"seekest" poems
Aye, Vladimir, just before I met thee
I hath been sure I hath loved him-
no matter as queer as it may hath seemed!
Thou knowest not, how much tears I hath shredded
and noticest not, how t'eir vanity made me look dead!
But why-why then didst thou appear-
and wokest within me t'is secret fear-
with understanding in thy eyes,
and with a love t'at is to me so dear.
Why-why t'en thou left me, left me again!
Whenst I got to knowest thou but for a moment,
ah, with not so much of an endearment-
afforded ourselves only t'at streak of lovely,
but still weak of too a bond,
or any pact, of young novelty.
And everything was corrupt
As soon as thou re-released me
into t'ese qualms of insincerity
wherest I am still tossed about, guilty.
And hushed, hushed always,
like a trivial, parallel wind!
As though my dear heart's bathed in sin
and of a soul t'at is so thin
So worthy not of thy soulfulness
and sweet dreams of many happinesses.
Ah, Vladimir! If only thou could knowest
T'is thread of passion thou hath sowed
and how my entirety seekest being loved
By thee, and only by thee, o my rain!
As thou art but king to my sneaky moon
and my very own kingdom of stars
Not him-not him, o t'is I entreat,
albeit his wits hath been but to me so sweet.
Still he be a mistake, ah, a chilly autumn mistake
to me, from whom I didst just turn awake.
Probably thou would hath loved me;
imperishably and blindingly,
until all thy superb charms and wit
t'at wert but tortured and unbending
shalt be left within me lit;
and thus leaving our fiery souls entwined
with winds t'at art even sweeter
yet might be torturously everlasting.
Vladimir, Vladimir, oh my only Vladimir!
Thou altogether belongst with me; here,
so unjustly yet heavenly
And in our hands is cherished
our love, o, so wickedly-but fatefully!
How I longst to be thy lover, dearest-
and be so comely as thy only flower;
which ripens thickly in thy winter
and blooms robustly, in thy summer.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
I.
I would not if I could undo my past,
Tho' for its sake my future is a blank;
My past for which I have myself to thank,
For all its faults and follies first and last.
I would not cast anew the lot once cast,
Or launch a second ship for one that sank,
Or drug with sweets the bitterness I drank,
Or break by feasting my perpetual fast.
I would not if I could: for much more dear
Is one remembrance than a hundred joys,
More than a thousand hopes in jubilee;
Dearer the music of one tearful voice
That unforgotten calls and calls to me,
"Follow me here, rise up, and follow here."
II.
What seekest thou, far in the unknown land?
In hope I follow joy gone on before;
In hope and fear persistent more and more,
As the dry desert lengthens out its sand.
Whilst day and night I carry in my hand
The golden key to ope the golden door
Of golden home; yet mine eye weepeth sore,
For long the journey is that makes no stand.
And who is this that veiled doth walk with thee?
Lo, this is Love that walketh at my right;
One exile holds us both, and we are bound
To selfsame home-joys in the land of light.
Weeping thou walkest with him; weepeth he?--
Some sobbing weep, some weep and make no sound.
III.
A dimness of a glory glimmers here
Thro' veils and distance from the space remote,
A faintest far vibration of a note
Reaches to us and seems to bring us near;
Causing our face to glow with braver cheer,
Making the serried mist to stand afloat,
Subduing languor with an antidote,
And strengthening love almost to cast out fear:
Till for one moment golden city walls
Rise looming on us, golden walls of home,
Light of our eyes until the darkness falls;
Then thro' the outer darkness burdensome
I hear again the tender voice that calls,
"Follow me hither, follow, rise, and come."
3.6k
Death affirms and is the term of life;
flesh and firmness, egg and ***** the means.
Breath interred within a Word and light,
deftly perched perpetually in-between:
born to discontinuous distraction,
borne through a contemptuous nadir;
but in a moment, all's destroyed,
and in the black and empty of the void,
a helix (and a hollow core) appears.
Baphomet the emblem of Its power,
sacrament the reverence revealing
devilment to Wisdom yet to flower,
absent comprehension of Its meaning.
Pan personifies the All unbounded,
flouts the misconceptions of the seeing:
Hermes the unmaskèd death,
Aphrodite's basking cleft,
the androgyne transcends within its being.
O - not called "the little death" in jest,
Gnosis vaunted in the ebb of Lust,
though is Not, the know'r of Life and Death:
know that All It Is is what thou Wast,
Its continuity the end thou seekest
in contemplation, *** and wist for death:
Thanatos, eternal sleep,
Eros, infinitely deep,
Generation poised to manifest.
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 12:47 AM UTC
I am in love, and in love with him;
I'll love him t'night, under th' moonbeams;
And who shall say-t'at he's really mean?
As far as I know, he's funny and keen;
I am but trapped, between his West' worlds;
Too polite for poems; too tactful for words.
I'm alive no more, by my Eastern wings;
Only a poem at nights; but none on mornings.
I seekest only him thus, with such eyes so blue;
A promise faint still, but delights so true.
I loved his yesterday, and shall do his tomorrow;
I loveth him like t'at-within th' very here and now.
Ah, but shall he ever perfectly know-
T'at I singeth his songs, and painteth his rainbow?
And should t'is lasting love ever transform;
I too wouldst change, I'd take any form.
I may not be within his green leaves;
But I'll 'ways be t'ere, even in his tears.
I am to be th' queen within his throne;
And owneth his secret, intended for my eyes alone.
His skin is even brighter than t'is sunny day;
His blue eyes were mine in dreams, and th' whole of today.
I am th' lover of his goods, th' charms of his bads;
I loveth him happily, and sacredly; in flesh and in all my head.
And whenst my soul he began to tease,
All I ever wanted was to share his kiss;
And by him I feelest but peace,
No dire annoyance, just one secret bliss;
And 'tis his lips t'at shall be my taste;
What a love t'at groweth-but never is in haste!
Ah, and I wanteth to taste just his watery breath;
So let's just hope t'at t'is world hath no death-
At least no death before he is mine;
Th' one I hath yearnt for, th' one on my mind;
And perhaps love canst be direly ill;
But none canst presume aught; nor what I might feel.
And whenst but cometh th' shriekings of fall;
Still 'tis his voice, t'at I loveth at all.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 12:40 PM UTC
My son, if thou wilt receive
my words, and hide my
commandments with thee:
2 So that thou incline thine ear
unto wisdom, and apply thine
heart to understanding;
3 Yea, if thou criest after
knowledge, and liftest up thy
voice for understanding;
4 If thou seekest her as silver,
and searchest for her as for hid
treasures;
5 Then shalt thou understand
the fear of the Lord, and find the
knowledge of God.
6 For the Lord giveth wisdom:
out of his mouth cometh
knowledge and understanding.
7 He layeth up sound wisdom
for the righteous: he is a buckler
to them that walk uprightly.
8 He keepeth the paths of
judgment, and preserveth the way of
his saints.
9 Then shalt thou understand
righteousness, and judgment, and
equity; yea, every good path.
10 When wisdom entereth into
thine heart, and knowledge is
pleasant unto thy soul;
11 Discretion shall preserve
thee, understanding shall keep
thee:
12 To deliver thee from the way
of the evil man, from the man that
speaketh froward things;
13 Who leave the paths of
uprightness to walk in the ways of
darkness;
14 Who rejoice to do evil, and
delight in the frowardness of the
wicked;
15 Whose ways are crooked,
and they froward in their paths:
16 To deliver thee from the
strange woman, even from the
stranger which flattereth with her
words;
17 Which forsaketh the guide
of her youth, and forgetteth the
covenant of her God.
18 For her house inclineth
unto death, and her paths unto the
dead.
19 None that go onto her return
again, neither take they hold of
the paths of life.
20 That thou mayest walk in the
way of good men, and keep the
paths of the righteous.
21 For the upright shall dwell in
the land, and the perfect shall
remain in it.
22 But the wicked shall be cut
off from the earth, and the
transgressors shall be rooted out
of it.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
i.
Lassie of broken dreams, wailing, hurt,
God is waiting for thee; for his arm's art
Open to thy lost smiles, for he awaits
Thee dear child of hopeless days
And despair.
ii.
Dost not thou knowest my friend, for how
Much God dost careth for thee, for in thy
Cuts he didst share.
iii.
He took thy doubts and worries on
That cross, two thousand years ago,
For thee his blood was lost.
iv.
For thou owest nothing, he's payed the
Price, for thee hopeless one, he gave
His life.
Verily, verily I speak of Jesus Christ.
v.
He saidst come unto me all ye who labor and he shalt give thee rest, O' he wants to
Bring thee peace, not the cutting holes
Inside thy chest.
vi.
He's been right there with thee, though thou
Dost not know, thou canst not hide thy tears, for thy tears to God doth show. He ascended after ressurecting, to the heaven's he didst go; being seen by over five hundred, with other's and two angels.
vii.
He offered his life, so thou shalt surely live,
Heaven he offers as paradise dear sad one of this worlds abyss. Christ is smiling upon thee now child of many fears, his arms art open to thee friend, thou art more than worthy to us poets and so thou knowest God is near.
viii.
So if thou seekest peace, for that peace in Christ alone shalt be found; he loves thee O' dear jotter, for his love for thee shan't forsake thee, his arms art open to thee
As around thy shoulders the holes in
His wrists wilt be wrapped around.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 4:16 PM UTC
Moxie after a short nap,
crescive energy from the
Cream-sugared taste; Java
A-plenty.
Another minute to
Waste; for this life's
Not long enough.
A coy wouldst be nice,
For tis I am human,
A convive with
Scented candles,
Bare feet; none
Shoes nor sandal.
I seekest contemning
Not more doubts and
In tears to be oceans
For swimming; but
Like a newborn, I
Want to be rocked
In one's arm's, and
Fingertips touching,
Two separate souls
Connecting, as mine
Legs cross with one,
Side to side; arm to
Arms. Mine hand
Over ones hips,
Tightly squeezing.
Lips bitten a bit
For kiss, a gentle
Bleeding, two-
Hearts beating,
Becoming one
Flesh, ones head
Resting upon this
Ancient chest. To
Kiss one's forehead,
And sayest (hey mine
Queen), wakie wakie
Mine love, tis the morn,
I made thee breakfast-
Toast with butter, jelly,
Eggs with cheese on
On top; hot coffee.
Id stroke ones hair
Mine fingers caress
One's scalp and head.
I'll just stop before I
Keep going, these art
Just wantings kept un-
Said. I think I'll just go
Back to bed. I think I'll
Get lost in mine head.
© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poets poetry
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
As the welkins turneth grey, and the night becometh day, man fall's back to Noah's time; where sin in men
Displayed.
Where chain's became one's grave, whence giant's roamed the earth, making babies with lustful ladies;
Making the world their settled
Church.
As the fallen one's layed their seed, to stop ourn saviors means, as humanity calleth them God's;
In reality sickly beasts.
Men reproduced their deities, out of clay, hand-dug gold; bowing to breathless idol's, just as Christian's
Sold their soul's.
Making creatures from the pit,
Their daily water and their spit,
Knowing not the god, who
Made them in his image.
Clean clothed new world order
Grinches.
Bleating out for their king, O' the truth thou seekest, though the truth's unseen.
Because tis yeshua thou hath rejected, ear's made shut,
Worldly infected.
Technology and pleasures
Hath replaced the almighty
God, Jehovah, Elohim, yahweh;
Jesus his son.
©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poets poetry
©prophetic poetry.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC