"scarab" poems
Now let us pray.
May hellfire rain down
on us today, on all those who
offered pay in
full metal change to watch
the life sized lights explode
& wicked witches
hanging by the throat
from a tenth floor window
it was all so cool.
so cool.
demon induced
dementia cemented in
an underground parking garage
sleepover
sleepless
starry eyed orphan
**** princess-
apparel section
regressing to an
oral fixation & a
need to keep the
fingers busy.
pink **** carpet
heart shaped atrocity
rotten thing.
you ain't the boss of me
paleface
scarab angel
seraph snake
made up cheap
heart tarnished
purely
black comedy
legs like a limousine
keeping company with
the holy cross
dressers on the
local drug scene.
oh how special.
yesterday
I fed my
edificial fetish
& I could not
stop thinking.
these high
arched ceilings.
could not contain
my feelings,
if they tried.
drive by advertisements
remind me there's
not much
to be excited about.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
Tell me, my dear, why you keep
that golden sun beetle tied so tightly around your neck?
You say that you feel naked without it, as
it hangs gently
over your *******
But let me tell you something.
I feel naked without you wrapped around my neck.
I am totally and completely exposed without your love
to shield me from the night.
But your arms are not a ribbon.
I cannot keep you on
a leash.
Nor do I want to.
Darling, you are the most valuable thing in the universe to me.
And because you mean so much, I must let you fly free.
I cannot keep you tied around my neck like the scarab on yours.
I can only hope that you'd willingly hang around.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 1:08 AM UTC
Chum floats the pool
encircled by sharks and piranha
a pity, nature's fool
as fearful teeth do their work.
Could they be as bad as I?
Apex predator, Invasive species
where it means to die
as a means to live.
Growth from a spineless cherub
to a spiteful formless entity
possessing a cunning golden scarab
controlling wheels of fortune.
Slaves to our own demands
aren't we antagonists to someone else?
With machinations of wicked plans
to justify righteous intentions.
Hypocrites line the tank
tapping their fingers in rumination
Abandoning morals, faces left blank.
I am not your foil, I am a mirror.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
I **** on your grave for I have had too much to drink!
A glass 'o ginger beer and shrimp crackers I ate today.
Thou art not to fall! To tartuffery for a drink is as good as the last.
But alas, I am not to drink.
For my heart is heavy with woe.
Those stoics! They bring me much misery.
Oh the stoics, with their logically given truths that are naught but prejudice! Prejudice in truth they claim, liars.
Oh the stoics, with their ****** analogies of nature and so fourth.
To be! Like nature, is to be indifferent and prodigal.
That's probably why we love the intelligent uncaring character. He is nature.
She too! O' who's heart is full of love! She brings me roses and kisses upon my lips. She too, is nature. Stupid also, unbelievably crass.
Is crassness then, what we call nature? Then it is he! He! Who bring us our daily news who is unnatural. But then who is the preacher?
No, nature is to live. To live! Hah! A joke! To live is not a command for you cannot conceptualize living without living.
You'd do better as a pretty little scarab, but he doesn't drink ginger beer.
So too, our conclusion is to be natural. But not the scarab. To live, obviously. To be correct! by our own prejudice. And to reject divinely given truths. I do not know how I would feel about children of my own, we'll see when I have one.
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
Her eyes are the lighthouse of the Pharos,
Alexandrian, bronze-mirrored fire flung round
The gloaming coastal sorrow like sand-glittered spears.
Her praying mantis limbs of light,
Sever-poised for needlepoint strike
At the jeweled glint of wings in dim, rare-seen limits,
Now one with her rasping sea of scarab beetle husks.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 8:44 PM UTC
*Imprinting herself around me
a tenderly etched embrace
Integrity of heart and soul
intact, time shan't erase
A scarab if a beetle
a nova if a star
An amulet of conviction
pulsing light from afar
My hand is open to her
my life freely given
To be loved simply by loving
ancient wisdom recently rewritten*
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Shepard Leopard print not calligraphy double "L's" lively as llamas lily roll roots lull underwater dreams felt from the events of hypnotized by the words of the orator, an ores rating is the basis of the all purpose flowering behind the veil, human as satiated, red as sunsets lewd as an anagram of wed rings marry Saturn on this mourning of the death of time, rocks felt sediment may ties tan in the Sun pelts peeled layered in the wind steaming serpentine smokes coils in the sky Clouds the equipment of the buster Organs play louder than church hymns reigns power blood men straighten in their pews at the sound of the root of all evil the mouth of the whale begging for the message more "S's" in saliva drool without one of Oh now bow before the bow arc in the Know a Self flooded urge elevated surfaced by the pit of the concrete, open your abstract the path leopard prints in the mud escape the boar snarling winters Solar is the limit speed time for the Scarab dry enough for the role of matter being dense as ****** In no sense cures us from our aged protractor, human after all is how I robot rock.
I am earth breathing fire hearing wind moving water beneath my meat eating feet. I stare through the ghost riding I am Equine the warship of the Poised den at landings end I devour funnel cakes within the three circles, I merge the warmth and cool blending the reflections with its shadow commanding paddle cyclical backstroke the Frog's moment chosen amp powered transition form and fathom an alternate realm, I dropped a meteor on a puddle world displacing half of all livin; Lanced a Wasp's nest as a Dragoon steals an egg as a test.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
Thine temple is an edifice, holy, ever-reaching the overhanging of cliff's, step by step I walketh; a journey I only canst travel. Thou hast guided me on the long road's, wherein soul's get lost and caught in the world's tempting channel. O' blest refinement, God hath freed me from confinement; as the angel yea the angel he sent to me was thee;
Sanctified I am, inside of thine wing's. In commitment shalt I bring, in song's I shalt ablaze in glory with thee wherein the mind's of two shalt cling. O' mine hymn, O' mine diamond .
On a turret I shalt keepeth watch, when the round ball we loveth smoke's up thus, and drop's; beyond fear and falsehood talk's, we shalt walk in a grove,
henceforth the evil staying below, ourn cheeks, colored into snow that fall's starlit, warm-bits. Ourn finger's warm, ourn toe's kick to hot spit by the kissing over-satisfaction. Ourn coroner's laced inside with baguettes, daily deeds like seeds groweth from fountains with nets, nets to catch ourn amour' like open door's we shalt enter. Ourn heart's at the center exploding into a universal call to all other cherub's, seraph's, archangel's, stomping the scarab's. As eternity draweth us as the lost city of gold.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley-filipino rose dedicated
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 3:48 PM UTC
but that could be said of anywhere.
However, some places
seem to have hypnotic hips and easy eyes
with a mischevious, seductive scarab grin.
Like magic, it pulls me in.
Here, labels like good or bad are trite,
there is only this magnetic whirling
energy culling myself and others inside
simply because we picked up the phone and showed up.
But now it's our responsibility to find balance
amidst serene listless apathy on the beach
and party hardy into the midnight arty energy scene jack & coke down the rabbit hole we go.
Some Bedouins say Dahab means "time goes,"
which has me convinced Moses and his folks weren't lost
in terms of location but lost when it relates to time,
trying to find a middle path
between excess and sloth
in this south Sinai town.
Yes, not two but three schools of thought,
forming a triangle in this hypnotizing spiral;
two points of excess and one of balance!
All three balance each other,
and it's hell trying to stay in the center of this eye
of this metaphorical storm of enlightenment.
Naturally, gravitational forces pull some to the
gray matter island headspace of echoed sins
and carnivorous lascivious pandemonium.
Not everyone will find what they seek on the warm beaches here,
or the raving, bubble foam dance parties in strobe light nights.
That's just the way it is;
there's not enough room for everyone in the center.
And this is where we learn to accept ones place,
because only then can we move on to another plane,
on another beach with more to learn and some to teach.
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 7:43 PM UTC
high altitudes and attitudes
my wooden altar is not a large one, yet it floats
above this mountain town in planks of rotting wood.
soft peaks rise behind the tunnel of garbage that builds
in drifts along my temple railings
at this altitude i assumed i would inhale the air of gods, elevated
so much more than physically above the grit and rattlesnakes
but the smell of hot trash is on the wind
as i exude his poison in red splashes of desert fauna and
a smile sways at my mouth, bloodless,
as i descend back into scarab
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 8:12 PM UTC
You're the knight
I'm your steed
There are signs
I can't read
There are things
I can't be
The choir sings
When you see
An engagement ring
Will set me free
But you turn into a beast
And I'm your prey feast
So I hide in the crease
Between best and least
Between sinner and priest
Between molasses and grease
I hide from a monster
That looks like a lobster
Mixed with a mobster
Using a humanoid claw
To impose martial law
To avoid my small flaws
You were my Goliath of reliance
Until we collided with defiance
And I didn't know how to cope
With a lycanthrope
You're a mixture of Jackie Chan and Jackie Kennedy
You're in between human man and human centipede
You walk through the quiet land as I hide in the trees
The hourglass empties as the sand tickles like fleas
You're a monster unreal
When this way I must feel
You have the power to give or take my heart
And you've used that power from the start
You're a Tyrannosaurus rex
When you flex
You're a scarab beetle
When you're evil
The combination of the two
Is the reason my anxiety grew
You're a demon
That can ****** loneliness
You're the reason
I've become a bony mess
When I get things off my chest
To expose my organs
And you call it just fun
So I realize you're the one
From the emotions you take
And the emotions I can't fake
So meet me in the shed
And give me Pumpkinhead
To forget the blood I've bled
And the taste of mud I'm fed
So you can be my monster
I'm not worth
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 6:28 AM UTC
the hand that rubs my body down
is soft: softly veined &
of a powder-white translucence; transcribed
from dover chalks to run down my
chest, backs of my thighs.
the hand that rubs my body down
curves in sweet musics 'round my soul;
the shrill but beaut'ous rasp of skin
on skin
-- of fingertips tracing strange poetry
along my spine.
the hand that rubs my body down
holds in its palm a sacred oil;
anointing me at midnight hour. muted
bewitchments; burns the candle
down to a nub.
the hand that rubs my body down
calls for christ in attics of sunday
afternoon ... crosses its fingers in
spiteful fits
of piousness.
the hand that rubs my body down
takes the shape of golden scarab;
sets aflame my eyes of beaming azure &
finds in me a willing servant.
the hand that rubs my body down
wakes me at dawn, partnered
with an extension of pinpointed
warmth: the touch of her breath upon my cheek.
Mar 25, 2012
Mar 25, 2012 at 7:41 PM UTC
In an ocean of night, dreaming of a closed dining space / We were snooping in on a harsh conversation of strangers that we knew / Towards dawn you spoke / as real in the dream as an apparition in the real / of Father and Mother / of them cruising off on a road trip / You faltered at a word I recollect but won't spell / It absorbed into whale song ticking to a time piece / itching to signal morning / and I could feel the depth of many fathoms floating over a waking to Spring / like being pressed against a cherry blossom trunk / in a tug of war, a push and pull / Let's go Jungian on this, he is much more pleasant / I did see a bumble bee yesterday, not a golden scarab, although that could have been a circadian premonition / and I woke up to a shower of blossoms //
May 11, 2021
May 11, 2021 at 8:44 AM UTC
Majestic is the scarab,
whose beauty persists
in the favor of people;
we behold it and say,
"How creative is God."
Mesmerized, I forget
how literally today
becomes yesterday--I forget
how potent a drug
beauty is.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
I am not your friend
I am the enemy
Of the end
That you embrace
With open arms
And open palms
With a name drawn
Onto clouds
And carved
Into skin
Its should be as natural as breathing
But, its as painful as bleeding
No suture for these open wounds
No future
To fate we're bound
I am all you have
I am the answer
To the riddles past
Raven and writing desk
Oedipus answered man
Its all I am
With a name and a face
And eyes that can see
Eyes that blink
And a hungry sphinx
It should be as open as the sky
But, its a dark and dysmal cave
Our hearts become arrows
In truth of the scarab
We shoot wide and narrow
The end of which we seek
Will not be peace
Fall on me now
Or follow me not
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
Your breath held undying
Cloned eyes
Gazing a solitary entrance
Loneliness sequence
Capturing a scarab in synesthesia
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
In between the crevasse, the edges of two fingers,
Two boldly jutting stingers perpendicularly putting
A slick gripping upon a slim tantalum cigarette,
A discreet bayonette from weapons that should have kept
Their secrets, saved their wars, retained their scores
To themselves, mourned in their shells, sat in the corners of their skin and bone cells,
Weeping through fingernails.
The acid cannot wave between the lips,
Absorbed, contained inside their grips,
Decidedly encased inside like bottled ships
That cannot sail from inside a deafly, deathly speaking slip.
Those circled, muscled sinking feelings
Driven cold by air, the scarab dealings
Flying flus, thus rabid reelings,
Blades cantankerous on wings revealing.
Bottled, at stop, on gums that go.
Bottled razorlings, at stop, on gums that go.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
I chase the Scarab until the morning glows
With a winged friend I mistreat following a henchman's horse
To the Dunes we ride eyeing the night sky waning
The face of my child entreats for me to be weary.
A diamond in the raw, uncut was never the most valuable.
a board game logic parks upon the boardwalk of Santa Cruz
A friend would never charge for you to stay in a hotel they owned,
a game is a game only if one refrains from believing in consequence
as reality, that time is a space left between motions created by decision
evidenced by interaction precise a dreams manifested sequenced as love ever after.
A price is one custom we have all come to be adapted too, yet how are the best things in life free, if Jewels are the most expensive?
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
i
Get some rest mine empress
Thine mind is full of doubt's;
Afraid I shalt walketh away
Afraid of me walking out;
ii
Get some sleep
Mine queen;
Tommorrow thou shalt awaken
And again to talk to me.
iii
Get some shut-eye mine seraph
None shalt separate us;
None jealous one's
None scarab's.
iv
Get some peace mine rose
Didst thou not knoweth;
I'll be at thy side, we'll gloweth
Triumphantly as tower's.
v
Get some siesta mine lass
For the morn shalt cometh fast;
I'll be there at thy side, staring through thine glass
Glass eye's, that I shalt never walketh from.....
Get some peace mine Reyna......
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
The scarab sits atop its collected sphere
Wielding its mental sextant
It chases the sun
And it gives its life direction
Man sits atop the same
How we yearn for unreachable ideals
The gold of perfection
Ra, the sun
So scarab we aren't much different
We spend our lives with eyes fixed on the past
Blind to the future
We roll our cherished ***** into so many obstacles
Purely out of our condition
Strike the baring rock and become lost.
We climb back up on our ball
To find our golden god
And continue as if before
Our endless journey to find Tum
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC
bind onto stillness -
(impenetrably on stone)
scarab's shrill sounded.
Jun 3, 2011
Jun 3, 2011 at 8:44 AM UTC
Now let us pray.
May hellfire rain down
on us today, on all those who
offered pay in
full metal change to watch
the life sized lights explode
& wicked witches
hanging by the throat
from a tenth floor window
it was all so cool.
so cool.
demon induced
dementia cemented in
an underground parking garage
sleepover
sleepless
starry eyed orphan
**** princess-
apparel section
regressing to an
oral fixation & a
need to keep the
fingers busy.
pink **** carpet
heart shaped atrocity
rotten thing.
you ain't the boss of me
paleface
scarab angel
seraph snake
made up cheap
heart tarnished
purely
black comedy
legs like a limousine
keeping company with
the holy cross
dressers on the
local drug scene.
oh how special.
yesterday
I fed my
edificial fetish
& I could not
stop thinking.
these high
arched ceilings.
could not contain
my feelings,
if they tried.
drive by advertisements
remind me there's
not much
to be excited about.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
Greate is thy Sin, since Sin is never Small:
And Monstrous Moles of Sin Call home thy Soule.
About their Mountainous Molehills they do Crawle.
Play thou (and win) a Game of Whacke-a-Mole.
Unto the Moles be Deadly as an asp.
Beware, take Care, nor Swat the pettish wasp.
The Harebrain'd Sinners Sins to him are toyes;
Theyre Entertainments, Gambols, Games with Dice.
The Madbrain'd Sinners Sins to him are joyes
Untill he's made to paye in full their price.
The Crackbrain'd Sin-addicted Scarab bug
That liveth but for Sin to Hell is Drug.
May 6, 2024
May 6, 2024 at 9:13 PM UTC
**** just got real
I'm about to cop another feel
Of the undeniable truth
Take me to the fountain of youth
Settle me in the light
Obliterate any other view in sight
An emotional pontoon
Strikes a balloon
Like the ***** of a needle
It's time to worship the scarab beetle
Your world bursts
Dignity quenching of thirst
The illusions released
Mind games deceased
The fantasy shatters
As if nothing else matters
The moment it hits you
There's nothing left to do
It's a sigh of relief
Eyes induced like an ancient chief
The truth shall set you free
What a wonderful world it would be
If every waking moment
Hikes its way to this descent
Eyes wide open
The dark side must repent
Give me one good reason
Leave me in this pleasant season
Let the tide stay high
Washing away negativity dry
It's a deep realization
Soothing sensation
It was all part of my dream
Letting out some steam
My thoughts just never stop
Meanwhile, the kite string should eventually pop.
It's nearing that time
Music's calling for a new chime
Next freight train is a coming
I'm on the borderline running
Who's all aboard?
I'm about ready to strike another chord.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
Accretion,
Tis I seek!
Permission,
Of ones love to keep!
Partition,
I gaze for none!
Secretion,
Of child play fun!
Direction,
To giveth me her hand!
Completion,
A wedded band!
Ommision,
I want none more!
Suspition,
Please close thy store!
Assumption's,
I enquireth zilch!
Corruption,
Sleeps with filth!
Attention,
Wrap me as waddling infant!
Kitchen's,
To cook a meal of terrace's far and distant!
Affectation,
Of two fallen cherub's!
Alleviation,
Of the bug's and scarab's!
Abstraction,
I paint as a picture,
Benedictions,
Of one pellet, two triggers!
Complications,
Of breathing do I feel,
Irrigations,
Another deathly pill!
Saturation,
Man made queens to beasts!
Irritation,
Where art thou? Queen of settled feast?
Obliteration,
I lurk the high hilled tops!
Incarceration,
Where ghoul's meet thy cops!
Palliation,
To make sensual love in darker nights,
Excruciation,
Where art thou light?
***********
Of kings and consort souls,
Acceptation,
Wilt thou come mine love?
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC