ii.

Sampaguitas to fragrance her mane
She whispereth sir Brandon;
Mine husband
Mine king.

ii.

I layeth down the counterpane
frankincense and myrrh aligned;
Tea candles surrounding ourn jungle
Of a bedspread romantic design.

iii.

Tis we loseth, track of all time
She sloweth her breathing, I singeth for her, she smiles and sayeth it's pleasing; ourn heart's steadily yet quickly beating, as if we were drunkened off of lover's delight divine.





©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane nagley dedication ( Filipino rose )

Welcome to Manila.

Feel free to fill your lungs with the nocturnal breeze

Signed by the nation's capital as it flows its life on the roads that lie under the moon's lunar glow.

The scents of Sampaguitas, rugby, human excrement, and the smell of burning gasoline

Constituting the sources of a rising problem that pollutes the air of a land

A land where people ignore the screams of health issues

For the latest news about events in the envied personal lives

Of hypocritical second-rate and overpaid actors who have become the annoying faces

Of household television screens in the Philippines.


To the left you'll see a wooden cart filled with discarded recyclables that serve as a livelihood by day,

And a bed by night as it stands on the road lined with the gutters

The gutters that serve as stomachs of the city, the only stomachs of the city that aren't suffering

From starvation and Ulcers as they are filled to the brim with the population's toxic waste,

Reeking into the air with a stench that only compliments

The smells of poverty and corruption, as the taxes that are meant to pay for progress

Are redirected to the politician's own pockets to be spent on his prostitutes and casino gambling.


Hear the music of manila; the harmonious sounds of infants that weep

As they are trapped in a living nightmare as they toss and turn and try to sleep along the roads

Buzzing with the sounds of beeping horns through the late rush hour traffic

Mixed with the sounds of the occasional clink of the falling silver peso coin into beggars' cups,

And other  homeless people  under the delusional impression

That pedestrians actually care for their well being and listen to their creaking voices

As they beg for spare change, while deep down they beg and pray

For a total change in the states of their starving lives.


The dark reveals the most candid face of the nation

like an ironic twist in nature as in the shadows, more is seen than under the burning  light of the
pretentious day.

The street lights are like the eyes that witness  ice picks piercing innocent  flesh
and purses being taken from passers-by

While in the shadows of alleys nobody sees the slow and painfully traumatic scenes
of young teen-aged girls being *****

And motorcycle gangs that rain semi-automatic ammunition into skulls of lawyers just stopping by at Shell for gasoline.

Seldom heard in the air are the faint whispers in heads that hold the scattered thoughts and memories
of depressed drug addicts walking along Chinatown near the railroad tracks

Inhabited by people who blame their neighbors, their families, and the government,

And never blame themselves for their lives that have brutally fallen beneath the vicious line of everlasting poverty.

I dwell in the vastness of my ocean
Bathed in the sun's merciful radiance
I was formed around a grain of sand
or of  history, or love, or time

The loving Lonchura lands on my shoulder
To listen to the story of my forefathers
The tale of pride and of crimson waters
Of the braves, of victory, or the rare air

Sampaguitas kiss my sun-kissed cheek
And pour its oils on my curious feet
Gumamelas gather in harmony of color
and of fragrance, of adoration, of vigor

I loom over the golden seas
Of eager waves and mighty sailors
I dance with the gleeful chanting
of  the north winds and the palm trees

A little bit of all the cultures made one
From a long history of Western colonial rule
Evolved a blood of a unique blend
Of east, of west, of appearance, of culture

I am the Nacre!
The pearl of the orient seas
I shine in the salinity and bounty
In the heat of  the glorious Pacific

© 2012 Maryanne M.

These are memories not to be told. Even the random words spilled across these sheets.
You and that night are strangers to me. I am trapped in a labyrinth of anger, vengeance, and disgust— I can still feel the weight of your body, how your lips created small sounds as it landed on my skin. A punishment I did not deserved. A game I should have not played. I hated the moon for it silenced my screams that wanted to say everything. Unknowingly, you killed me that night. You took away a parcel of my childhood. Ever since then, I was not myself anymore. And my body is now a mere vessel for a broken soul.
Lately, I have been waking up to nightmares— surfacing from the bottom of piled boxes of forgotten memories. I want to keep running away. Even my feet are bleeding. I always look up at the stars above hoping that they would soon take me. But I am just nobody.
On at the other side of the world, a little girl is crying. Her hands are trembling with fear. Someone has devoured her body. And yet, she is still alive. And a boy next door is banging his head on the floor boards. Blood is dripping and dogs are barking.
A man hides a knife in his pocket as he knocks on his daughter’s room, calling her name softly. A group of boys holding a girl they just picked up on the streets. Showering her with wet kisses in exchange for buying the strings of sampaguitas in her naïve hands.
A wife clutches the sheets of the bed as her husband slides inside her. She sees his eyes as the color of the rose he had given her on their first anniversary. She no longer knows the man on top of her. She bites her lower lip to keep herself from weeping. She is in her sixth month of pregnancy.
He looks up at his hanging body. They’ve been together for six years. And he doesn’t what went wrong. The church says it’s a sin to have relations with the same ***. Society despised them as if they were mere dirt in this world.
A college girl lies in an unknown clinic with a woman standing beside her. She is surrounded by bottles with fetuses inside. Her boyfriend cheated on her. Her family is waiting at the dining table staring at her vacant chair.
All these are happening all over the world. You are not alone with the struggle. Keep holding on.

(BGM:  Greetings From Tuskan - Melancholia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YC-lkqDE9U0)

times were hard. no one was to blame,
unaware, we asked for it. what was the hurry
for?

there ain’t something as pure as the
reminiscent rusty old
white gates and the glory
of the afternoon

nothing was ever too hot
or too cold
as cartoons were

the days, the tears of the troubled,
why did we asked for it?
our mothers did their best
our fathers did their best
our brothers,
our sisters, cousins

the white gates you no longer
recognize
the greetings you used to get

the letters are now electronic
why did we asked for it?

see? aren’t we all kind? we used to
be kind, right?

we preferred the smell of sampaguitas
over the illustrated perfumes

the artistry of our time, are now filled
with cigarettes, we see our lives with every drag

why did we asked for it?

reminiscent rusty old white gates
and the glory of the afternoon
where are you? where are we?
where is where?
reminiscent rusty old white gates,
your flaked skin has timed.
why did we asked for it?