"oer" poems
...for love.
(sonnet #MMMMMDXXXIX)
He jested that he'd write a book whose tale
Was "I forgot to cry" as twas mine thence
For his love drying the endless tears' vain sense
Oer losing Mum, my best friend, and prevail
As bashert where I've never known to hail
Aught soulmate; loved me more than life, to fence
The twinkling hours with him in sheer defense,
And aye, eclipsed my grief oer her, t'avail.
Thus where Death called his lease, or ours as twere,
His last speech mine, he prayed another'd do
That for his Baby. Yet aught else is poor.
I weep sans comfort, maddened while I rue
Whatever sin brought our demise, or fer
What took his life. Cuz I'll e'er love him too.
22Mar16b
He said in closing [giving his full name]that he is mine affectionately forever in love for eternity.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
birches and tastsy jerky wood. resin in the immediate shubbary.... and dust and cobwwebs growing adjacent to the jerky wood. Myraid of birds, ranging from small birch-types to crows. A lingering dominant hawk. A giant possum crossing between borders carrying unborn infants. Dusty walls with abandonded spiderwebs- insect carcassases dangling, still. Pool motors revving in every direction lets of a subtle hum that compliments the planes descending and ascending oer-head
the water is grainy yet cool and healing. the sprinklers function at midnight and sometimes on the weekend. Maintinance trucks, expensive commuter vehicals, modest vehicls, unmanned vehicles, arrowhead trucks, macdonalds trucks, safeway trucks....
the earth is still wheaty and chalky adjacent the jerky trees, the jerky trees have little hairs and appetizing off red color, the bark saddles off with grace and with a satisfying tare.
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
One tiny water droplet dances,
On a river of rushing air.
She races 'oer cumulus cliffs.
She tumbles down the nimbus stair,
And as she whirls mid the frozen flow,
Her body begins to turn to snow.
Relinquishing her liquid status,
Spreading forth her crystaline lattice,
She leaps from the cloud tops of her birth,
Forsakes the sky and drifts to earth.
Now me...
...I come...
Grumping down the stony street,
Back turned to the sky, eyes glued to my feet,
And lurking in my furrowed head,
Myriad troubles, worry and dread.
No time to look round, no time to see,
No time for laughter, no time to be.
Suddenly, a glint, flashing, captivates my eye,
Causing me to look upon a small speck drifting by.
One perfect snowflake, like a musical note,
Piroettes, hovers and lands upon my coat.
At once, the black veil distorting my sight,
Dissolves to reveal the truth and the light.
I look up, breathless, for now I can see,
The whole world is dancing and smiling at me,
And my cares, so tremendous a moment before,
Now seem quite tiny and sort of a bore.
I must thank this lovely creature who has perched upon my sleeve,
But all I found was a water droplet, slipped down into the weave.
And on that winter afternoon as I stood beneath a tree,
A small voice whispered on the wind and sighed...
..."Remember me."
Later on, the moment past, now back my daily trials,
And I, caught up in deadlines met, far from thoughts of smiles,
Reached for a pen to make a list of certain things to get,
Looked down my arm at the sleeve of my coat,
...and saw it was still wet.
(For Casey)
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
Once upon a time we had the hymnal propped by the kitchen sink so's I could learn; years later Mum would sing along with me, and now...I like never but once in a blue moon dare to sing aloud, for missing her to tears.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXLVII)
What's happened to--me? Rainy hours detail
Thet eye with silver's touch while green lawns fence
The minutes fog obscures by vague suspense
With softest carpets rolled out to avail,
And I'm not erm, my own in sheer betrayl;
Erst naked trees lost to mists' whitish sense
Of yonder, I could shiver, and do hence,
Cuz in a blink I'm his upon that scale.
One comment like my wont five days ere, poor
As what? now he distracts aught hours 'til through
Suggestion I am giggling, sober, tour
His deepest sorrows, and maunt say he'd woo?!
Of course, I'm better searching violets, fer
All that. Let purple wink low, saying we knew.
05Apr17b
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
Being fatigued has its benefits: I don't give a hoot.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXXVI)
Talk to the silence as a train growls thence
Through wooded stretches, 'neath the bridge detail,
Sans more than rumbling deeply on that scale,
And think of how wee cricket voices fence
These ghastly plains with fiddling oer suspense,
Nor listen cuz--those days are gone and fail,
At least my solace in their joys does, pale
Expanses washed in moonlight not mine hence.
Or not the maple's knobby roots as twere,
Its canopy of shadow lace I knew
Last year, that freedom of the lake in tour
Gone, I remember, as tinnitus to
Effect half waltzes with the clock's demure
Tread, ticking, whilst...what is't that no man woo?
09Jul17b
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMCDXXXII)
How rain's nigh ghastly light haunts vague suspense
Ere darkness yield to after. In the pale
Note follwing, whiter morsels chase th'exhale
Which moves atwixt these firs as if pretense
Could not decide oer snowbanks' worn intents
And newer puddles thinking of betrayl,
This fragile romance in surreal tones' bail
Lost in the flurry of just whither hence.
I want to ask you what you're doing fer
All we have overnight made me and you
Erm, us and we. And scared but driving, you're
Not one bit daunted either. What'd we do?
I've heard of whirlwind stories. Aren't such poor?
You'd kiss my tear-washed face, and say we knew?
03Feb16
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
See my spiral for how she rendered it
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXVI)
Ya. Lean upon the porch rail as night's dense
Black--does it twinkle with ah, stars? nor hail
The mirk none pass through, just my brother. Pale
As Au Revoir where all else sleep from hence,
Lo, how--what ist? Hark! For the train calls thence,
Its whistle breaking this cold silence' tale,
And think now, of how I'll lose all ist? frail
Against the metal lacework, sans defense.
Turn back indoors to clean the mess we'd stir
In babysitting. Wooden tracks a crew
Of Brio traincars clattered oer in tour
Half like what deeply rumbles past, aye to
A fault, my brother saying "a real train--" Were
I numb too long oer Mum? Or swear I knew?
01Apr17b
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:43 AM UTC
...and I'll give you half an ear.
[L9: Robert. And sent a pic when returned. And yes, I loved him, shame to say.]
(sonnet #MMMMMCMXCI)
Where gloaming filters out in greyish thence
And fading halflight, children's voices trail
Some barking canine as no birds detail
Calm whispers whose soft breath tugs at me hence
Likeas to stay my footfalls with that sense
Tis now, and here. Ne stars yet in blue's veil
Except the evening star alone oer pale
Dead houses, and how sunset burns low. Whence?
Indeed. He's gone to Burning Man as twere
Or some take off that, romance forfeit too,
Else I'll wish for a date with each in poor
Excuse, how's that? The problem is...that you
Are not here. What are cool winds' murmurs? You're
Who gives dusk romance. Tell me that you knew.
23Oct16c
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 11:33 PM UTC
Yes, I am prolly the only fan of old, cold, coffee. Over antique sonnets, too.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCLXXX)
Soft blue heavn's arid eye ne clouds 'non fence
Though ah, how ghostly shadows haunt and trail
Across the rippling fields of grass detail
Below! look sweetly as in years gone--sense
Of all we'd known within their cast, til hence
The soul yields to is't childhood's carefree scale
As twere of hope? vain dreams' perspective hale
If we'd but 'llow ourselves to breathe, fr'intents.
And Maples' shaggy boughs nod; leaves astir
To aerie whispers, as the voice of who?
Some distant motorcyclist passing through
Upon these emptyer country roads in tour,
Lends 'scuse for placid calm, where Sunday fer
All that's excuse, the hol'day 'pon us too.
27May18b
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 8:38 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXVIII)
Lo, poor man's tea in dawn's first light, whose pale
Eye shifts vague shadows 'cross dead houses thence,
Ere twinkling with an orange splash' warming sense
Upon that silence, and no coffee's bail
In morning's fog as rosy lee's detail.
Snow's bitter whiteness waits sans aught suspense
While sparrows gaily answer for two pence,
And I wash up the dishes on that scale.
We fix a mean cup of ole joe as twere,
Yet where the Brits swear by tea's mincing cue
I oddly know what tis to waken, poor
As such assertions oer the second brew.
Discuss caffeine, and I sleep well nor stir
'Til ah, forget it. What I need is you.
05Jan16d
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
Layered. Say you didn't know these were complex.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCXXXVII)
Blue skies peer thinly twixt the whiter tale
Of clouds whose stringy webs mask what, from hence?
The warming golden light half bleak, a sense
I maunt put down stalks through all that'd avail.
Ne shadows nor a flirting breath t'exhale
By even halves and I am jumpy, whence
What daffodils might nod can own intents
While folk tell April Fools jokes like we've bail.
Did I complain oer...jonquils' yellow tour
Of frilly heads and purple hy'cinth too?
Yes. I said even ******* laundry's...poor,
Sith Mum is buried. Taen from me now, who
Shall pity? Sparrows e'en too distant fer
Aught smiles, I wonder if a man'd now woo.
01Apr17c
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:46 AM UTC
My Journey With The Lord
My journey with the Lord
I'm completely satisfied,
For he's always with me
daily; walks side by side.
The Lord is my leader my
guide and my friend,
He'll travel my journey
with me until the very end.
I'll go wherever he leads,
For he'll supply my needs.
I have become so so excited
My journey he's enlightened
With him leading I'll stay on
the right track,
No wasted years and I'm not
turning back!
My journey with Jesus; Gods only Son,
Will soon be Oer' ; The victory will be won!
My journey with The Lord is
more that words can convey,
My calling and gift of poetry
he's given to me in life's way!
At the end of life when I'm dying
No more writing poetry; No
more rhyming.
(c) All rights reserved
WrittenBy: Barbie Kirk
03-04-15 6:13 pm
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 1:19 AM UTC
...like, "if you must remain nobly a ****** unto death in lieu of marrying divorced or ungodly men, buck up and be thankful." or something like that.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCMVI)
If butterflies were dancing gaily hence
Across these wastes, likeas in sheer betrayl
Pink 'non embroidered ones do whilst flutes scale
Soft notes and trip too merr'ly for intents
Now through the minutes I work pinning thence
An ancient zipper to this skirt, we'd hail
Sweet joy no, aye? But thin white clouds 'gain veil
Blue skies til shadows' ghosts fade, and's pretense.
Did I complain too much ere, that as twere
I'm punished with ne best friend? No man'd woo
Affections then, but he was toying in poor
Excuse with me, or was divorced. None do
Ha, ha now either, flutes in lieu what stir
Fond visions as I bend oer sewing's cue.
25Jan18b
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
'Twas March of 1958
A babe arrived, a heavyweight
As babies go he was first-rate
Really worth the nine months wait
A child so fair, so good, so bonnie
Our fourth born child, we named him Ronnie
Oer the years we watched him grow
A loving child, we loved him so
So strong, so sweet, unlike any other
A loving son, a loyal brother
he's grown from such a special lad
to a quite extraordinary dad.
It's been apparent from the start
he has an extra roomy heart
Full of giving, always sharing
towards others he is more than caring
So raise your glasses
and give some cheers
to celebrate his forty years.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
i.
Michar, Oer'len-
Lavokri, proment;
ii.
Pravickle gla shoviet
Shoviet crunce du;
zeftar mun acopolli,
vas dae ba-la shu.
iii.
Marantash sodetti
Grasvantas, blinta
Yeshatari klevo's.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane sardua Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedicated
You must read bottom while reading poem for words meanings.
Thanks Brandon. And to all my readers thank you dearly for your support! I thank all of you for your support and kindness and love. Your fellow poet
Brandon Cory Nagley.....
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 9:00 PM UTC
...the Word of God.
(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXXII)
Oh yes. I wimper still oer Mum. Care thence
In silence as ne words assuage nor bail
My soul, except the LORD's in sheer betrayl.
Orange kisses treetops, yellow nestles hence
In sidewalk cracks and dips, vines paint a sense
Of scarlet through the copse no phlox detail
Now, and lo, I submit a sonnet they'll
Not choose, remembring Mum last year--and whence?
I swear, the Word of God my home as twere,
Replies as through a parched land we ensue.
Grey hours rain drips oer, deep blue heavns we were
So fond of seeing twixt yellow Maples--do
Not have my ticket anymore. In poor
Scuse I watch Pride and Prejdice. Where are you?
16Oct16b
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:47 PM UTC
We had some swans,
such lovely ones,
gliding 'oer the water,
I'm sad to say,
they didn't stay.
white feathers on dark water.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 7:02 AM UTC
Ya, weeds.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCMLXXXI)
Now April dogs our sunny minutes, pale
Blue skies with nary cloud to mar that sense
As orange 'non splashes buildings in defense
Of rosy sunset just where dinner's bail,
The biscuits cut ere that eye cease t'avail,
And curtains drawn while steamy soup fr'intents
Give us cause to reflect, black night what'd fence
Dessert as we talk oer the future's tale.
I roll the first words 'cross my tongue as't stir
'Fore butter gives flour cause to be anew
Sheer dough, that haunting sense light rouses fer
Auld memries of lost days what winks unto
My soul, though's but March first. Is it sae poor
To feel it in our bones likeas twould woo?
01Mar18e
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 12:36 AM UTC
And now, ....
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCX)
As if twere not enough that for intents
This valentines Dad gave me Starbucks' scale
Of romance: cherry mocha to avail
Where I'd not dreamed of aught, how blue skies fence
These minutes I warm soup with pink for sense
Light golden with an eye late April's hale
Last hours know as I set the table, frail
Sweet gloaming when we should dine, like what hence?
I don't konw. Caught in memries as it were,
Three years ere was it? Febry's cold as due,
And Valentines Day only halfway through,
Yet I feel in my bones that May'd bestir,
Ere violets have a chance to shift in tour
Mats of dead leaves, for what is't that'd um, woo?
14Feb19b
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 9:22 PM UTC
Hi. waves with a happy smile
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLXVII)
"Your Jenny." And these blank skies thinly pale,
The baby leaves 'non shiver to winds' sense
Of sheer caprice, their soft chartreuse lit thence
As if translucent while birds wing oer, hail
With voices my heart knows from June's detail,
Like summer's breath flirts 'cross green lawns more dense
And ruffled carpets, daffodils bright hence
In deepest yellows smiling to avail.
Oh, Andrew! Song of Songs talks of what fer
Effect seems mine, though we're but friends--yet ooh!
That's how she knows him, yes. Warmth's waltzing tour
With singing lightly on the air and dew
What twinkles in morn's eye is ours as twere,
Whiles I want violets as I wait for you.
14Apr17b
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 1:18 AM UTC
Wonder which of my favourite kites I am?
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCLV)
Read antique sonnets, yet don't hear them, frail
As voicing David Grey oer coffee thence
Is, lost to western beaches' surf from hence
And which I almost listen to in pale
Excuse, while Illinois' blue skies detail
These moors and wasted prairies winds pass whence
I canna say oer, whispers in a sense
Where Or'gon's ist? tore up auld trees to scale.
Our houses wink to golden light as twere,
Whiles Andrew's feel the hurr'cane damage to
Effect. Suppose I don't know what I stir
In asking, he swears I shan't know 'til through
What ist? the ache's root we unearth in tour:
All. And I love each minute lost to you.
09Apr17a
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 1:09 AM UTC
sigh a day later, when Saturday's mad pile of work was a memory, it literally tasted like water. Now, how did that happen?
(sonnet #MMMMDCXLIV)
Mists waft with curious fragrance' odd detail
Upon the creamy surface of those scents'
Brown claim of coffee in my mug, to fence
Thin hope with old chagrin as morning's pale
Light watches from its cloudy vantage' scale
Of truth, where ghostly layers shift oer pretense
And grey asks white to call it blue from thence,
My breakfast: ***** dishes 'hind th'exhale.
It's nat'nal cereal day, so in a poor
Excuse I added Malt-O-Meal to do
The favours with our wonted pancakes, fer
A whopping stack of edibles. Yes, two
Eggs, bacon, and a touch of fruit. If you're
Still hungry, there's no coffee. I love you.
07Mar15a
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
give not a sound
trembler
the knees knocking crane
'oer a lathered thing rising
by mute unsound
fumbler
the crook pierced open vane
by jeweled petal (a poppy smiling)
creeply warmth unbound
tumbler
a flower blooms in sullied fane
inch by eater -- becomes silver stung
Dec 6, 2012
Dec 6, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
Why I seem to be fair prey for men my father's age and his friends to boot, I cannot guess. But how do you be friendly while hating their interest intensely? He said, "I saw that look!" and I'm not really sorry he did, either.
(sonnet #MMMMMCMLXX)
Thin blue skies peer twixt greyish clouds a sense
Of bitter air wafts from, as if the pale
Eye of uncertain warmth's half golden scale
Of light is fragile and must tiptoe thence
In fear across these rasping fields 'til hence
Called off, whileas how leaves just whisper, frail
Breaths passing through oer naked boughs' detail,
The maples green yet as orange paints suspense.
He pops his head in at my bedroom door in tour,
And I assure him that, "Oh, I know you--"
While classcal music plays, rehearse in poor
'Scuse memries, 'til oer one say that we do
Not hafta lie: "I'm not availble fer
Whomever--" and he bows...is that adieu?
15Oct16
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCCXLIII)
So, if I wait until the morrow, pale
As aught excuse, we might continue thence
This theme: I meant to scribble--for intents.
Espresso. With sweet conversation, bail
For many years, passe, lost in betrayl
Since April was't? This morning likeas hence
We'd never ceased, I sip with Dad, a sense
Of sweeter hours in tow as if t'avail.
And Wordsworth oer last bits of coffee, to
Effect where Sunday afternoon in tour
Could don a sense of happier years we knew
When Mum was still with us. O tis a poor
Suggestion. I cooked lunch with mishaps fer
Reminders of the LORD's great mercies: new.
24Jun18
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC