"seraphim" poems
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
311.4k
i.
Happy birthday
To thee, dearest
Friend. Mayest
This remembrance of birth
Be another year for thou
To thinkest of none end's;
But a brighter tommorrow.
ii.
Resteth gal sarah,
Put away all of
Thine sorrow's,
Didst thou not
Knoweth; there's
A God who breaketh
The alshshayatin
Who cometh against
Thee.
iii.
Thou art not alone,
As me and mine Jane
Art alway's there to
Be, a friend in need.
Growing seed's, to
Help-another grow.
iv.
Mayest the morrow
Be for thou, as white
As snow; mayest the
Seraphim, who surround's
Thy worries and protects
Thy home, showeth
Thee the light above thine tear's.
Smile mine friend, a friend is here.
Mayest thy sight be clear, and thy crown
Be uplifted and flared. As the world's glare
Hast betrayed thine eye's. Observeth upward
Wherein paradise lies; as thou wilt hath wing's one day
O' laureate of poetry's net. O' brilliant friend; of Jane and mine.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Thepoet(Sarah Ahmed) birthday dedication.
Sorry Sarah day late on b day dedication... But a happy wonderful birthday from me a friend if you ever need one there as you have always been there for me and Jane and have always been a major blessing to me and Jane!!! May the heavens open to you, and may you overcome your battles you face in this world...
HAPPY BIRTHDAY poetic friend !!!!
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
Mahal Kita
Mine angel;
Mahal Kita
Mine soulmate;
Mahal Kita
Mine cherub;
Mahal Kita
Mine grace;
Mahal Kita
Mine reyna;
Mahal Kita
Mine queen;
Mahal Kita
Mine life;
Mahal Kita
Sweet Jane;
Nami-miss kita
Mine seraphim;
Nami-miss kita
mine heaven's song;
Nami-miss kita
Messenger of God;
Nami-miss kita
Mine all;
MAHAL KITA MAGPAKAILANMAN
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication-Filipino rose
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
He often would ask us
That, when he died,
After playing so many
To their last rest,
If out of us any
Should here abide,
And it would not task us,
We would with our lutes
Play over him
By his grave-brim
The psalm he liked best—
The one whose sense suits
“Mount Ephraim”—
And perhaps we should seem
To him, in Death’s dream,
Like the seraphim.
As soon as I knew
That his spirit was gone
I thought this his due,
And spoke thereupon.
“I think”, said the vicar,
“A read service quicker
Than viols out-of-doors
In these frosts and hoars.
That old-fashioned way
Requires a fine day,
And it seems to me
It had better not be.”
Hence, that afternoon,
Though never knew he
That his wish could not be,
To get through it faster
They buried the master
Without any tune.
But ’twas said that, when
At the dead of next night
The vicar looked out,
There struck on his ken
Thronged roundabout,
Where the frost was graying
The headstoned grass,
A band all in white
Like the saints in church-glass,
Singing and playing
The ancient stave
By the choirmaster’s grave.
Such the tenor man told
When he had grown old.
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They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.
All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of
the sea!
And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages
on the depths of the seven seas,
and through the salt they reel with drunk delight
and in the tropics tremble they with love
and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods.
Then the great bull lies up against his bride
in the blue deep bed of the sea,
as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life:
and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood
the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and
comes to rest
in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's
fathomless body.
And over the bridge of the whale's strong phallus, linking the
wonder of whales
the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and
forth,
keep passing, archangels of bliss
from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim
that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the
sea
great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies.
And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale-
tender young
and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of
the beginning and the end.
And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring
when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood
and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat
encircling their huddled monsters of love.
And all this happens in the sea, in the salt
where God is also love, but without words:
and Aphrodite is the wife of whales
most happy, happy she!
and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin
she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea
she is the female tunny-fish, round and happy among the males
and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.
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Gaunt in gloom,
The pale stars their torches,
Enshrouded, wave.
Ghostfires from heaven's far verges faint illume,
Arches on soaring arches,
Night's sindark nave.
Seraphim,
The lost hosts awaken
To service till
In moonless gloom each lapses muted, dim,
Raised when she has and shaken
Her thurible.
And long and loud,
To night's nave upsoaring,
A starknell tolls
As the bleak incense surges, cloud on cloud,
Voidward from the adoring
Waste of souls.
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I write in public,
to be seen,
I need these preppy girls,
and closeted high schoolers,
and trophy wives,
to see me,
at my laptop,
clicking away.
Because I'm "artistic",
and "deep".
I am sensitive and must
be very beautiful
on the inside,
just like the outside.
That's why I do it.
It's all about the glory.
If only the knew the truth,
the real writing,
the words that smack the
inside of your skull
at 3 AM
when you have to be at
your minimum wage job
at 7.
The lit you need to get out
before the pressure builds up
and your head explodes
in a rainbow of creativity
on the four walls of your
too small
efficiency apartment.
The dark nights that
make you doubt the sun
will appear again
O muse, you cannot be
stifled. I hear your voice
even in my
starched white shirt
and necktie noose,
making lattés
and serving time
until The End.
The End. Times wing'ed
seraphim, the bell
tolling, tolling,
constantly,
Am I doing the right
thing with my life?
Every soul ******* interaction
with the over-privileged,
self-righteous soccer moms,
screams injustice.
My place, here,
is not to work to write,
but write to work.
My place, here,
is to live authentically,
to my own self be true,
and true, to those voices,
who came before,
who had the courage
of their convictions,
and the pounding of
text on the interior
of their cranium,
to write.
Writing is raw,
and obscene, and
beautiful.
Standing naked,
exposed, raw,
ugly
in front of your peers.
wolves.
A vow of poverty
a release of material claims
and a gain of authenticity
Living truly and truly living,
This is why I write.
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 7:56 PM UTC
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and **** and hand
and ******* holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an
angel!
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the *****
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!
Berkeley 1955
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Cherubim, Seraphim
Watching from above, afar a flying dove; crepuscular
Peace of mind in you we find, arcane
Playing amongst the darkness, what we were I forgot
Bairn devine,
Define;
Angelic promises, Demonic pride
Cosmic tears, is it to ourselves we lie?
Through my eyes I see the mirror of indifference
Aeon-Antiquity
Shadows illuminated by night, the moon the bringer of light
Corona, soul.
Angelic promises made in hell!
Deistic dipterous demons within thee; watch 'de'skies',
Demonic pride facing fears vanquishing friend or fiend
The belligerent zenith a conflagerated nirvana.
Inside ourselves we die, we lie for salvation; trying.
You watched us in thy darkness-
You took away the light;
Now know more, shadows shed pain
An acrimonial heaven built upon the burning of sepulchre.
Tear drops of eternal rain
Splashing on the doorstep of purgatory
Like dew on a rose
Dawn arisen,
Ethereal ebullience the dream of cornucopia;
An Elysian asphodel
Cerulean, Azure.
1997 ELEETE J MUIR
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:59 AM UTC
Look, look, master, here comes two religious caterpillars.
The Jew of Malta.
Polyphiloprogenitive
The sapient sutlers of the Lord
Drift across the window-panes.
In the beginning was the Word.
In the beginning was the Word.
Superfetation of ,
And at the mensual turn of time
Produced enervate Origen.
A painter of the Umbrian school
Designed upon a gesso ground
The nimbus of the Baptized God.
The wilderness is cracked and browned
But through the water pale and thin
Still shine the unoffending feet
And there above the painter set
The Father and the Paraclete.
. . . . .
The sable presbyters approach
The avenue of penitence;
The young are red and pustular
Clutching piaculative pence.
Under the penitential gates
Sustained by staring Seraphim
Where the souls of the devout
Burn invisible and dim.
Along the garden-wall the bees
With hairy bellies pass between
The staminate and pistilate,
Blest office of the epicene.
Sweeney shifts from ham to ham
Stirring the water in his bath.
The masters of the subtle schools
Are controversial, polymath.
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an ark
of Noah
would disembody
a silvery
horse with
seraphim whether
res publica
rained on
earth with
quiescent nomads
and to
cloud their
creation in
planet of
thieves with
periods of
sporadic sea
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 9:09 AM UTC
A falling feather on the breeze,
lilting like the Seraphim
songs of Mephistopheles,
lured her drunkenly to him.
Lilting like the Seraphim,
she drank his iridescence. He
lured her drunkenly to him,
enraptured in naivety.
She drank his iridescence. He
befouled her virtue, was the air.
Enraptured in naivety
no more, would Eden hear her prayer?
Befouled; her virtue was the air
he stole away, a hunched-up thief.
No more would Eden hear her prayer -
the echoes howling his motif.
He stole away, a hunched-up thief,
a fallen feather on the breeze;
the echoes howling his motif -
songs of Mephistopheles.
Footnote: Passages from folk lore:
Hindu - the peacock is said to have angels' feathers, a devil's voice
and the walk of a thief
Chinese - a girl who looks at a peacock could become pregnant
Islamic: the peafowl carried Satan into the Garden of Eden after consuming him
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 5:08 PM UTC
Blessed the dream scape
Beautiful its lies
Metaphor for something more
Its ever-colored sky's
Elohim and seraphim
Plotting hells demise
in the waters of the nymph-blood-royal
goodness needs no guise
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
You wish for me to put in words
What I have to say
Like the answers that I've given
On their own
Could never relay
They come and go
Touch on fate
Dissipate and replicate
The disingenuous nature
That you frequently necessitate
Extend your olive branch
Then act like you feed me
When the branches are famished
Needy, condescending and deceiving Conceiving that I'm the villain
When I don't respond to how you react
Like you could perpetuate in me
The supposition for your tact
The fact that you lack any original clarity
Is the reason I'd never reach to you
Like I was Seraphim
The simple reason
That I'm writing all of this
Is simply just to prove to you
That I don't have to convince
I don't have to persist
Rehash, then reminisce
Like treading through faded memories with you
Will satiate my daily fix
I resist
Because I know exactly where I'm headed And you insist because that truth
Is what keeps us separate
Every second
You playcate on a pretense
When your intentions are crystal clear
And I can't provide that service
Or serve that purpose
While I'm standing here
To be perfectly honest
I never promised you anything
All I did was sigh and reply
To how your heart would so readily sing
Then you project your insecurities
Directly to my face
As if I was the one who gave them rise
Within the first place
Protecting your manipulations
While contemplating your motives
Are exactly the reasons we're done
Before we even started
I'm sick of being a punching bag
For someone acting devoted
And now it's been denoted
I've written you off, this story is done
This time you're in the subject line
Because you are truly NOT the one
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 12:45 AM UTC
A mansion reeking of mystery and ***
Unlike your parties, the brain is the hex
Who's got the most phantastic story
Stitch the real hunters with unreal quarries
By candlelight she writes in her mind
Death-obsessed, web-like bind
Study the corpse, exhume the dead
Fresher the better, revive the head
Harvest the organs, strike a chord
Of nerve tissue and spinal cords
Touch your jutting collar bone
Think there's no place like home
Electric frogs and pinwheel rats
What do you think about that
Run from the monster disfigured
It's trying to hug you like a gun hugs a trigger
Go worship all your seraphim
Yeah, it's a freak, but you made him
Where have you gone Prometheus
Were you our guest or just an atheist
Yeah, wonders come in clear handcuffs
You're only safe anonymous
Oh, it's dead and it's jiving in no man's hands
Oh, it's alive and it's lying in no man's land
Electric frogs and pinwheel rats
What do you think about that
Run from the monster disfigured
It's trying to hug you like a gun hugs a trigger
Go worship all your seraphim
Yeah, it's a freak, but you made him
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 6:58 PM UTC
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.
Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and *** and camel
Which adore.
Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Throng'd the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss
Worshipped her Beloved
With a kiss.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,--
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.
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i asked my god for rest
and in pagan desperation
he gave me apolaki
god of the sun and war
i mistook him for seraphim
God struck me down
with the force of a thousand spaniards
reaching my country's once untouched shores
*your land had a god of the sun and war
before they pinned you in virginal grace
your country wanted you to see the sun
and remember war was not for the bloodthirsty
for your people it was god's will*
i asked my god for love
and in carnal frustration
he gave me anagolay
goddess of lost things
i mistook her for a saint
archangels unsheathed their swords
celestial eyes filled with rage
*your land had known loss
long before you did
your country had known loss
long before love had made it known
you will find yourself again*
i asked my god for light
and in familiar search
he gave me tala
goddess of stars
and i stopped seeing them as stained glass figures
i no longer saw my banished gods
engulfed in the power of rome
my land saw the stars before God's first day
"let there be light" He said and apolaki bowed in recognition
tala greeted Him with a smile and promise
anagolay laughed in joy and gratitude
my country had gods before wooden crosses
before the galleons carrying friars came armed in holy water
before my archipelago had become a sprawl of cathedrals
now i'd like to think my God and bathala smile down on me
saint jude conspiring with lakapati
cherubim sleeping in diyan masalanta's arms
i'd like to think the gods are at peace
i'd like to think they would only want me to remember
to never forget every disfigured reflection of the almighty
Thy will be done.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
Amble into the churning vortex the purple sky undulates.
The darkness devours the day; shall mankind grimace and falter?
The outcome is unambiguous, the sky is broken like an open scroll.
Three spheres cascade, black clouds shutter.
Wheels-within-wheels covered in eyes, the Ophanim descend,
surrounded by a golden altar, the wheels spin a radiant light.
Crushing bone, crumbling stone, a symbol of justice begets a reckoning from the might of the celestial throne.
Six wings the Seraphim are holy,
with two wings they cover their faces,
with two they cover their feet,
with two they begin to rise.
Four faces the Cherubim are glory,
eagle, ox, lion, and man.
Four conjoined wings covered with eyes,
guard the way to the tree of life.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
i.
Just in case
Just in case mine lass;
If tonight I taketh mine last breath
And mine soul through the city of gold shalt pass.
ii.
Just in case
Just in case mine Reyna;
If tomorrow I do not wakest
And mine body's a deathly patina.
iii.
Just in case
Just in case mine Jane;
I want to thanketh thee, for thine friendship, amare, and care,
And giving me happiness, beyond all mine hopes and dream's.
iv.
Just in case
Just in case mine seraphim;
I go into the deep,
Thus mine mother shalt leaveth thee mine keep's, mine native American necklace, poem's; a lock of mine blonde hair.
v.
Just in case I sleepeth
And passeth on eternally;
I shalt be waiting, I made thee a promise
To meetest thou mine queen.
So If mine eyeball's faileth
And mine spirit chooseth to soar,
Surely mine Earl Jane Nagley
I'll meeteth thee at heaven's door.
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
625
’Twas a long Parting—but the time
For Interview—had Come—
Before the Judgment Seat of God—
The last—and second time
These Fleshless Lovers met—
A Heaven in a Gaze—
A Heaven of Heavens—the Privilege
Of one another’s Eyes—
No Lifetime—on Them—
Appareled as the new
Unborn—except They had beheld—
Born infiniter—now—
Was Bridal—e’er like This?
A Paradise—the Host—
And Cherubim—and Seraphim—
The unobtrusive Guest—
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Painted stars above whisper about you, Israel
Tired scratches are seen within twitches of the paint.
Efforts of your own accord smear black, oh, Ishmael
My guidance gives grace with no restraint.
Ishmael, your salt pillars can’t weep, yet dissolve,
Through a statue of Dogwood, I my clay mold.
Israel’s sinful dust, wet by his blood is resolved
security eternal forged not by your gold.
Sing with the Seraphim the high melodious song,
or, like Ishmael, hiss, eternal hoarse cries of sulfur.
Shout jubilant psalms of my praise lifelong,
Belting, oh Israel, how I redeemed your culture.
Yet, oh, Israel, crimson blood on modern metal tends to fry,
Wail, oh, Ishmael, without the fading art of Yahweh you die.
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 12:23 AM UTC
I was reborn last night
As she sent me a quick melody clipping of her voice...
I heard god in her words
A beauty so moist!!!
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
An old angelic poet went flying
one drab and tempestuous night.
Upon the clouds he rested
as the fallen angels were in his sight.
Whence all angel's were together
Serving their mighty God.
Now separated by good and evil
By free will the hellion hadst lost.
Their spaceships were ablazed
And their crown's they wore as king's.
Their wing's we're ivory crystalline
And their thunderous aura like electricity didst ring...
A trace of cherub dust they left behind in the sky
Telepathically knowing, today their wing's shalt fly...
Chorus-
Chariot's roll
Chariot's play
Seraphim riders, in the sky.......
Their countenance unearhtly, their eye's lit
Their batas all drenched by unseen blood.
Their flying hard to get those hellion
But they've lost one of their ship's.
Because it's their duty, to protect the all powerful God
They sweep by force in by million's, with lightning bolts as Rod's.
As the chariot Master's swept by the ghouls
The ghoulies calleth out their names,
The serpahim said to the ghoulies
Go back to hell from whence thou came.
And hellion its to late to changeth thy ways, thou made a bad choice..... So the Hellion's retreated, back to their doom of fiery noise....
Chorus-
Chariot's roll
Chariot's play
Seraphim rider's in the sky,
Serpahim rider's in the sky
Serpahim rider's in the sky......
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest,
Young dawn of our eternal day;
We saw Thine eyes break from the East,
And chase the trembling shades away:
We saw Thee, and we blest the sight,
We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light.
Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do
To entertain this starry stranger?
Is this the best thou canst bestow—
A cold and not too cleanly manger?
Contend, the powers of heaven and earth,
To fit a bed for this huge birth.
Proud world, said I, cease your contest,
And let the mighty babe alone;
The phoenix builds the phoenix’ nest,
Love’s architecture is His own.
The babe, whose birth embraves this morn,
Made His own bed ere He was born.
I saw the curl’d drops, soft and slow,
Come hovering o’er the place’s head,
Off’ring their whitest sheets of snow,
To furnish the fair infant’s bed.
Forbear, said I, be not too bold;
Your fleece is white, but ’tis too cold.
I saw th’ obsequious seraphim
Their rosy fleece of fire bestow,
For well they now can spare their wings,
Since Heaven itself lies here below.
Well done, said I; but are you sure
Your down, so warm, will pass for pure?
No, no, your King ’s not yet to seek
Where to repose His royal head;
See, see how soon His new-bloom’d cheek
‘Twixt mother’s ******* is gone to bed!
Sweet choice, said we; no way but so,
Not to lie cold, you sleep in snow!
She sings Thy tears asleep, and dips
Her kisses in Thy weeping eye;
She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips,
That in their buds yet blushing lie.
She ‘gainst those mother diamonds tries
The points of her young eagle’s eyes.
Welcome—tho’ not to those gay flies,
Gilded i’ th’ beams of earthly kings,
Slippery souls in smiling eyes—
But to poor shepherds, homespun things,
Whose wealth ’s their flocks, whose wit ’s to be
Well read in their simplicity.
Yet, when young April’s husband show’rs
Shall bless the fruitful Maia’s bed,
We’ll bring the first-born of her flowers,
To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head.
To Thee, dread Lamb! whose love must keep
The shepherds while they feed their sheep.
To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King
Of simple graces and sweet loves!
Each of us his lamb will bring,
Each his pair of silver doves!
At last, in fire of Thy fair eyes,
Ourselves become our own best sacrifice!
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