"quiddity" poems
i.
Mine Dame
Unfasten mine cream pigment barong;
Scuff the tiny button's, serenadeth me with Tagalog.
ii.
None need for baon
Where we shalt go is not strained by materialism;
This is not a place of Balaam.
iii.
Mother-naked, ourn quiddity's latched
None leviathan demonic's, no human electronic's;
Mine darling, hug closely, none murrain pain's to be hatched.
iv.
Mine foremost, drinketh with me
Amour's Buko juice as a toast;
A barkada of high-up angelic's to guide ourn ghost's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication/Filipino rose
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
My newest hobby is telling people
that I have a prom date, watching the drift of mouths
and listening to the refocusing
of eyes. I'm sure they don't mean
to be rude but they certainly make a good show
of their unkempt reactions.
"Really?" comes the pestilential chorus
as trains of thought rapidly switch tracks.
One stalwart, you may shudder
to hear this, expressed profound
disgust when I disclosed the girl's identity.
"I wasn't aware they let lesbians go to the dance.”
he says and I: "Well, you'll find
they cannot bar the doors to any
sort of trash. You're going right?"
Not a thing about this business seems (to my joying eyes)
quite belonging to its proper world. Yes, it's really me.
I, the wandering virgin-shaman,
must look quite at odds in their view;
despoiling the *** ritual
by stepping out from behind
the moon's galling rind of half-light.
To beat at my own tides? Oh, god!
The quiddity of my queer mind
is sacred like a water-walking rumor.
I find myself betrothed behind my back,
my role is sealed ere tightness shows a crack.
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 6:16 PM UTC
We all need to play, play is the way
To manifest our quiddity,
Alleviate stress, perform at our best,
Laughter can render lucidity.
But we insist by rational twist
On living in stress and stupidity,
Ignoring our nub and joining the club
That actively sponsors morbidity.
No need to frown or silence the clown
To fake a mature identity,
Success can be won while people have fun
And flourish in spontaneity.
Aug 15, 2010
Aug 15, 2010 at 11:20 AM UTC
What is this diminutive?
This quiddity of how we live,
This good and bad,
And right from wrong,
This insane concinnity,
We’ve followed for so pitifully long.
We need learn and ruse our minds,
To understand all types of kinds,
For man is not salubrious,
And all we seek is dubious,
We need to come to understand,
We all are good but all still bad,
We all are docile but maleficent,
Average and Magnificent,
We choose to be one or the other,
One or another,
Some skilled to beguile,
Others only know how to be difficile,
We all are weakened by indigence,
And we all are to this world exiguous,
So what is this surquedry of whose good and bad,
just because some may be of duende,
And others temerity mad,
No matter what you may do or say,
Your actions my apodictic opinion will not sway,
We will always be of human nature,
What is this good and bad nomenclature?
We are human and not irrefragable,
And the definition of unstable,
So be thee good or bad,
Be thee happy,
Be thee sad,
Be thee sane and be the mad,
We all can be good but we still stay with some bad.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
blocked
shattered
forlorn
your voice
unable to speak
your mind
unable to breathe
your soul
unable to feel
your heart
unable to love
all because
you're exhausted
not because of anything
in particular
but the mere quiddity
of existence,
the sheer fact
that your life
is a repetitious routine
maybe there are others
that see the beauty in life
but you, worn-out and tarnished
have had enough,
with another colossal task
you're forced to do,
numerable responsibilities
that weigh you down,
broken relationships
that you cannot mend,
and new-fangled ideas
which you cannot innovate
so when is it time
to tell everyone
that you've finally had enough?
that you can't take it any longer?
that you're much too exhausted
to even care anymore?
when it's too late?
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
poetry is the quiddity of me
it is so intertwined with my soul
that it is woven into my heart
I could never abandon this
it is my other half
it is me
words flow from my mind
and onto paper or a screen
it is part of me
poetry is the quiddity of me
May 27, 2025
May 27, 2025 at 1:04 PM UTC
sounds can testify the details of a picture
whilst unholy orbs can earwitness the vowels and consonants
beneath the smoke is an ibidem treasure
nothing but the end of the line of the coincidence
there's something about the heat,
the taste,
the texture,
and the rhythm,
that puts each creature in a strange addiction
it draws me in a helix composition
or a different compensation
and most of all,
i'm bottled up in a wild satisfaction
my mundane hours would feel extra deserted
just like my camel stick when it's unkindled
i might hate seeing―experiencing typical things
but never tired of this kind of habit that seems brittle
or a sense of rage, not even a little
because of every sip,
my piercing thoughts became a whistle
as soon as i light up a coffin nail
my veins will finally ignite, once again
the dark shack i'm in will be darker
but brighter in my eyes
then my lonely spirit will be lonelier
but i'd have unseen friends in disguise
the subdued toxins will shatter in ashes
but it won't break like my positive qualities mixing in the air
turns out i'm not sniffing the exasperating scent
merely engulfing the ache and the rasp regrets
my peeves shall drown in my foggy statements
letting my weight float through the clouds
mind's hazy,
vision's blurry,
tears shiny,
and heart's happy,
yet the sadness would still creep when the last breath's out
the aftertaste should be really more ravishing
similar to the catchy tunes of 'offonoff'
feverless, manipulating, non-colorless
and especially, not quiddity-vanishing
the nicotine never fails to send me over in a mnemonic mess
directing me in a festinate loop in so many ways
the menthol touch wouldn't be as cold as the other people nowadays,
but when they ask, they'd question;
"what was the song, by the way?",
i'd stumble and fall with my laconic disorder
inside my head like a wounded cassette
then i'll answer,
it's cigarette
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
You're a serendipity
I'm a halcyon w your presence
Our vibing is the true quiddity
I love ua smile, it's lucent
Worths million kitakat's.
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 11:20 AM UTC
Am I two?
Am I one?
At both of my hands, I stare
With both of my eyes
I walk with both of my feet
I think with more than a brain
Burst!
Brain
Melt!
Crack my head open
Leave me here and go there
Evaporate into the atmosphere
Burn me to the ground
Let me turn to ashes
Let me be part of the wind
I could merge in between billion different
particules
If I concentrated hard enough
You, me, Jelly matter, would concentrate too
I would freeze, I would forget, I would turn crazier than my crazy sanity
It's a spiral, a never ending circle,
It goes on and on
There is no gravity
In what I've become
No steadiness
No platform
Nothing to hold on to
Everything is abstract
I'm floating in a world of black bubbles
Or maybe the bubbles are transparent
My dark, scary world
Soft, foam, everything dissipates to the touch, to a glare
A single deep breath intake, inhale the whole world, bare
Too much of me in me
Less of me outside of me
Raw vocal cord, sore gut
A belly button, turning, dancing
Crafting it's way through shapeless bones
To where?
Where from?
Where to?
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 3:52 AM UTC
Tranquility is peace and being
Rejuvenated through which we can earn
Anticipation against our
Negative thinking, acquire the quality of
Quiddity which is making us
Upgrade a skill of
Integrity towards our
Lustrous colors of beauty and a great
Impact of
Tenderness but sometimes people just
Yearn to get a feeling of tranquility.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC
.
q
u u i u
i d d i
d i t d
d y d
i q u i
t i d t
y d i y
q t y q
u q u
i ui i
d
i
t
y
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC
It's not always that when you look outside your window,
you see something looking right back at you
Almost as if the something could read your kernel.
Your deepest despair.
The glare had this flare that you both shared.
It was rare.
It's just a cat. You said.
but when have you ever been able to convince yourself this easy
It's not. You know.
You're still looking at it, as it looks back at you
The same way. Both of you reading;
six minutes fleeting, seven feet away;
eighth trait she's feeding, from her ninth life today.
Your grandma told you stories.
Kings and lovers who hid a part of their soul.
Their anima, in an animal
so their quiddity was never fully stole.
It's not true. It's not real
Just some unfathomable fairyland scam.
But then why is it that when I bleed
It's only you who seems to understand.
(hiss)
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 9:38 AM UTC
You are a Gypsy Queen
Fashioning the hearts of your victims directly on your sleeves
Pick up your trinkets, jewels, and memories
Travel the underworlds looping through centuries
You are my Gypsy Queen
Dance, lady dance, look at me
A body made of untouched clay slithering within my quiddity
Posthumously, oblivion seeks to dance with me
A ballet of mortal divinity
Pierce through my vengeance last I must grieve
Your borrowed light loaned to enlighten me
Smile through your stone-chiseled teeth
An unfortunate commoners sovereignty
Thou art mine own to thieve
You are my Gypsy Queen
Sep 18, 2021
Sep 18, 2021 at 2:52 PM UTC
All thought must be offered up as a sacrifice
The sacrifice of the human will, but after this
The judgement as it is appointed unto men
Once to die as the hue and cry of Rhadamanthus
gavel falls netherwards fore death is the epitome
Of sins penalty; the epitome of sins liability is
Therefore the holy wrath of the First Cause,
Dispensing the empyreal quiddity of eternities
Wisdom as into the fire all things are cast due
To the hardness of the featherless bi-peds nescient
Hearts on that most ancient battle field where
Free-will and Destinies depravity bewrays the
Impenitent categorical imperative that all truth
Is worshipful and the wind blows where it listeth
Since by man came the mire of death, by man also
The resurrection of the dead; and the weights
Of life and the measures of death, (the general
revelation), under the karmic laws for which All
Are to have to pay in time to come are vinadicatory
Of God, the author of all things, whose drink for
The good of all beings is always compassion thus
Serving only to render men without excuse as
Either Elysium or Sheol await, because man
Does not cease to exist in the land of silence
As the region of darkness it is not non-existence;
But it is not life when both life and death
Concern the whole man to lift up thy heart.
ELEETE J MUIR
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 10:37 AM UTC