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Newdigate prize poem recited in the Sheldonian Theatre
Oxford June 26th, 1878.

To my friend George Fleming author of ‘The Nile Novel’
and ‘Mirage’

I.

A year ago I breathed the Italian air,—
And yet, methinks this northern Spring is fair,—
These fields made golden with the flower of March,
The throstle singing on the feathered larch,
The cawing rooks, the wood-doves fluttering by,
The little clouds that race across the sky;
And fair the violet’s gentle drooping head,
The primrose, pale for love uncomforted,
The rose that burgeons on the climbing briar,
The crocus-bed, (that seems a moon of fire
Round-girdled with a purple marriage-ring);
And all the flowers of our English Spring,
Fond snowdrops, and the bright-starred daffodil.
Up starts the lark beside the murmuring mill,
And breaks the gossamer-threads of early dew;
And down the river, like a flame of blue,
Keen as an arrow flies the water-king,
While the brown linnets in the greenwood sing.
A year ago!—it seems a little time
Since last I saw that lordly southern clime,
Where flower and fruit to purple radiance blow,
And like bright lamps the fabled apples glow.
Full Spring it was—and by rich flowering vines,
Dark olive-groves and noble forest-pines,
I rode at will; the moist glad air was sweet,
The white road rang beneath my horse’s feet,
And musing on Ravenna’s ancient name,
I watched the day till, marked with wounds of flame,
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.

O how my heart with boyish passion burned,
When far away across the sedge and mere
I saw that Holy City rising clear,
Crowned with her crown of towers!—On and on
I galloped, racing with the setting sun,
And ere the crimson after-glow was passed,
I stood within Ravenna’s walls at last!

II.

How strangely still! no sound of life or joy
Startles the air; no laughing shepherd-boy
Pipes on his reed, nor ever through the day
Comes the glad sound of children at their play:
O sad, and sweet, and silent! surely here
A man might dwell apart from troublous fear,
Watching the tide of seasons as they flow
From amorous Spring to Winter’s rain and snow,
And have no thought of sorrow;—here, indeed,
Are Lethe’s waters, and that fatal ****
Which makes a man forget his fatherland.

Ay! amid lotus-meadows dost thou stand,
Like Proserpine, with poppy-laden head,
Guarding the holy ashes of the dead.
For though thy brood of warrior sons hath ceased,
Thy noble dead are with thee!—they at least
Are faithful to thine honour:—guard them well,
O childless city! for a mighty spell,
To wake men’s hearts to dreams of things sublime,
Are the lone tombs where rest the Great of Time.

III.


Yon lonely pillar, rising on the plain,
Marks where the bravest knight of France was slain,—
The Prince of chivalry, the Lord of war,
Gaston de Foix:  for some untimely star
Led him against thy city, and he fell,
As falls some forest-lion fighting well.
Taken from life while life and love were new,
He lies beneath God’s seamless veil of blue;
Tall lance-like reeds wave sadly o’er his head,
And oleanders bloom to deeper red,
Where his bright youth flowed crimson on the ground.

Look farther north unto that broken mound,—
There, prisoned now within a lordly tomb
Raised by a daughter’s hand, in lonely gloom,
Huge-limbed Theodoric, the Gothic king,
Sleeps after all his weary conquering.
Time hath not spared his ruin,—wind and rain
Have broken down his stronghold; and again
We see that Death is mighty lord of all,
And king and clown to ashen dust must fall

Mighty indeed their glory! yet to me
Barbaric king, or knight of chivalry,
Or the great queen herself, were poor and vain,
Beside the grave where Dante rests from pain.
His gilded shrine lies open to the air;
And cunning sculptor’s hands have carven there
The calm white brow, as calm as earliest morn,
The eyes that flashed with passionate love and scorn,
The lips that sang of Heaven and of Hell,
The almond-face which Giotto drew so well,
The weary face of Dante;—to this day,
Here in his place of resting, far away
From Arno’s yellow waters, rushing down
Through the wide bridges of that fairy town,
Where the tall tower of Giotto seems to rise
A marble lily under sapphire skies!

Alas! my Dante! thou hast known the pain
Of meaner lives,—the exile’s galling chain,
How steep the stairs within kings’ houses are,
And all the petty miseries which mar
Man’s nobler nature with the sense of wrong.
Yet this dull world is grateful for thy song;
Our nations do thee homage,—even she,
That cruel queen of vine-clad Tuscany,
Who bound with crown of thorns thy living brow,
Hath decked thine empty tomb with laurels now,
And begs in vain the ashes of her son.

O mightiest exile! all thy grief is done:
Thy soul walks now beside thy Beatrice;
Ravenna guards thine ashes:  sleep in peace.

IV.

How lone this palace is; how grey the walls!
No minstrel now wakes echoes in these halls.
The broken chain lies rusting on the door,
And noisome weeds have split the marble floor:
Here lurks the snake, and here the lizards run
By the stone lions blinking in the sun.
Byron dwelt here in love and revelry
For two long years—a second Anthony,
Who of the world another Actium made!
Yet suffered not his royal soul to fade,
Or lyre to break, or lance to grow less keen,
’Neath any wiles of an Egyptian queen.
For from the East there came a mighty cry,
And Greece stood up to fight for Liberty,
And called him from Ravenna:  never knight
Rode forth more nobly to wild scenes of fight!
None fell more bravely on ensanguined field,
Borne like a Spartan back upon his shield!
O Hellas!  Hellas! in thine hour of pride,
Thy day of might, remember him who died
To wrest from off thy limbs the trammelling chain:
O Salamis!  O lone Plataean plain!
O tossing waves of wild Euboean sea!
O wind-swept heights of lone Thermopylae!
He loved you well—ay, not alone in word,
Who freely gave to thee his lyre and sword,
Like AEschylos at well-fought Marathon:

And England, too, shall glory in her son,
Her warrior-poet, first in song and fight.
No longer now shall Slander’s venomed spite
Crawl like a snake across his perfect name,
Or mar the lordly scutcheon of his fame.

For as the olive-garland of the race,
Which lights with joy each eager runner’s face,
As the red cross which saveth men in war,
As a flame-bearded beacon seen from far
By mariners upon a storm-tossed sea,—
Such was his love for Greece and Liberty!

Byron, thy crowns are ever fresh and green:
Red leaves of rose from Sapphic Mitylene
Shall bind thy brows; the myrtle blooms for thee,
In hidden glades by lonely Castaly;
The laurels wait thy coming:  all are thine,
And round thy head one perfect wreath will twine.

V.

The pine-tops rocked before the evening breeze
With the hoarse murmur of the wintry seas,
And the tall stems were streaked with amber bright;—
I wandered through the wood in wild delight,
Some startled bird, with fluttering wings and fleet,
Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet,
Like silver crowns, the pale narcissi lay,
And small birds sang on every twining spray.
O waving trees, O forest liberty!
Within your haunts at least a man is free,
And half forgets the weary world of strife:
The blood flows hotter, and a sense of life
Wakes i’ the quickening veins, while once again
The woods are filled with gods we fancied slain.
Long time I watched, and surely hoped to see
Some goat-foot Pan make merry minstrelsy
Amid the reeds! some startled Dryad-maid
In girlish flight! or lurking in the glade,
The soft brown limbs, the wanton treacherous face
Of woodland god! Queen Dian in the chase,
White-limbed and terrible, with look of pride,
And leash of boar-hounds leaping at her side!
Or Hylas mirrored in the perfect stream.

O idle heart!  O fond Hellenic dream!
Ere long, with melancholy rise and swell,
The evening chimes, the convent’s vesper bell,
Struck on mine ears amid the amorous flowers.
Alas! alas! these sweet and honied hours
Had whelmed my heart like some encroaching sea,
And drowned all thoughts of black Gethsemane.

VI.

O lone Ravenna! many a tale is told
Of thy great glories in the days of old:
Two thousand years have passed since thou didst see
Caesar ride forth to royal victory.
Mighty thy name when Rome’s lean eagles flew
From Britain’s isles to far Euphrates blue;
And of the peoples thou wast noble queen,
Till in thy streets the Goth and *** were seen.
Discrowned by man, deserted by the sea,
Thou sleepest, rocked in lonely misery!
No longer now upon thy swelling tide,
Pine-forest-like, thy myriad galleys ride!
For where the brass-beaked ships were wont to float,
The weary shepherd pipes his mournful note;
And the white sheep are free to come and go
Where Adria’s purple waters used to flow.

O fair!  O sad!  O Queen uncomforted!
In ruined loveliness thou liest dead,
Alone of all thy sisters; for at last
Italia’s royal warrior hath passed
Rome’s lordliest entrance, and hath worn his crown
In the high temples of the Eternal Town!
The Palatine hath welcomed back her king,
And with his name the seven mountains ring!

And Naples hath outlived her dream of pain,
And mocks her tyrant!  Venice lives again,
New risen from the waters! and the cry
Of Light and Truth, of Love and Liberty,
Is heard in lordly Genoa, and where
The marble spires of Milan wound the air,
Rings from the Alps to the Sicilian shore,
And Dante’s dream is now a dream no more.

But thou, Ravenna, better loved than all,
Thy ruined palaces are but a pall
That hides thy fallen greatness! and thy name
Burns like a grey and flickering candle-flame
Beneath the noonday splendour of the sun
Of new Italia! for the night is done,
The night of dark oppression, and the day
Hath dawned in passionate splendour:  far away
The Austrian hounds are hunted from the land,
Beyond those ice-crowned citadels which stand
Girdling the plain of royal Lombardy,
From the far West unto the Eastern sea.

I know, indeed, that sons of thine have died
In Lissa’s waters, by the mountain-side
Of Aspromonte, on Novara’s plain,—
Nor have thy children died for thee in vain:
And yet, methinks, thou hast not drunk this wine
From grapes new-crushed of Liberty divine,
Thou hast not followed that immortal Star
Which leads the people forth to deeds of war.
Weary of life, thou liest in silent sleep,
As one who marks the lengthening shadows creep,
Careless of all the hurrying hours that run,
Mourning some day of glory, for the sun
Of Freedom hath not shewn to thee his face,
And thou hast caught no flambeau in the race.

Yet wake not from thy slumbers,—rest thee well,
Amidst thy fields of amber asphodel,
Thy lily-sprinkled meadows,—rest thee there,
To mock all human greatness:  who would dare
To vent the paltry sorrows of his life
Before thy ruins, or to praise the strife
Of kings’ ambition, and the barren pride
Of warring nations! wert not thou the Bride
Of the wild Lord of Adria’s stormy sea!
The Queen of double Empires! and to thee
Were not the nations given as thy prey!
And now—thy gates lie open night and day,
The grass grows green on every tower and hall,
The ghastly fig hath cleft thy bastioned wall;
And where thy mailed warriors stood at rest
The midnight owl hath made her secret nest.
O fallen! fallen! from thy high estate,
O city trammelled in the toils of Fate,
Doth nought remain of all thy glorious days,
But a dull shield, a crown of withered bays!

Yet who beneath this night of wars and fears,
From tranquil tower can watch the coming years;
Who can foretell what joys the day shall bring,
Or why before the dawn the linnets sing?
Thou, even thou, mayst wake, as wakes the rose
To crimson splendour from its grave of snows;
As the rich corn-fields rise to red and gold
From these brown lands, now stiff with Winter’s cold;
As from the storm-rack comes a perfect star!

O much-loved city!  I have wandered far
From the wave-circled islands of my home;
Have seen the gloomy mystery of the Dome
Rise slowly from the drear Campagna’s way,
Clothed in the royal purple of the day:
I from the city of the violet crown
Have watched the sun by Corinth’s hill go down,
And marked the ‘myriad laughter’ of the sea
From starlit hills of flower-starred Arcady;
Yet back to thee returns my perfect love,
As to its forest-nest the evening dove.

O poet’s city! one who scarce has seen
Some twenty summers cast their doublets green
For Autumn’s livery, would seek in vain
To wake his lyre to sing a louder strain,
Or tell thy days of glory;—poor indeed
Is the low murmur of the shepherd’s reed,
Where the loud clarion’s blast should shake the sky,
And flame across the heavens! and to try
Such lofty themes were folly:  yet I know
That never felt my heart a nobler glow
Than when I woke the silence of thy street
With clamorous trampling of my horse’s feet,
And saw the city which now I try to sing,
After long days of weary travelling.

VII.

Adieu, Ravenna! but a year ago,
I stood and watched the crimson sunset glow
From the lone chapel on thy marshy plain:
The sky was as a shield that caught the stain
Of blood and battle from the dying sun,
And in the west the circling clouds had spun
A royal robe, which some great God might wear,
While into ocean-seas of purple air
Sank the gold galley of the Lord of Light.

Yet here the gentle stillness of the night
Brings back the swelling tide of memory,
And wakes again my passionate love for thee:
Now is the Spring of Love, yet soon will come
On meadow and tree the Summer’s lordly bloom;
And soon the grass with brighter flowers will blow,
And send up lilies for some boy to mow.
Then before long the Summer’s conqueror,
Rich Autumn-time, the season’s usurer,
Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees,
And see it scattered by the spendthrift breeze;
And after that the Winter cold and drear.
So runs the perfect cycle of the year.
And so from youth to manhood do we go,
And fall to weary days and locks of snow.
Love only knows no winter; never dies:
Nor cares for frowning storms or leaden skies
And mine for thee shall never pass away,
Though my weak lips may falter in my lay.

Adieu!  Adieu! yon silent evening star,
The night’s ambassador, doth gleam afar,
And bid the shepherd bring his flocks to fold.
Perchance before our inland seas of gold
Are garnered by the reapers into sheaves,
Perchance before I see the Autumn leaves,
I may behold thy city; and lay down
Low at thy feet the poet’s laurel crown.

Adieu!  Adieu! yon silver lamp, the moon,
Which turns our midnight into perfect noon,
Doth surely light thy towers, guarding well
Where Dante sleeps, where Byron loved to dwell.
Jocelyn Apr 2010
Where I’m From
I am from wires,
from electricity and TV screens.
I am from the dust covering the console.
(Piled high, thick,
It made me sneeze)
I am from the Sega Genesis
the Nintendo
Who has long been forgotten
amongst the shiny new games.

I am from controllers and memory cards,
From Mario and Sonic.
I’m from the ******* gamers,
And the once-in-a-whiles,
From You win! And Game over!
I’m from Thou saveth the princess
With Donkey and Diddy
And 10 cheats I know by heart.

I’m from GameStop and Best Buy,
brand new plastic and overheating console.
From the controller thrown across the room
To the memories,
bonding brother and sister.

In my closet is a box,
filled with old games,
scratched up discs
that will never again work
I am from these games
created before I was born,
born from the tree of electronics.
Original poem by George Ella Lyon. Done for a scaffolding exercise for school.
brandon nagley Apr 2016
Over a month, or a little more,
Maybe two, or just before;
At mine last métier,
Working at the
Dollar store.
I kept on seeing
The vatic harbinger's
In tax form; thirty-one
And thirteen. The register
Wouldst with none other
Sign to me read. For one day
After earning mine wages, I told
Mine mother of these prognostic gazes.
In fret, and distress, I kneweth these symbol's
Hadst to do with mother and father, twas mine guess.
In mine soul, God gaveth me sigil's, in the appearance of extra-change; O' how mighty God is, powerful, unchanged. Just a few twenty-four hour's ago, on the thirty-first of  March, mine father went to the restroom in anguish; Lip's parched. Panic hit ourn abode, mother ran to father's side, I was in the living room as mine father walked out-tears in eye's. He was holding his chest, as if a stone rolled on his beating heart, his face crimson red, he was stumbling toward's death's spark. Mother grabbed the phone, I went into dismay, I ran to grab the aspirin's, and started praying in mine mind silently. Popping the bottles top, fortunately knowing what to do, Sat father down on the couch, mother talking to medics to. I told him in force, " chew these pills right now, making him drink water, to get those orange thing's down. I couldst seeith quietus coming from his heavied breath, I held his hand as If that day was the last dance, with mine father's paining chest. The two emergency medical technician's, crossed into ourn door, there bag's in hand's with oxygen tank's; machines and much more. As the emt's were keeping mine father conscious, I took mine mother by the arm, I took her into the bedroom-closed the door in silent charm. I whispered to mother quickly, " Come on were praying NOW", we bowed ourn head's on the side of the bed, asking God though faith in Christ, " Lord please hath mercy and saveth Ron now. After a few questions from the emt's, I went down to the ambulance with father, as whilst mine dad was dying, he to the ambulance men preached. I laughed and smiled, as dad was telling those fine men how to be saved; Mine father spoke of Yeshua, even whilst his heart beat in rage. Mother followed behind the ambulance, I was sitting inside with dad, knowing all wouldst be alright, for the Lord and Savior was on ourn side that day, and for all coming night's. We got to the hospital, doctor's gaveth dad some tests, A miracle happened; no damage to his beater, no issues with his chest. As after dad was taken for x-rays to a darkly picture room, I looked at mother left alone with me, and it hit me with prophetic swoon. I thought about the number's thirty-one and thirteen, as I kept on seeing them in tax form, I kneweth it was about mine father or mother both, as crazy as it mayest seem. Though Yahweh giveth signs; vision's, or by death, symbols and dream's. As water started flowing in that room, left alone with mother, I cried out to her, as we stared upon another. I told mine mother "GOD SHOWED ME ALL ALONG", mine father's day of birth, was the thirteenth back way long. His heart attack was the thirty-first thus both signs matching the story, thirteen God showed me his birth, and thirty first was when this happened, a harbinger in timely warning. Though the story doth not end there, verily more to it, father hadst a dream a month ago, that I did not tell. Mine father sawest mine grandfather Nagley, who died when I was only five, from tumors throughout his body, cancer the way he died. Grandpa Nagley warned mine father a month in advance, of mine father's coming soon shaking, mine father didst not remember the word's from grandpa's mouth in the dream, though now we knoweth it was truth on string's. And one day before mine dad's happening as well, mine dad dreamt three dream's in a row, three; the number of the father son and holy spirit, the Trinity in God's mode. Dad hadst dreamt three dream's right before what took place, dad saidst he saweth me whispering " there's two men at the door, wake up. He sawest the two men come in, the end of his dream. The two men that first walked in to help saveth his life, were those two emt's. ...........


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©dedication to father Ron Nagley..... Thank God your alive dad love you.... As angels were once again protecting you, as God answered me and mothers prayer... And God's giving mine father a warning sign to come back to him.... As if we turn away from God he gives signs for us to come back to him....and it's truth and reality!!! Though what a loving merciful God you are!!! This even isn't the end of the story. Found out 31 had to do with my mother .. Kept seeing 31 and 13 at work. On cash register... Lol. Well mine mother just got into a car accident Jane knows about now I told her. Mother made it home safe. Totaled her vehicle. So this happened all literally two days apart from each other... Both numbers God kept showing me and I kept telling Jane, Jane these numbers are bothering me because I know they have to do with parents!! And yes!!! They did! God warned me!!! 31 July 31st mothers b day. August 13. Dads b day both matching signs God gave me!!! God wants mother and father to come back to him. I'm his vessel he's using to reach parents. And for me to come back fully!!! An amen to God alot!!!
métier- job, occupation...
Vatic- describing or predicting what will happen in the future....(archaic word)
Harbinger- a forerunner of something, ( warning)....
Wouldst- would.
prognostic- archaic, an advance indication or portent of a future event.
Twas- it was....
Sigil- sign or symbol- archaic word...
Dark Jewel Oct 2014
Langhuiris,
Hailed by your power.
Beside Bhafel the ill,
Cause chaos and fire.

Beyond a shaman,
Only power of the Falcon.
Shall save Erinn,
From the War of the Fomors.

Ruairi,
Will await her arrival.
Precious Triona's dead knight.
Move on and reconcile.

He will fight,
Ending the fire.
Ending the hell,
But destroying the Goddess.

Thy Falcon,
Thou must saveth Morrighan.
To keep balance,
In Erinn.

The soul stream call,
To its Guiding Hero.
Man and Woman,
Will Save this world.
Any who play or research Mabinogi will know who the two Dragons are and the Black Knight. Triona was a Fomor.
brandon nagley Aug 2015
Earl Jane nagley:

If only thou wouldst truly knoweth mine sweet Earl Jane, mine evident love for thee, mine treasure, mine all, mine gem, mine queen. If thou wouldst knoweth when I awaketh its thee I seeketh to hear. It's thee, who soothe's mine fear's. Yes, thou doth knoweth to an extent mine amour', mine affection's. Yet, if thou couldst seeith in mine heart and soul, the love, happiness, and peace, and wholeness thou hath brought me, than thou wouldst understand all mine pet. The all, thou hath given me. Thou hast given me a home, as I feeleth more than at home with thee. In all honest speaking, thou art mine home, mine residence, in which this blood floweth through. Thou art the lamp-way God Gaveth me to leadeth me beside the still water's, that the earth doth not give. Thou art the cloud nine; man seeketh to find. Thou art the diamond, the gold, that every miner looketh to get. Thou art that Ruby, hidden from men, seen by God, noticed by angel's, concealed, for celestial purpose. I am but a sinner mine love, a sinful peasant, blessed more than to hath received thee. As tis daily, I'm privileged, to even be in thine presence. As tis they sayeth, when one maketh one better, and maketh one want to do better, that is the one for thee. As thou maketh me want to do better daily, as yes, im a sinner, a man who hath done much wrong, against God in mine life, and mankind, and daily despite mine foolish sinfulness, and way's, thou hath given me a new renewed hope. As god put that hope into mine hand's, and sight. That hope, being thee mine Reyna. That hope is thine smile, thine laugh, thine happiness. Which, so thou knoweth, when thou art not happy; Mine pain's I feeleth from thy sorrow is immeasurable!!! Life, isn't life mine love, unless thou art in it. Unless thou art there next to me. And daily, daily I thanketh god, for such an angel to cometh and SAVETH ME. From mine foolishness, from mine way's, mine anguish. I kneweth not happiness; until thou hast came..As I always sayeth love, God brought us together for a reason. For me to learn thing's about mineself, through thee. And to learn thing's from thee about all thing's. As tis the same for thee amare, to learn from me. As to be guide's to one another, and if it take's a million generation's to get to thee, I wilt do it. Love is not scared, nor afraid mine love, or fearful. In love, as ourn God taught, the greatest thing is to lay ourn lives down for one another; in love!!!! As tis, laying mine life down for thee I wilt do daily, if good, or bad times Earl Jane nagley. I wilt be there, Maby not physically for the time being. But in thine soul, spirit, thought, dream's, in thee........ As thou art  in all of me. We art more than real as thou hath said love. MORE THAN!!!! As tis, nothing, nor noone, canst ever break preordained soulmate's up. As we look around love, and see the world throw the word love around as if some cheap store bought item. We aren't store bought queen Jane; we art creation's of God's own hand's, under his preordainment, and destiny for us. As in life, I liveth for thee, earl Jane nagley. And in death, as thou knoweth, we all hath destination's, and I wilt meeteth thee there to.......as I canst not thanketh thee enough, for saving mine life, mine being, mine happiness, and thou keepeth me alive...... And thou sayest that thou art no angel? Thou hath saved me......
I sayest that is MORE THAN ANGELIC... As thou art God's angel,  and mine messenger, who hath come to save me, as I thou....

Mine Reyna
Soulmate
Best friend
Lover
Amour
Filipino rose
Mine sweet earl jane nagley....


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley/Filipino rose dedication
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Sunny day's may be sunny
Yet inside always so dark.
Cars all parked
Like rows to chapels lonesome way's!!!

Deleterious,
Nothing hilarious,
For thy eyes turn unfazed!!!

A deluge of no accomplishments
All walls stand to fail,
All ceiling's to crumble
No more derogatory jails!!!!!

Despondency roaming the brick street of the old
No desposters
No more voters to trade papers
For young and who they mold....


Thine denizen of thy own class
Doth thou passeth the bill of health?

Art thou truly alive?
Canst thou  SAVETH thyself?

Think not that thou art free,
Thou eateth
Thineself meets thine own selfish needs!!!!

Thyself shoots bullets of steel
And steal cheapened goods
Whilst small holes in thee hit and bleedeth!!!!

Thy idols no longer stand
Clothes bought by daddy
From his first of the month paycheck
Colored in crayon!!!!

Thou followeth not even thy own commands.....

Is thy love didadic?
Of archaic to history's lesson's?

Art thou to short on preaching?
Thy words begin to lessen.... .
Not for noone made up in prison enjoy!
brandon nagley Dec 2015
Shadowic heroic ornamental's, false breed's cometh as incense breather's betwixt lively instrumental's. Macrogram plaza's to abrahamic venue's. Caller's calleth upon themselves to saveth what is not theirs;

Morning breath, to winter's dew, hath thou been born yet? Is the baby yet due?

Constant pain's to loss taken gain's maketh brain's and vein's out of organically made flesh; becometh thine own creator, thou creed of selfishness. Anchor heavy soul dragged away by chain's of past forget-not's, wherein the ground stayeth hot to ruin moronic window's.

Maketh thy bed of silvered spring's thy own rusted medieval pillow; thou grand ol' operatic theme, thou patriarch to a dream,  Art ourn day's but a whisp of a second's last?

Thing's hath cometh to the listening one, the earth's spinning to fast; the mechanism's now begun.


©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Prison writing's
brandon nagley May 2016
Mine queen
Mine easterly wind
That saveth me.

Mine beautiful
Darling of lives
Long lived.

Tis again O'
Tis again, we
Shalt touch ourn
Tissue to intertwine
The mind's of two archaic
Soul's; mine lady, mine home.

Obsidian shalt I wrap around
Thine toes, Olivine crystal to
Grace thy structured shoulder's;
Yellow Spinel as like Ray's of ten-
Thousand star's glittering thy ear's.

Lass, lady of the Orient; wipe away
Thine tear's, for eternal year's art ourn
Own to capture from nonending cloud-walking.
Yea, verily, the Azure's art singing as we shalt chant
"Bala roush, anakar crean monostipi", ourn amare to be uplifting.
Godliness and Impartial giving, life is love, and heaven-sending.
"Bala roush, anakar crean monostipi- ourn god we thank thee for ourn meeting..... ( I made the words up that go to this.)
Tis- it is...
Obsidian rock- a hard, dark, glasslike volcanic rock formed by the rapid solidification of lava without crystallization.found in Philippines.
Olivine crystal - ol·i·vine
ˈäləˌvēn/Submit
noun
an olive-green, gray-green, or brown mineral occurring widely in basalt, peridotite, and other basic igneous rocks. It is a silicate containing varying proportions of magnesium, iron, and other elements. It forms crystal to. So beautiful  from Philippines .
Yellow Spinel - looks like a yellow sapphire. Gorgeous.
Thy- your.
Thine -your
Art -are.
Ourn -our
Yea- yes.
Verily, in truth, in certainty.
Azure- clear sky or sky's also known as the blue.
Amare- love.
Impartial- treating all rivals or disputants equally; fair and just, unbiased  equal giving all love.
brandon nagley Feb 2016
i.

Forby thou art not,
I quiver from the
Cold; mine heart
Is running rapid,
There's anguish
In mine soul.

ii.

I wail out of mine
Bones, mine grave
Is looking close, I
Implore for thee,
Mine Jane, mine
Sweet. I implore
One day, thy eye's
I'll meet.

iii.

On the emptied
Street's of purgatory,
Mine sandal's art worn;
I beseech for just one kiss,
But there's nothing, mine heart doth burn.

iv.

Though through these trial's
And Tribulation's, I shalt
Hath patience; whilst I
Get bitten, by the demon's
I have been smitten. Ourn
Affamour shalt break down
Door's, wherein hell shalt
Shatter, we shalt reach the
Shores, O' I plore for thou.

v.

Mine eyeball's art sinking in, is this death somehow?
Mine body and limbs now doth trow; it's weathering
Away, I'm hanging on tight; I prayest thou canst saveth
Me, by the end of the night. And queen if I goeth, please
Knoweth mine amulet belongeth to thee, I wilt forever
Looketh down, upon thine crown, mine empress; mine
Queen.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Forby- is archaic for near.
Beseech means- beg... Same as implore pretty much.
Affamour- is a word I made up, it means (affectionate amour') or affectionate love....
Plore- also means beseech or beg. Archaic tongue.
Trow- means think or believe...
brandon nagley Sep 2015
Abroad the mystical veil, neath me and mine queen's feet, firmament of wonder, a singing Nightingale. The Ring nebula, an escort in the ample ether;  none weather, to defeat ourn handheld excursion. Across we cameth, to an unlikely diversion; a black hole ******* the innard's of anything to it's course. Nothing couldst escape it, I hadst to saveth mine Reyna; I threweth mine rose to the side; the whirl pool galaxy, I jumped inside the abyss, none remorse. Tis, I hadst to protect her, from the unholy beast, it needed sacrifice, I Gaveth it mine life; so mine empress couldst liveth in peace. Though the end didst not draweth near, as the Stygian cavity sought; I Gaveth mine blood, for mine amare and wife, as the gloomy pit didst not realize, I was already a spirit. A spirit of love.


©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
brandon nagley Jul 2015
i

Her chatoyant cat's view's art check-rows, wherein cheribum run
Therapeutic is her coalesce, when me and her art in caress, love
Antelucan passionance ensues, anthem to mine muse, elsa-grace.
Costume's to be festive, the crowd gathers us interested, in amour

ii

She felleth through the milky way galaxy, unearthed by humans
She was In a capsule of alien breed, wearing cupid attire tunic
As I'm just a felon, I hadst to keepeth mine head hung down low
Because if they captured me, they'd capture the queen, so I told the king take mine head to SAVETH her soul... .  


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Elsa angelica dedicated
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Skyward I look down
I seeith mine queens head
She's covered by her afflictions
She sometimes wishes to be dead

But I always catch her
Thou seeith I'm her watchmen
I was sent here many years ago
To giveth her right sentiment...

She feels alone at times
Verily I telleth thou she's not
She's given me a new life
One of happiness and marriage plot

Though an angel herself
She caught me as well
She shipped me up from the pit
Whence I layed inside of hell

We saveth one another
We are amour' of everlasting
She is that chalice of all heaven
She's mine queen as for her is romancing!!!
brandon nagley Jul 2015
The angel covered me with her broken aileron pinion's.......
As I thought I was alone the whole time!!!!!
As she cameth to SAVETH ME....

Yet I cameth to rescue her
As she did already for me....
She hadst thought God sent her to showeth her amour'

No!!!!
God sent me........
And it's for all love to cometh in store...
brandon nagley Jul 2015
Like lazurus, I was dead for a many long day's,
The queen cameth to greet me, to SAVETH ME from mine way's.
Her vibrant gleaming was beaming wherein mine body didst lay,
She put her hand upon me, wiped mine ****** face.
The cruor disappeared, tis I was made brand new,
The fourth day I awoke, I spoke for mine muse....
To telleth her I loveth her, and I needeth her to,
She fleweth me to heaven, in a chariot view....
Now we rest in the celestial's, sitting on rocket ship stool's,
Making stardust for children, whilst ourn abode is the moon...
brandon nagley Aug 2015
Castillo de la arena, atrapado por su inocencia, una reina moonbeamed, yo buscare del pasado recuerdo la vida; sólo un fantasma de la imaginación mía, harás una seeith mí en alto? una reina que me salva de la muerte, una reina de ninguno miente. reina, no te rescatarme? donde tú eres? mis ojos cansados ​​arte desde la búsqueda, por favor seducir a mi corazón ....
( Spanish version)


( English version)

Castle by the sand, stuck by her innocence, a moonbeamed queen, I seeketh from past life remembrance; just a ghost of mine imagination, shalt one seeith me on high? a queen to Saveth me in death, a queen of none lies. queen won't thou rescue me? wherever thou art? mine eyes art tired from searching, please ****** mine heart....



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Hoping  for a lover to love me
Don't know if translated this right because haven't done whole poem in Spanish in while but oh well lollll
brandon nagley Jul 2015
At the lowest part of hell
I looked up from mine destitute cell,
And saweth a light I thought to be just a light
Yet it was no ordinary glowing!!!!
It was mine (mi amour')
As her face was lit and showing,
I fell to the hellish floor
Humbled by her coming,
As I kneweth the same love from mine past life
Hath cometh to safe-guard me again,
To SAVETH ME from mine sins
For a new beginning
And not mine own end!!!
As tis I asked her (how must i repayeth thy selfless deed) ?
She said to me (sweetie, thou art mine and forever wilt thou be)
As again I fell on hand's and knees crying
From the joy she hast brought)
I kneweth at that moment
In her love I was comfortably lost...
Tis no bad lost,
But a lost into her soul!!!
As we connected once again
From whence we were born as twin ghosts.
brandon nagley Jul 2015
In the crowd of trader's, amongst the land of Jordan
The glamorous and the exotic gamble betwixt the dust.
This is called the rose city, from the rock tis cut from
It lies on the ***** of Jebel al-Madhbah, or mount-Hor for some.

The deaf and the lame here art shunned, from Rich bafoon's,
The Masses loveth wickedness, of coin's made from golden tomb's
As in their new's, there art no camera's, just idol's and false mantra's, and as they chant in Arabic and Greek, their eye's shut.

In the crypt of the desert's crevice, lies Aaron, the brother of Moses, as all folk's gather as flocking hen's, the prophet's speak of a coming end, yet the trader's careth of no fire, they careth of their camel's and attire, and whilst the tradeth they mock as well.

They mocketh the creator, from whence they hath cometh, like mammal brutes, they seeketh and wanteth, and women here dress in elaborate color, mother's here trade off daughter's, for a Kings treasure, greedy they've become, material's of another.

Their treasure's art their way's of living, not needing their God, their playing with Satan, a liar, one whom ****'s, as whilst they casted lot's, for an Arabic girl in the streets, the mountain's shook, with trembling heat, the Firestone's cameth down, cutting feet.

They wailed to their statues, saying please SAVETH us, they let go of their girl, they tried to trade as a slave and ****** must, the girl ran away, as the seraphim saved her life, the idol's cameth down, the trader's bodies hit the ground, their soul's leaving sight

The adolescent woman, was looking down from up above, her God told her they were greed seeker's, and needed a shrug, the girl couldn't think; she just smiled at her God, God said: thou shalt not be hurt none more, as in flames Petra hath gone up.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Civet Wright Mar 2017
Mine own joybringer moon ambler
Mine own figure is thy company per purr
Thee madeth me a humour addeth loveth abler
Saveth thy ardor banter to me thy emotion banker
Beest mine own forever pricketh spur
Learning Shakespearean/Elizabethan English from a website called Lingojam: https://lingojam.com/  
Please introduce me Shakespearean/Elizabethan English poem if you knew any thanketh thee so much.

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