"quietus" poems
peeress: a woman holding the rank of a peer in her own right.
what tools fo you require?
a microscope, binoculars, perhaps an observatory telescope...
you ask to peer into my soul,
the heart of the matter,
and I object
not,
asking only for a workman's wages,
of honest preparation,
have you the tools to see me properly,
and when you love what you see,
will you have them by your side
to see the future close by,
and so far ahead?
do you possess within thy
secret places,
an archeological brush
to wipe gently away my ancient earths,
or a toy red shovel to remove fossilized
10,000 year old grains of old hearts,
or fresh, damp from this morning,
of words and sand from my inner
beach, even then, the tonnage may
require an industrial excavator
to clear, hold and perhaps contain
all that poetry, all that love that it contains,
so I ask, you, myself:
*Do you have the proper tools,
the necessaries and the necessities,
to find to store to relish and to delight
in what you may find?*
be an explorer,
and write of all your discoveries,
hurry, for the word
time
means in soul terms & the heart's specialized verbiage,
never enough
so girl scout/ mademoiselle peeress
you s t i l l
have much to assay/essay/uncover
re the meanings of love...
for there is as much to learn from the
quietus of love,
as there is, from the vibrant tumbling of
climbing to new heights
peer carefully...
5:44am
Wed Sep 10
Twenty Twenty Five
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 9:28 AM UTC
The morning cigarette,
With a cup of igneous coffee,
On an early winter morning,
Alleviates the morning high,
Like the smoke from molten lava.
The immature ride to the vacant highway,
The zephyr gust from the near mountains,
Touches the juvenile jacket
And through the quietus of nature,
The wings inside sails away.
The green undertone of cannabis,
It's a rational sensation,
With every roll the paper silhouettes,
Like a shotgun of peace,
The buds displace on the white face.
The rejuvenating smoke calibrates,
Through the dry pipes,
And layers the ravenous soul,
Like a honey bee,
Pouring the golden sugar,
Into the barren depth of an empty bowl.
Like a centaur with tenacious wings,
Accelerating with the air,
Feeling every loop of a fresh wound,
Riding from north,
And taking the fear out,
Like a first raindrop to hit the ground.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 2:21 AM UTC
I wish upon the burning candle;
I pray for this to be my last - another year of despondency I cannot handle.
I wish arduously for nothing but my quietus as I blow out the ember,
and everybody claps without a second thought about what my wish could render.
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
I have long sought quiet.
And please, let me be clear: quiet.
Not the quietus Hamlet desired,
No “consummation devoutly to be wished” for me.
No, with or without a bare bayonet,
UNBEINGNESS is hardly what I seek.
It is not the predicament of death,
But the quiet spectacle of the grave I envy.
Originally a city mouse,
I am familiar with the urban soundscape.
I know city noise, amped up in decibels.
Noise-induced stress, shrill and enervating,
Add to the mix a working-class neighborhood,
Where someone is always hammering,
Using a power tool of some kind,
Repairing, improving an older, somewhat decrepit home;
But a steal as the realtors say.
Or vehicles, like Old Havana relics,
Held together by secular prayer,
And thriving underground Cuban capitalism.
Then just for fun: *"Let’s send the son of a ***** to war."*
Tympanic membranes be wary and be ******
Stretched and perforated,
Compressed and torn,
Shredded like wheat.
Pummeled by shock wave.
I was Lear wandering the heath,
Your ass-cheeks cracked:
*“Cataracts and hurricanes . . .
Oak-cleaving thunderbolts . . .
Sulphurour and thought-executing fires . . .
Singe my white head!”*
Cue Cabaret music (Cabaret (1972) - IMDb www.imdb.com/title/tt0068327): “Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome . . . to Indochine,”
First a Weimar-Saigon suckee-fuckee,
Then out to *The ****
Mind-numbing concussion,
Reek of jellied gasoline,
Charred meat,
Assorted red entrails,
Obliteration of thought complete.
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Reaching out mine poetic finger's,
None to reach back.
Roaming in this passage of expiry,
quietus; how solitary tis.
Patting panels of mysteriousness,
Feel like letting go;
Though do I knoweth I shalt get through
With God, for with humanity I'm alone.
I wilt seest the peep of gleam, just
Yonder the gloaming.
At the moment dead yet living,
Though betimes I'll reach
In pure love all that's
Right and knowing.
With one to hold me
In seas of affections
Warmth, I'll be the
Light I'm meant to
Be- I shalt with
Other's share
Mine torch.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry.
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
A lunar eclipse passeth between ourn Soma's
A solar eclipse maketh glitz
On ourn lip's;
Kiss of pneuma.
Aforetime quietus, breathless existence
Now coalesced in vivacity;
Sculpted, in the creator's
spiritus.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley-filipino rose dedication
Note;
Happy four month anniversary Reyna Jane Nagley!!!!
Love you more Reyna, thank you for sticking with me the last four month's, seem's as If we've been together for lifetimes now,which verily I've known thee a lot longer than thou hath known!!!! Mas mahal kita Reyna.... For anyone who don't know what ( mas mahal kita Reyna means) it means I love you more queen.. In Filipino tongue.!!!!!! Me more queen Jane!!!! Happy 4th mine Reyna!!! Mine soulmate....
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
They say the neon lights
Don’t often burn that bright
Splintered from my urethra
Swollen in this hex
Devoured by the Eve
Brought to justice by the guilt
And when they said
That all I had to give
Wasn’t worth a fitful look
I’ve been duped by sedative
The artificial power
Has swollen in my head
Wrapped around an ice pick
Can be found my fleeting shell
As our defunct cohesion
Masticates my head
Disintegration will lay me to my bed.
That sweet nectar
Lingers on my tongue
An inebriated hour of reverie genuine
A claustrophobic detainment
Incarceration with power windows
As your effigy is left behind
These shiv grasped hands
Awaiting exertion, transpierce my eyes
Upon introspective re-inspections
Ichor transmogrifies
Necessitate me
Remain vacant here
As our defunct cohesion
Masticates my head
Disintegration will lay me to my bed.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 10:11 AM UTC
Just when we thought
this place couldn't get
any
more
depressing,
a detriment of inadequacy ensues,
and the following hour is spent
beneath a paled,
frosted-blue canvas,
atop a frigid construct
of tether, and steel.
BUT!
As quickly as the dystrophy settled
within minds scarcely caressed
by hallowed slumber,
a frail,
yet,
intensifying light
erupts from the faded line
that separates reality
from ethereality.
As this newly self-empowered
hero of the day
ceases the boundless tundra overhead
with a golden fluorescence
of warmth,
and rapture,
still,
ever-trifling is the southern counterpart.
HARK!
From out of the myriad sheets
of thundercloud gray,
laced with veins of majestic purple,
and glazed with the ensemble
of over-ripened peaches
that blanket the northern skies
of this dawning day
spawns a duet of our mothers'
most
sacred
creation.
HOW MAGNIFICENT!
This spectrum couplet
that champions the veil,
extruding their way out
from the darkest,
most steadfast regions
of our Terran celestial.
Betwixt these valours,
who stand
as beacons of glory
in these most
disparaging of times,
dance a flock
of little
black and white birds,
unveiling to our starving eyes,
ever so eager to feast-
their autumn courtship that,
in its own wonderment,
was that of a
silent
symphony.
LO!
For many a fort night,
we have gazed upon naught
but soot-black sand,
sun-bleached dirt,
and endless foliage,
who's lives have been bled dry
long before even our first wave achieved
boots on ground.
And even as the sun rose higher,
relieving the quietus night
to nothing
but a faded memoir,
so, too,
these masters of vibrancy
shall fade.
BUT!
Even in their last moments of glory,
they triumphed as heralds,
mutely evoking a message
that said:
*'Even at our final breaths,
we shall stand as strong as we did
when She first employed us
into Her heavens.
And until we are completely vanquished,
never; never shall we falter.'*
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Remnants of firecrackers litter parkgrass, splitting seams once encasing them;
exposed twine ribs attached, stretched out beneath shade like sunken reliquiae
dashed against the earth, as freedom is, withered paper husks abound.
What explosions in the sky were heard
above the quietus of patient submission?
Tracing the dotted white clouds to our horizon with thread and colored cloth,
held breath until nighttime, expelling then
-- as wind does each languishing puff of smoke--
from our lungs, sordid smells of Summer; vanquishing the past.
Isolating each other, like memories on kodak prints
we separately cling to that sleek filmy acquaintanceship of proximity and hue
-- disavowed pariahs and hearts lit anew.
Fused inside one sallow skull-box, which doubled once for holding shoes, we linger.
Ideas, impulses and infringements on the eye, until-- once--
bound, unbroken, encased and unspoken,
our ribs unwind with dew-- after,
unstitching seams outlined from heaven and inundating visions with brightness
we descend.
Violent fumes of childhood intercede amidst our shaking fuses lit.
--and BANG!
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 4:19 PM UTC
There was a Mortician I used to know
With a chin of whiskers and sallow teeth
He didn’t comb his graying tresses
“Moonlight commence your drip” muttered he
But his hair grew stringier and his ligature looser
A man ever dingy with mourning
Shrouded with death was his visage
A man of fifty, shriveled like a rose
If you spend lifetimes watching milk curdle
And leaves stiffen
Traces of mortality will wrinkle you the same
Acrid appealed to the Undertaker’s senses
Drank black coffee to match his hue
Used to cloud lucid skies, he’d wipe out the blue
None spoke to him but the drawing room mirror
Listen he didn’t to its clamor of tongues
For a reflection’s to blame for receding flesh
Thirty years conducting funerals
Built a morose man
Quietly he wept
Though a furrowed rose cannot
Thus his quietus was born
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st.
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May Time disgrace, and wretched minutes ****
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
1.3k
I just sat there
And
Kept on sitting
Staring at the tombstone
Kept on sitting
Half-life; newly alone
I just sat there
Because
I had nothing left to do
Without you.
Jul 25, 2012
Jul 25, 2012 at 3:00 AM UTC
Quack went the duck.
Who ran constantly into bad luck?
Quaff went the bartender.
Who complained about the drunk?
Qualification yell the employer.
Who he saw the empoyees limitations?
Although they warn him they wouldn't have experience.
Quietus holler the boss.
When he realized the employee had quick.
They all was queing instead of fueding.
They all was complaining instead of helping.
The way we all seems to do.
When we see problems that might aaffect you.
Sometimes this world can be so cruel.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 3:20 AM UTC
I splashed in the puddles
for the first time in my life
and tried to be careless.
Like the child I used to be.
All things come to an end.
Childhood,
and the rain,
and now, it feels like
the past four years
have passed away like this storm.
It didn't have to die.
Now it feels like I'm the next one
who has to.
Quietus.
Or another synonym for death.
I still need you.
Like the child that clung to
the carelessness that died so long ago.
Jun 26, 2011
Jun 26, 2011 at 6:56 PM UTC
Can I be every love song written?
Or a longing lost in your heart?
Sweet melodies and
Forgotten harmonies
Are the ampersands linking my soul with yours.
Sempiternal presence and wishes,
Have you found a rocondite?
You will never be able to catch a bolide,
Nor find Yoknapatawpha.
Yet why do I feel so close to you?
A la belle étoile,
Under the beautiful star,
Maybe I wish to be held
In honest, caring arms.
Serendip will come at last,
Cicatrix will fade away.
As I slowly saxify,
Will you ever realize
Now is too late?
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
He stopped sleeping one night, alone
Keeping his eyes awake, watch
As he lies vacantly, treading
Through tough thoughts, though
Knowing less by knowing, more
Memories fleeting by, now
He begins to itch, finally
Fingers twitching like moth's wings, fast
Scratching at sin scar skin, alone
Until he sleeps forever, more?
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 4:40 PM UTC
I have known this fool from half way through high school,
And the best part about it is watching the fool replace himself
With the will of gods that only exist in myths,
And the strength of a thousand dead martyrs.
And it's gonna get harder man, it's gonna get a lot harder-
But the longer you remain,
your bones will begin to hold the secrets
On how to **** your demons.
The longer you remain,
The endorphins will drift from your veins
And your soul will take their place.
In 2017, at this age,
What normal human being isn't coping with these societal traditions
By forcing their brain into addiction?
These are ancient laws of man, transcending modern knowledge.
Evolution made us capable of questioning our origin or divinity,
And some dare say that an imaginary man gave them this gift of sight;
Societal traditions to condition us into complacent perpetuation of the history that enslaves us.
Lately I haven't been able to hold one train of thought without
Going off the rails, but instead of crashing and burning,
I just travel at the speed of light around all the answers
that could be right.
Ultimately you inspired me to say
I am so proud that you are here today.
With my brothers wild spirit tamed by opiates,
He lingers on my bicep in memorial form
He lingers in the prayers I whisper to the dead,
As gods do not hear your prayers.
(they are too busy creating universes and
punishing their own creations
for acting out of free will)
My prayers are answered by people I know,
Whose physical forms met quietus.
They live on in otherworldly favors,
They live on in signs and vibes.
There is more to death than meets the eye.
Tangent after tangent,
I shall come to a close.
My brother was lost to needle and tar:
He passed away at the grocery store,
In the emptiness of his only car.
My friend, you are not lost
And you are still with us.
I'm so proud you now know the cost
Of instantaneous gratification offered by
The ****** drug.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
Like quietus stained as my passion,
I have stayed too long.
...
Feb 20, 2021
Feb 20, 2021 at 10:34 AM UTC
o, good lord of the streets
where a phantasmagoric sensurround
banishes the scream of youth –
a carburetor snarl taken
as unction of name. was it
your name that you whispered to my ear,
him dearth in the quietus.
first to go is grace,
what soon follows is bravery. a makeshift moon
of course, hanging by the earlobe of
her; I’ve been wanting to bite to break skin
her truly frightened symmetry
of a storm which is an onus of pain -
o, good lord
help me weave way later
when I’m down on my contrabass.
Scout Albano tonight’s a dark
expanse of regret
resonating a deep and hollow throb.
women on flay, cigars in mouths chucked
like busy streets on a noontime sun, the soot clambers
the billboards and their frozen, extant smiles
wring out the poison and drain:
we have no imposed god, an announcement to ear
shot into the flay of the bone that persistently
aches - like some unreal drumming of squalors.
we are ruined with echoes of many names that haunt us
with their gaping mouths
in frightful angles, but
when we’re drunk, Marc,
this will all be over.
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
(7 pm - sad news)
A soul departed.
And I could not be but incredulous that how so natural a quietus was to be met, when one would most deny it.
(8 pm)
An inch closer to reality.
Or else this Death, would've been as devoid of taste and essence as a heart that but stalks the fleeting pleasures of an unworthy world.
(9 pm)
I pitied him. And myself (rather selfishly).
He lost a mother.
Oh he lost a mother, and I have one to lose!
I wonder, with what subtlety have my heart and mind deceived my sense of sympathy, because
I remember vaguely whether my tears were in realization of the misery of an ever-rejoicing friend,
Or in mere anticipation of what was written in heavens, for my mother.
I never really admired the man he (my friend) was.
And I never really appreciated his general lack of concern and the apparent absence of mindful demeanor.
But when I came to know the person he really was,
I cried that night.
And I cried that night talking of him with other friends.
He had found his breezy spring here, seven hours away from the silent autumn that was meant to strike his home.
And now I knew him,
Whose patient smile, kissing the perpetuity of bright harmonies,
Denied bowing down to the contours of a winter twilight.
Oh, now I knew him,
Whose eyes had shone like a thousand summer sun, even
When night's crawling terrors lay unhidden;
Despite the profundity of darkness that showed no mercy.
He lost a mother, oh he lost a mother.
And I have one to lose.
(12:30 am - 7:30 am - the travel)
A visit.
To the autumn, seven hours away.
In the middle of nowhere.
Where he had lost a mother,
While the white desert mourned
And the clouds hung low in melancholy.
There, ah, there in the ivory clouds I saw a cleft.
It must have been the door to heaven!
It must have been opened for his mother.
It must have been opened for her.
(8 am)
I met my friend.
He looked alive, not brilliantly though,
In submission to God's unquestionable will.
Had I looked deeper, I would have found vivacity stone-dead,
I would have found unfathomable grief,
And I would have found life,
Trying to hide from the terrors of its own self.
(2 pm - the funeral)
(Condolences)
(3:30 pm - Return)
The tough terrain that we traversed on our way here was smoother now,
And the mimosas had reappeared, and the desert seemed less dull.
I wonder why we forget too easily, the matters of "the bourn from where no traveler returns".
I wonder why we fall too easily for the winter even though we know what freezings it would bring.
But then it's only so human to forget.
So human to forget.
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 2:52 AM UTC
Oh darling.
Oh darling!
Help knot this noose.
Spill out the contractors spindled spew.
My leash is as tethered as my thoughts.
Kick the stool angled foot
Remove tension,
don't slack.
I've decided I just don't want to keep my thoughts inside.
They aren't always sane,
but have tendencies to seek the "in."
My departure welcomes the cold and bitter.
As the winter.
To which the tree holds the sight of.
Chlorophyll picked away from leaves
to fulfill a coming life.
I will restore the color back in the splintered rings held inside.
This withered branch; my neck.
Ready to untwine
From burdening weight balanced on my spine.
SNAP!
Fingers snap to my fall.
4 counts per measure
Each conducted with quietus posture.
A contortionist to the meaning of nurture.
Oh you
Oh darling
Oh me, oh my.
Hanging from this tree oh why says I.
Do I have to die?
Oh right,
NO! Wrong let's lie in light.
That tree giving color,
given hope.
Painted again by my deaths brush stroke.
What I thought would be so warm and welcoming...
Is only what I had before...
Nothing.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 7:11 AM UTC
Pierce not my skin,
Thou lancet of horror,
Which is terribly akin
To the blade of terror;
Touch nay me at all,
You dark being;
Mind, be not on call
At the bay of loony bin;
Mortality's debt is
Paid by death's acquisiton--
It's the end of business,
The final liquidation;
The assets of sanctity
Offset and save as well
Many a toxic liability
Of the soul from hell;
Weak, weary and bored
By unbroken quietus fear.
Life is unassured
By a doctor's gear.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC
What was lost in your Nyctophilic heart?
What life you brazenly stole.
What you take when you depart
And tear away from my soul
Mislaid, descried in sound recondite.
Quietus forward brought,
Found in your eyeless sight.
Agony of memories forgot.
Sable veins wrapped around fragile beings
Who, in wretched love lost,
Find their hearts fleeing
And to each other dyingly accost.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC