contest.
I thought the pyramids would crush me with too much history and indifference
I thought the city of the dead would turn my gut over in its emptiness and blank windows
I thought the Nile would bewitch me and turn my blue blazer to Joseph’s coat
I thought Tuten Kamens chariot would run over me
I thought so much and I thought so much
That it brought me here where I would not be except for Cairo
For Cairo was a poetic enema
And purged some foolishness from me.
She lightened my load
And with her sister Bombay
Will always be on my cerebral medicine shelf
To take in case of cabin fever.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
close your kohl-rimmed eyes
hold me tightly,
let’s dance, cheek to cheek.
c’mon, beggars have dreams too!
leaning to kiss your imaginary lips,
i taste
laced in your occidental tongue,
chocolate truffles and grapes of Montrachet,
which bring an angelic smile to a moonlit face.
scribbling a needed epilogue
for a sultry tune
within the confines of my jello heart,
i curate a dream,
a simple dream for no one to know or see,
but you and me.
© 2021
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 8:01 AM UTC
yesterday
nowhere to be seen,
tomorrow
just the occidental’s dream,
all there is, is the now,
my not so shy, oriental dove.
for the sage,
his day is your night.
your perceived reality, his dream,
this universe merely an illusion.
appearing to be real
existing
outside of the mirror,
as though a reflection.
living this indeed
will be your second coming!
© 2021
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 9:29 AM UTC
i.
On the aisle of Clarin, misamis occidental
Attentive i hadst becometh, ashore a chaste purity;
I kneweth her, she's been waiting for me.
ii.
Afore in the jungle's, wherein ourn touch hath connected
Aloft in the starry nebula's, whence when Pharaoh's directed;
Yet me and mine wild child, were streaming banner's of feral.
iii.
Althedish Hieroglyph's told of ourn second coming
Ourn craft was as in Ezekiel's time, circle's inside circle's;
We illuminated beshowing, towering ticking with none time.
iv.
No custom to be payed, for we art not slave's
I've waited this long, for mine queen of the shade;
I shalt rest with her, on the aisle of Clarin, risking, daring.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane queen dedication
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
in the surveillance of our story, 850 seconds perhaps, in glorified memory,
little jews open their eyes amongst the flaming sculptural spire
and the third of her name, Jerusalem, (is it him?)
(artistic was her surname)
unfortunately, her ID, consumed by torch & flame (.........)
another mourning, another brown, & soggy & tasteless ******* day
in which to despair at the state of her very purposeful Occidental ways
surrounded by fake patriotism & fourteenths & sevens & May
contrast the Marseillaise's rightful sudden death
[ violet haze ]
the saddened by the tragedy
have more to lose at stake
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
How long shall they
**** our prophets,
While we stand aside
In hopelessness and look?
Silah., oh sihah oh Silah?
Oh Allah, said the Muslim.
Why lord, asked the Christian,
Shallom said the Jew!
A few of whom knows
What's wrong with the truth.
Wisdom is better than silver
And gold but the jew chooses gold.
This is not antisemitism,
This is the brainchild of capitalism
and the Occidental colonization
Of our minds lands and cultures.
Bob said prophetic things and he
sang revolutionary songs that
resonates to this very day.
We see the zion train every day
but it delivers nothing to us.
It comes empty but leaves
With tons of our resources.
But we ain't got much to say.
We see the smogs from the
Burning coals from its exhaust,
We hear the tots of the soul train
as it comes our way. we see
nothing but gushes of blood as
It seeps into the soil the Dutchmen
Stood on to decapitate the sons
and daughters of Congo.
Courtesy of King Leopold of Belgium.
Bob was right, A thousand years
Of history will not be wiped away!
#IvanBrookspoetry © #Bassapoet
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 4:23 PM UTC
Egrets stand proud across blue waterways ..
Floridas natural beatitudes flourish as her occidental sojourner travels home , diurnal fauna softly acquiesce , lullaby .. Lailah delivers grace , harmony and benevolence across Gods opus ..
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
Durante muchos siglos
la costumbre fue ésta:
aleccionar al hombre con historias
a cargo de animales de voz docta,
de solemne ademán o astutas tretas,
tercos en la maldad y en la codicia
o necios como el ser al que glosaban.
La humanidad les debe
parte de su virtud y su sapiencia
a asnos y leones, ratas, cuervos,
zorros, osos, cigarras y otros bichos
que sirvieron de ejemplo y moraleja,
de estímulo también y de escarmiento
en las ajenas testas animales,
al imaginativo y sutil griego,
al severo romano, al refinado
europeo,
al hombre occidental, sin ir más lejos.
Hoy quiero -y perdonad la petulancia-
compensar tantos bienes recibidos
del gremio irracional
describiendo algún hecho sintomático,
algún matiz de la conducta humana
que acaso pueda ser educativo
para las aves y para los peces,
para los celentéreos y mamíferos,
dirigido lo mismo a las amebas
más simples
como a cualquier especie vertebrada.
Ya nuestra sociedad está madura,
ya el hombre dejá atrás la adolescencia
y en su vejez occidental bien puede
servir de ejemplo al perro
para que el perro sea
más perro,
y el zorro más traidor,
y el *** más feroz y sanguinario,
y el asno como dicen que es el asno,
y el buey más inhibido y menos toro.
A toda bestia que pretenda
perfeccionarse como tal
-ya sea
con fines belicistas o pacíficos,
con miras financieras o teológicas,
o por amor al arte simplemente-
no cesaré de darle este consejo:
que observe al **** sapiens, y que aprenda.
978
El 4 es 4 para todos?
Son todos los sietes iguales?
Cuando el preso piensa en la luz
es la misma que te ilumina?
Has pensado de qué color
es el Abril de los enfermos?
Qué monarquía occidental
se embandera con amapolas?
831
I sought signs both poorly and all too well,
Temporal desecration, deceived amid allies in a chemical orbit
My eyes, coal-black freezing eggs shivering in the expansive contract
To remain unhatched, their interior activity unnoticed, casings devoid of fissures
They deemed this New World for the whole Indian Ocean, whilst bobbing in a tidal pool
Lonely flotsam, overbargained destination, peered the cobalt with sunburnt backs
Washed in seawater, mistaking the mast on the horizon for the splinter in my cornea
I sought signs both poorly and all too well,
Cornered by God, pushed through into the ethereal,
Found the pattern, heard its airy whisper coat my thought,
Gave in at the threshold, suffered fealty to this breached actuality,
My fey qualities shining, I could glimpse the moon at midday,
Sense the aroma of heartache; savor the essence of autumn’s submission to winter
during awarenesses of spectral subtleties, the heretic’s hints, that waning occidental divination.
Jan 2, 2013
Jan 2, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC
Pull up a chair
and I’ll lie to you.
And I promise that
you won’t be sad
If I told you the truth
you would call me uncouth
and insinuate I might be mad
See, Oz is a wonderful wizard
While Santa Claus flies in a sleigh
In the Heavens above
there’s a God made of love
who will show you His magical
way
And a bunny delivers
the Easter eggs
And the tooth fairy
left you a dime
And Christ may have died
with a spear in His side
but he never changed water
to wine
So I notice that now
you are smiling
Then I guess that
my work here is
through
Believing the lies
is a good compromise
and so what if it’s
not really true
Apr 22, 2011
Apr 22, 2011 at 9:12 PM UTC
We need more Martians , they nattered at me all the time,
More monsters—people like to be scared,
As if those callow youngsters,
Growing up with two cars in the garage
And three sets at the country club,
Their fraternity mixers at Whittier or Occidental,
Knew the first **** thing about terror.
Still, they wanted me to grind out the harum-scarum hokum
They enjoyed watching two-reelers on Saturday afternoons
While men were doing hard work in Leyte and Manila,
As if the transitory fear of some ghoulish bogeyman
Would last through the thirty-second epics
Featuring some cartoon bear shilling for beer
Or bunnies extolling the virtues of toilet paper.
Let me tell you what fear is, I would say time and again,
*It’s a padlocked fence and a smokestack
Which isn’t churning out a **** thing.
It’s the jobs you can’t get because you said something
(And more likely, you didn’t) twenty years ago.
It’s one more envelope from the bank or the phone company
With bold red lettering on the front
That you don’t open because you know what it says
And how it doesn’t matter one bit,
Because you can’t do a ******* thing about it*,
And these promising young men would just look at me
Like I was some poorly made-up extraterrestrial
From one of their Buck ******* Rogers potboilers.
Several of my neighbors here were among the men,
Mostly boys in truth, who marched with the 126th New York,
Taking fire at Petersburg and The Wilderness,
At Spotsylvania and Cold Harbor.
We have spoken about the horrors of war,
The kaleidoscope of confusion and dread,
No direction leading to shelter, no road guiding the way to home.
They have said that, as frightening as the sound of the minie *****
Zipping overhead like malevolent flies,
And the cannon were, what they found truly awful
Was the manner in which those fields,
So like the ones where they had flushed out quail as children,
Became foreboding nightmare landscapes,
Containing a dark madness
That they never dreamed could have existed.
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC