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"seeketh" poems
1 Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine, Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine! Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain, For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain. All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair! The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one, Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun; The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be, Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree. The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small, None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball; The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives, And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves; The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won, And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son. The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune, The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon, Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows, No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose. The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide; Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true, And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue. Now to the application, to the reading of the roll, To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul: Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone, Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown. Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long, And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song? There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair, And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair! Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree; Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb, And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time! Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower, And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower— And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum— And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!
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Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine
1 Awake ye muses nine, sing me a strain divine, Unwind the solemn twine, and tie my Valentine! Oh the Earth was made for lovers, for damsel, and hopeless swain, For sighing, and gentle whispering, and unity made of twain. All things do go a courting, in earth, or sea, or air, God hath made nothing single but thee in His world so fair! The bride, and then the bridegroom, the two, and then the one, Adam, and Eve, his consort, the moon, and then the sun; The life doth prove the precept, who obey shall happy be, Who will not serve the sovereign, be hanged on fatal tree. The high do seek the lowly, the great do seek the small, None cannot find who seeketh, on this terrestrial ball; The bee doth court the flower, the flower his suit receives, And they make merry wedding, whose guests are hundred leaves; The wind doth woo the branches, the branches they are won, And the father fond demandeth the maiden for his son. The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune, The wave with eye so pensive, looketh to see the moon, Their spirits meet together, they make their solemn vows, No more he singeth mournful, her sadness she doth lose. The worm doth woo the mortal, death claims a living bride, Night unto day is married, morn unto eventide; Earth is a merry damsel, and heaven a knight so true, And Earth is quite coquettish, and beseemeth in vain to sue. Now to the application, to the reading of the roll, To bringing thee to justice, and marshalling thy soul: Thou art a human solo, a being cold, and lone, Wilt have no kind companion, thou reap’st what thou hast sown. Hast never silent hours, and minutes all too long, And a deal of sad reflection, and wailing instead of song? There’s Sarah, and Eliza, and Emeline so fair, And Harriet, and Susan, and she with curling hair! Thine eyes are sadly blinded, but yet thou mayest see Six true, and comely maidens sitting upon the tree; Approach that tree with caution, then up it boldly climb, And seize the one thou lovest, nor care for space, or time! Then bear her to the greenwood, and build for her a bower, And give her what she asketh, jewel, or bird, or flower— And bring the fife, and trumpet, and beat upon the drum— And bid the world Goodmorrow, and go to glory home!
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Nodding, nodding 'pon thy stem, Thou bloom o' morn; nodding, nodding To the bees, asearch o' honey's sweet. Wilt thou to droop, and wilt the dance o' thee To vanish with the going o' the day? Hath the tearing o' the air o' thy sharped thorn Sent musics up unto the bright, Or doth thy dance to mean anaught Save breeze-kiss 'pon thy bloom? Hath yonder songster harked to thee, And doth he sing thy love? Or hath he tuned His song of world's wailing o' the day? Doth mom shew thee naught save thy garden's wall, That shutteth thee away, a treasure o' thy day? Doth yonder hum then spell anaught, Save whirring o' the wing that hovereth O'er thy bud to sup the sweet? Ah, garden's deep, afulled o' fairie's word, And creeped o’er with winged mites, where but The raindrop's patter telleth thee His love— Doth all this vanish then, at closing o' the day? Anay. For He hath made a one who seeketh here, And storeth drops, and song, and hum, and sweets, And of these weaveth garland for the earth. From off his lute doth drip the day of Him!
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Nodding, Nodding ‘Pon Thy Stem
Do we notice the finer things in life? The husband's and wives, children that's been conceived! Thou and they are all thou needeth when thy roof springs its leak! Sick Wearied Weak? Looking in all the wrong places? Itinerant in the stagnative imagination's For don't even the mammals haveth a place to stay? Like the son of man I haveth no chapel For this head to consecretly layeth!!! Dog nights seem more teething!!!! Vestige of all beauty You've left that still life post, Wherein thy mantra's I seeketh the most!!! The I loveth thou's And thou more.... Deluge of happiness Covereth me Bury me In atmospheric condition, Oh man didst thou not mention? The plaques to ***** it's protract sorrow!!!! Hath society made materialism And the dollar sign Their romantic gesture? A pity to God And me!!!! Mobs of fleas To calleth what they maketh MANIFESTED TESTIMONIES!!!! Wherein the frauds Fakes And phonies Art thy t.v magnate stars!!!!!
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Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
Abstract expressionism
When mine Queen's tear's cometh down I feeleth the rain, pouring from the cloud's; When mine queen seeketh not to be alive Mine soul sink's, drown's as I die. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane nagley dedication
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Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
*** die reipublicae, morietur ( when she die's, i die) latin tongue
Love seeketh not Itself to please. Nor for itself hath any care; But for another gives its ease. And builds a Heaven in Hells despair. So sung a little Clod of Clay, Trodden with the cattle’s feet; But a Pebble of the brook. Warbled out these metres meet. Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to Its delight; Joys in anothers loss of ease. And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.
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The Clod & The Pebble
Do we notice the finer things in life? The husband's and wives, children that's been conceived! Thou and they are all thou needeth when thy roof springs its leak! Sick Wearied Weak? Looking in all the wrong places? Itinerant in the stagnative imagination's For don't even the mammals haveth a place to stay? Like the son of man I haveth no chapel For this head to consecretly layeth!!! Dog nights seem more teething!!!! Vestige of all beauty You've left that still life post, Wherein thy mantra's I seeketh the most!!! The I loveth thou's And thou more.... Deluge of happiness Covereth me Bury me In atmospheric condition, Oh man didst thou not mention? The plaques to ***** it's protract sorrow!!!! Hath society made materialism And the dollar sign Their romantic gesture? A pity to God And me!!!! Mobs of fleas To calleth what they maketh MANIFESTED TESTIMONIES!!!! Wherein the frauds Fakes And phonies Art thy t.v magnate stars!!!!! ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry
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Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
Abstract expressionism
They crawl hands and knees!!! Lacklustered fanatic's, Groupies of needleshooter's and powder transits, Their noses they wipe off fairied dust!!! Their skin fragile and delirious!!! A spoon to copper boil, Eyeglasses to split the sun , Sticky fingers to stop and go.. Bloodied toast!!! They cringe their pearlies, And wobbled by to and fro waves, Their here for today, Gone for tomorrow!!! A vein full of sorrows!!! A hitch hiker of fertile roads, Though, Thy load leadeth one down to the pit!! Within millipede's of Spit, To drippeth the argot that slurreth them!! Taketh thy hector out of thy baggage, Thou serf of emptiness!! For thy plentiness thou seeketh, Lies beyond the ark, Behind the purple shroud!!
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May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
dope junkies tinn i sean (dope sick junkies) old irish tongue.
There is a poet And poetess That writeth; In the slums And the ghetto's; In the suburb's In the meadow's. There is a poet And poetess That prophecieth In the mountain's In the city, neath Their graves, in Tomb's, free one's, Slave's, some known, Many doomed, in Heaven's gates, some Art poor, some telleth Of fate, some art lonesome, Some speaketh of amour', Some linger in the shadows, Tortured by demon's, anguished; Fighting hellish and earthly battles. There is a poet and poetess that writeth in blood and in ink: Some feareth death, death to some doth succumb when these artist's speak. Some hath wealth, some with naught, some groweth their own food, whilst other's stick to store bought. Some art peasant's, some art farmer's, some poet's preach and teacheth; whilst other's want to alarm us. There is a poet and poetess in this life and the next; some looketh down on loved one's, whilst the living is blinded by material net's. Some art lost, forgotten, some speaketh Spanish, Hindi, English, Arabic, french, lost languages, or Latin. Some just want to love, whilst some seeketh to findeth love, some want to flyeth away, as if a falcon or a dove. Some thinkest their better than most, others thinkest they art not better then noone, feeling dead as if a ghost. Some jotteth poetry to make them remember living, some art charitable, whilst poet's in prison sit and rot from killing or stealing. Some passeth time staring at the ceiling, whilst some overwork, some casteth their ten percent to worldly lusts, whilst other's pay to God in church. There is a poet and poetess that writeth, being dead or alive; O' poet's were all distinctly different though the same, in God's poetic eye's.............. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry
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Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
In oculo magni poetae ( In the great poet's eye's) latin tongue
There is a poet And poetess That writeth; In the slums And the ghetto's; In the suburb's In the meadow's. There is a poet And poetess That prophecieth In the mountain's In the city, neath Their graves, in Tomb's, free one's, Slave's, some known, Many doomed, in Heaven's gates, some Art poor, some telleth Of fate, some art lonesome, Some speaketh of amour', Some linger in the shadows, Tortured by demon's, anguished; Fighting hellish and earthly battles. There is a poet and poetess that writeth in blood and in ink: Some feareth death, death to some doth succumb when these artist's speak. Some hath wealth, some with naught, some groweth their own food, whilst other's stick to store bought. Some art peasant's, some art farmer's, some poet's preach and teacheth; whilst other's want to alarm us. There is a poet and poetess in this life and the next; some looketh down on loved one's, whilst the living is blinded by material net's. Some art lost, forgotten, some speaketh Spanish, Hindi, English, Arabic, french, lost languages, or Latin. Some just want to love, whilst some seeketh to findeth love, some want to flyeth away, as if a falcon or a dove. Some thinkest their better than most, others thinkest they art not better then noone, feeling dead as if a ghost. Some jotteth poetry to make them remember living, some art charitable, whilst poet's in prison sit and rot from killing or stealing. Some passeth time staring at the ceiling, whilst some overwork, some casteth their ten percent to worldly lusts, whilst other's pay to God in church. There is a poet and poetess that writeth, being dead or alive; O' poet's were all distinctly different though the same, in God's poetic eye's.............. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry
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i. Gramercy, it hast been one year now, one year of smiles, laugh's, cry's; growing together, growing Wing's in ourn flight. ii. Fain I am, to seest thee at night, slumbering as a newborn, queen Of orbiting light's, woman of mine Insight; sagittiferous to mine Burden's of life. iii. Let me clear away that vultuous countenance mine girl. iv. We art namelings, with ourn letter's hewed into the highest realm, noscible to the Angel's; we We're recorded on God's Film. v. Perantique we art, as we battle the being's that fell, they've broken their iron locked doorway's; to make their way out of hell. vi. Stand close to mine side, I canst heareth those wedding Bell's, I canst feeleth the earth to swell, as the labor pain's art now. vii. This place shalt sway and moan, like a drunkard without a home, the living in Christ shalt rise; with the dead already rose, silver an treasures shalt come to naught, Home good's and store bought, For men won't grasp their own Thought's; as the misfortune Cometh upon them. Lover's wilt Love themselves, they'll seeketh life In the devil's Lip's; for the lies he speaks art quick, powerful, Deceiving, cunning. viii. Look on high mine Jane, ourn lord is coming, the globe is spinning to the drum of celestial prophecy; None stopping wilt be, yet we art free, a king and queen with a heavenly home, with mansion's To roam, streets followed with Gold, with like-minded souls; Awaiting ourn entrance. This one year wilt lead To an eternal precipice, In which we shan't miss, As all wilt take focus; For we hath life, mine Jane Ourn hope is this; One son of God Who goes by the name Jesus; ourn hope and ourn Reason even more to be one, To showeth another and all The Savior's dying love, and in him Salvation alone, fret not mine lass, soon we shalt go home, soon all ourn waiting wilt be gone, and ourn hand's shalt hold. Two spirit's to be; One love, One soul. look up Look up The time is now close...... ©Brandon Nagley ©Earl Jane sardua Nagley dedication ( agapi mou) © Lonesome poets poetry
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Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 9:19 AM UTC
athánati agápi ( Undying love) greek tongue- one year anniversary poem for queen jane.....
i. Gramercy, it hast been one year now, one year of smiles, laugh's, cry's; growing together, growing Wing's in ourn flight. ii. Fain I am, to seest thee at night, slumbering as a newborn, queen Of orbiting light's, woman of mine Insight; sagittiferous to mine Burden's of life. iii. Let me clear away that vultuous countenance mine girl. iv. We art namelings, with ourn letter's hewed into the highest realm, noscible to the Angel's; we We're recorded on God's Film. v. Perantique we art, as we battle the being's that fell, they've broken their iron locked doorway's; to make their way out of hell. vi. Stand close to mine side, I canst heareth those wedding Bell's, I canst feeleth the earth to swell, as the labor pain's art now. vii. This place shalt sway and moan, like a drunkard without a home, the living in Christ shalt rise; with the dead already rose, silver an treasures shalt come to naught, Home good's and store bought, For men won't grasp their own Thought's; as the misfortune Cometh upon them. Lover's wilt Love themselves, they'll seeketh life In the devil's Lip's; for the lies he speaks art quick, powerful, Deceiving, cunning. viii. Look on high mine Jane, ourn lord is coming, the globe is spinning to the drum of celestial prophecy; None stopping wilt be, yet we art free, a king and queen with a heavenly home, with mansion's To roam, streets followed with Gold, with like-minded souls; Awaiting ourn entrance. This one year wilt lead To an eternal precipice, In which we shan't miss, As all wilt take focus; For we hath life, mine Jane Ourn hope is this; One son of God Who goes by the name Jesus; ourn hope and ourn Reason even more to be one, To showeth another and all The Savior's dying love, and in him Salvation alone, fret not mine lass, soon we shalt go home, soon all ourn waiting wilt be gone, and ourn hand's shalt hold. Two spirit's to be; One love, One soul. look up Look up The time is now close...... ©Brandon Nagley ©Earl Jane sardua Nagley dedication ( agapi mou) © Lonesome poets poetry
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i. Soon, verily soon Shalt the seven trumpet's sound; Awakest from slumber mine land And world, Thy peace that thou seeketh In Christ only Shalt be found. ii. Soon, verily soon Shalt the Antichrist make his mark; The moon to turneth blood The sea's boiling with dust. A new order to adjust, O' man, in whom doth thou trust? iii. Soon, verily soon Shalt rich men hide In room's; Bunker's to Bomb's, children taken From mom's, rapture; Cometh up hither for Few. iv. Soon, verily soon Shalt the earth moan In heat; a false peace Deal for Israel and the False man whom many Wilt calleth king, the Anti-christ to maketh a Sting, with the united Nation's as it's front. v. Soon, verily soon Shalt prohecies of Old, be turned into gold, From it's verity and truth. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Prophetic poetry
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Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
Awakest from slumber, thine day's art numbered
Topping a rise comes a knight, armour soiled and stained; weary yet elated riding his black steed. The Princess in her tower sees and gives a delighted cry. She leans out her window and hails the knight: "Ho!Brave knight! Whence comest thou? Tell me thou seeketh me for I wait for thee." "Truly",answered the knight "It is for thee I am come my fair lady and to take thine hand." "I've sailed the seven seas, toiled through forests and mires, traversed deserts and dunes looking for thee". "Oh the joy!"whispered the lady and cried,"My brave knight, glad am I to hear thee but Didst thou slay the dragon?" Answered the knight, "My dearest lady, I have fought the giants, conquered the orcs and tamed the lions." "Oh brave art thou my worthy knight. But didst thou slay the mighty dragon?" "I have escaped from dungeons, caverns with unnamed fears. Scorpions and serpents I have crushed to the earth." "Wonderful art thou my worthy knight. But didst thou slay the fearsome dragon?" "I have ridden the behemoth, subdued the depths, searched the clouds and fiddled with thunderbolts" "Magnificent art thou my worthy knight. But didst thou slay the red dragon?" "Lady,you are besot with the dumb worm!",he said. "I wonder if she",he thought "has been crazed in that tower" Sighing forlornly, said the princess "I canst not leave here till the dragon is dead." As the knight turned away to ride back,she asked "Whither goest thou? To slay the beast?" "Nay lady,nay I go to slay the dunce who wrote you into that tower." "What meanest thou my dear knight?! There is another knight who dabbles in magic?!" "Nay lady,nay. He is not a knight. He uses his quill to weave his musings." Cried the princess "Oh mighty sir, Oh Weaver with the quill! Canst thou hear me?" "Yes dear lady,"said I, "What do you desire? What can I do that will please you?" "My dearest Sir! Oh my bravest hope. Slay the dragon and make me thine." "But my lady as much as I desire to, you should know there is No dragon in the story" (Silence pervades) "Oh my dear knight!!" cried the lady to the rider, "Slay this goon and we shall be one." Uh-oh...Time to put down the pen and run.
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Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
Did You Slay The Dragon?!
Topping a rise comes a knight, armour soiled and stained; weary yet elated riding his black steed. The Princess in her tower sees and gives a delighted cry. She leans out her window and hails the knight: "Ho!Brave knight! Whence comest thou? Tell me thou seeketh me for I wait for thee." "Truly",answered the knight "It is for thee I am come my fair lady and to take thine hand." "I've sailed the seven seas, toiled through forests and mires, traversed deserts and dunes looking for thee". "Oh the joy!"whispered the lady and cried,"My brave knight, glad am I to hear thee but Didst thou slay the dragon?" Answered the knight, "My dearest lady, I have fought the giants, conquered the orcs and tamed the lions." "Oh brave art thou my worthy knight. But didst thou slay the mighty dragon?" "I have escaped from dungeons, caverns with unnamed fears. Scorpions and serpents I have crushed to the earth." "Wonderful art thou my worthy knight. But didst thou slay the fearsome dragon?" "I have ridden the behemoth, subdued the depths, searched the clouds and fiddled with thunderbolts" "Magnificent art thou my worthy knight. But didst thou slay the red dragon?" "Lady,you are besot with the dumb worm!",he said. "I wonder if she",he thought "has been crazed in that tower" Sighing forlornly, said the princess "I canst not leave here till the dragon is dead." As the knight turned away to ride back,she asked "Whither goest thou? To slay the beast?" "Nay lady,nay I go to slay the dunce who wrote you into that tower." "What meanest thou my dear knight?! There is another knight who dabbles in magic?!" "Nay lady,nay. He is not a knight. He uses his quill to weave his musings." Cried the princess "Oh mighty sir, Oh Weaver with the quill! Canst thou hear me?" "Yes dear lady,"said I, "What do you desire? What can I do that will please you?" "My dearest Sir! Oh my bravest hope. Slay the dragon and make me thine." "But my lady as much as I desire to, you should know there is No dragon in the story" (Silence pervades) "Oh my dear knight!!" cried the lady to the rider, "Slay this goon and we shall be one." Uh-oh...Time to put down the pen and run.
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i Damsel in distress, open thine soul to me, open thine chest Colleen of medieval lace, of darling face, I'll taketh thee now; Yet how canst I taketh one? If none is around, Talitha cuna ghost I seeketh even thine smoke, wherever thou art, mine spirit waits. ii A repast banquet awaiteth for one, a table sitteth here, chairs for two; two chairs as I sitteth and eateth alone, the plàtes art full, though none amour' to tryeth the desert, none next to me for the fruit punch of thirst. Only me staring at an empty blank wall. iii Now mine eye's do crawl, searching the hearkening clearance None was ever here, just signs of emptiness, and mine own disappearance, as at that moment, when the fine dinner was set; mine heart fluttered backwards, being alone, mine spirit left. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poets poetry
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Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
Talitha cuni ( little girl, i say unto thee arise)
I locked mineself To her leg; I swallowed the key I shackled mineself, into her head. I seeketh not to be free By wordly standard; The great architect Showed me, I'm free with her, tis she is mine lantern. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane nagley dedication
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Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
solas suas an dorchadas ( light up the darkness) old irish tongue
206 The Flower must not blame the Bee— That seeketh his felicity Too often at her door— But teach the Footman from Vevay— Mistress is “not at home”—to say— To people—any more!
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The Flower must not blame the Bee
The problem with phantoms, rings so clear Like fear, they don't just go away The more is learnt of the world, the smaller it becomes The less of open space is felt. The mnemonist lives in a pretty tale And heads the way off rocky shores For, oft a fool will come along And wilful, bash his mind on reef. Spill then thee, cantankerous spirit Thy guts of ill-placed rancour For in puny efforts to uproot Fresh soil turned is...fresh soil turned. The more we feed on empty words The larger grows that aching void Engulfing all but esurience Engorged thus, thee will choke. A mere gesture of goodwill And extending act of kindness Will conquer every wicked sentiment And leave thee broken ... in thy own mess. So, thy tiresome pictures on the wall, we see Paint on, dear artist, paint on These very merry parties, ye assemble Will ken thy sharp and twisted ire. Push on, weary soul, try to find thy heart Thee seest not thy efforts fall in vain, Fail to latch, for thy error sits too tall In the absence of saving grace. So caught up in thyself, art thee Thine eye too bright upon the prize That thou did not see thy plot at play Thy goest yet on; breaching full redemption. Weave thus thy tale and clothe thy mind For, in this act, thy mind doth shut So ill-fitting thy own garish attire Seams must needs split eventual. Seeketh truth and truest, thy find's a trove But sadder yet's the day, indeed All vouch that in thy heavy plunder Its value now plain conferred. Treasure trinkets, happy hoops Whatever be thy favour's currency When day is done and swift sea smoothes Revered will always be...saving grace. Star Toucher, 17 February 2013
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Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 4:49 AM UTC
Saving Grace
The problem with phantoms, rings so clear Like fear, they don't just go away The more is learnt of the world, the smaller it becomes The less of open space is felt. The mnemonist lives in a pretty tale And heads the way off rocky shores For, oft a fool will come along And wilful, bash his mind on reef. Spill then thee, cantankerous spirit Thy guts of ill-placed rancour For in puny efforts to uproot Fresh soil turned is...fresh soil turned. The more we feed on empty words The larger grows that aching void Engulfing all but esurience Engorged thus, thee will choke. A mere gesture of goodwill And extending act of kindness Will conquer every wicked sentiment And leave thee broken ... in thy own mess. So, thy tiresome pictures on the wall, we see Paint on, dear artist, paint on These very merry parties, ye assemble Will ken thy sharp and twisted ire. Push on, weary soul, try to find thy heart Thee seest not thy efforts fall in vain, Fail to latch, for thy error sits too tall In the absence of saving grace. So caught up in thyself, art thee Thine eye too bright upon the prize That thou did not see thy plot at play Thy goest yet on; breaching full redemption. Weave thus thy tale and clothe thy mind For, in this act, thy mind doth shut So ill-fitting thy own garish attire Seams must needs split eventual. Seeketh truth and truest, thy find's a trove But sadder yet's the day, indeed All vouch that in thy heavy plunder Its value now plain conferred. Treasure trinkets, happy hoops Whatever be thy favour's currency When day is done and swift sea smoothes Revered will always be...saving grace. Star Toucher, 17 February 2013
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Native Agra, Mi amour' I've not yet met, For thou this soul is agnate to thy aura!!! The garden of eve awaits me, Makes me, To seeketh thy own splendid marble's men call eyes!!! From thine Lip's to thy mind, Thou brama of time, For today thou hast given me a smile... As that I dont see often!!!! Enwrap me in thy garden.. I promise I shalt not wander far, For you've enlarged mine heart, As our two spirit's I feel Burning on wings!!!! Mayeth I feel thy sting? Native of douce...
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Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
Brodorol dramor ( foreign native) old welsh dialect...
Tis, I seeketh that fountain of youth, One to maketh me young As I'll be the poet, her mine muse A wedded day broadcasted, On heavenly news!!!!
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May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
Fountain óige ( fountain of youth) old irish dialect..
i Sophisticated not as metal-steel mechanic's Not a domestic to gargoyle theology She's a seraph, who only knoweth pure. ii The Luna to her is her finer amare The DNA of life passes through her hair As she playeth truth and dare with her own self. iii She seeketh none help, a woman of God Foresee's the hero's from slob's As men around her mob, like a desert after dinner! iv Though sorry boy's she's mine I claimed her long ago When this palace was broken by lazor night show, I held her... v She's tender as a flower Tis I waiteth for her throughout the hour's The coward's do try her, to hurt her, yet I wilt never break someone so tender.... ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poets poetry ©Elsa angelica dedication
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Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
Sofisticación ( Sophistication) spanish tongue
A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger. 2 The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright: but the mouth of fools poureth out foolishness. 3 The eyes of the Lord are in every place beholding the evil and the good. 4 A wholesome tongue is a tree if life: but perverseness therein is a breach in the spirit. 5 A fool despiseth his father's instruction: but he the regardeth reproof is prudent. 6 In the house of the righteous is much treasure: but in the revenues of the wicked is trouble. 7 The lips of the wise disperse knowledge: but the heart of the foolish doeth not so. 8 The sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination to the Lord: but the prayer of the upright is his delight. 9 The way of the wicked is an abomination unto the Lord: but he loveth him that followeth after righteousness. 10 Correction is grievous unto him that forsaketh the way: and he that hateth reproof shall die. 11 Hell and destruction are before the Lord: how much more then the hearts of the children of men? 12 A scorner loveth not one that reproveth him: neither will he go unto the wise. 13 A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken. 14 The heart of them that hath understanding seeketh knowledge: but the mouth of fools feedeth on foolishness. 15 All the days of the afflicted are evil: but he that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast. 16 Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble therewith. 17 Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith. 18 A wrathful man stirreth up strife: but he that is slow to anger appeaseth strife. 19 The way of the slothful man is as an hedge of thorns: but the way of the righteous is made plain. 20 A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish man despiseth his mother. 21 Folly is joy to him that is destitute of wisdom: but a man of understanding walketh uprightly. 22 Without counsel purposes are disappointed: but in the multitude of counsellors they are established. 23 A man hath joy by the answer of his mouth: and a word spoken in due season, how good is it! 24 The way of life is above to the wise, that he may depart from hell beneath. 25 The Lord will destroy the house of the proud: but he will establish the border of the widow. 26 The thoughts of the wicked are an abomination to the Lord: but the words of the pure are pleasant words. 27 He that is greedy of gain troubleth his own house; but he that hateth gifts shall live. 28 The heart of the righteous studieth to answer: but the mouth of the wicked poureth out evil things. 29 The Lord is far from the wicked: but he heareth the prayer of the righteous. 30 The light of the eyes rejoiceth the heart: and a good report maketh the bones fat. 31 The ear that heareth the reproof of life abideth among the wise. 32 He that refuseth instruction despiseth his own soul: but he that heareth reproof getteth understanding. 33 The fear of the Lord is the instruction of wisdom; and before honour is humility.
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Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 12:00 PM UTC
Proverbs 15
A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger. 2 The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright: but the mouth of fools poureth out foolishness. 3 The eyes of the Lord are in every place beholding the evil and the good. 4 A wholesome tongue is a tree if life: but perverseness therein is a breach in the spirit. 5 A fool despiseth his father's instruction: but he the regardeth reproof is prudent. 6 In the house of the righteous is much treasure: but in the revenues of the wicked is trouble. 7 The lips of the wise disperse knowledge: but the heart of the foolish doeth not so. 8 The sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination to the Lord: but the prayer of the upright is his delight. 9 The way of the wicked is an abomination unto the Lord: but he loveth him that followeth after righteousness. 10 Correction is grievous unto him that forsaketh the way: and he that hateth reproof shall die. 11 Hell and destruction are before the Lord: how much more then the hearts of the children of men? 12 A scorner loveth not one that reproveth him: neither will he go unto the wise. 13 A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken. 14 The heart of them that hath understanding seeketh knowledge: but the mouth of fools feedeth on foolishness. 15 All the days of the afflicted are evil: but he that is of a merry heart hath a continual feast. 16 Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble therewith. 17 Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith. 18 A wrathful man stirreth up strife: but he that is slow to anger appeaseth strife. 19 The way of the slothful man is as an hedge of thorns: but the way of the righteous is made plain. 20 A wise son maketh a glad father: but a foolish man despiseth his mother. 21 Folly is joy to him that is destitute of wisdom: but a man of understanding walketh uprightly. 22 Without counsel purposes are disappointed: but in the multitude of counsellors they are established. 23 A man hath joy by the answer of his mouth: and a word spoken in due season, how good is it! 24 The way of life is above to the wise, that he may depart from hell beneath. 25 The Lord will destroy the house of the proud: but he will establish the border of the widow. 26 The thoughts of the wicked are an abomination to the Lord: but the words of the pure are pleasant words. 27 He that is greedy of gain troubleth his own house; but he that hateth gifts shall live. 28 The heart of the righteous studieth to answer: but the mouth of the wicked poureth out evil things. 29 The Lord is far from the wicked: but he heareth the prayer of the righteous. 30 The light of the eyes rejoiceth the heart: and a good report maketh the bones fat. 31 The ear that heareth the reproof of life abideth among the wise. 32 He that refuseth instruction despiseth his own soul: but he that heareth reproof getteth understanding. 33 The fear of the Lord is the instruction of wisdom; and before honour is humility.
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Agápi mou, how I dote thee mine baby of potentate vision's; thou art the foregone one of stringed song's, that young lover's seeketh To hath. Atop the thysiastery of Ourn affection, I shalt layeth Ourn all mine amour, near The pearly gates, I'll meet Thee at the door. The entry- Way wherein only select few Shalt pass, the liquid water there hath Life, none hopelessness nor any bad; just garden's of Succulent features, history's apostles there to be ourn new Teachers, wherein the pictures art surreal, what's thine is mine, and what's mine is thine; feeling paradise complete us in lively field's. ©Brandon Nagley ©lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl jane sardua Nagley dedicated ( àgapi mou) dedicated
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May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
Mullach an thysiastery ( Atop the thysiastery) scottish gaelic tongue
Brittle as glass Strong as steel Truth is powerful So keep it real The beach is dry The sea appears green The sun light blazing On a sky so clean We seek it and love it Hold it so near Like a bell ringing Sweetly and clear Sweetened and pure The water overfloweth; The truth separates The liars and the voiceless As tis we hath choices To settle the scene; Some seeketh reality Others liveth in dreams And between these things We keep our head's topped; Speaking honesty in mantra Wherein one's ears shalt pop And aloft the floss Of the sky that is greyish blue; We shalt travel by wingspan Showing amour so true *In depths we dive The sun we trust Till we hit the*  rocks And get shattered to dust *Holding our breath The pressure gets worse This mighty*  sea  *has never Quenched anyone's thirst*
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Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
Growing Collab 2
A squash blossom to wrap mine neck, A turquoise ring with feathered speck An all seeing eye in the middle of mine brain A love tis I seeketh, a queen of the same!!!
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Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Squash blossomed! ( indigenous gear)
The world has lost its way Addicted to lust and **** ***** and floored Swathed by cyborg technology!!! Lost themselves Made bionic feelings Of false self help Their ways of living And no room for laughing!!! Their trusses are teathered Demons with feathers Using planes for war Buying hypnotic's on shore Spending money for hypnotic's *** trade of the ****** Average being Turned psychotic As the hospitals are bashed with junkies For tis, Yes The devil's quite spunky Thy mind is all funky Thine cars thou hast made roomies As thou forgot thy wife and beau Thou hast ruined mine view Put lazors in space **** babies by race And romantic's tis Should I even mention thou? I chuckle and puke To thineself I rebuke!!!! As I seeketh reality, Tis Still choking in mine own claret!!!
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Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
le monde a perdu au cyborg( the world lost to cyborg) in french
I do not seeketh one to tolerate me!!! Thats as if saying thou hast to put up with me, And I quote; (do not want to be put up with!!!)
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Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
Tolerate me i seeketh not!!!
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels and have not love, I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give up my body to be burned and have not love, it profiteth me nothing. Love suffereth long and is kind. Love envieth not. Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doeth not behave itself unseemly. Seeketh not her own. Is not easily provoked. Thinketh no evil. Rejoiceth not in inequity, but rejoiceth in the truth. Beareth all things. Believeth all things. Hopeth all things. Endureth all things. Love never fails. But where there be prophecies they shall fail, whether there be tongues, they shall cease, whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part, but when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man I put away childish things. For now we see though a glass darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then shall I know even also as I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, love: these three, but the greatest of these is love. 1 Cor. 13
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Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 12:50 PM UTC
Enduring Love