"sweven" poems
Pardie, mine is thine, parfay in
Mine siesta; I hadst a sweven of
Tender refine. We art perantique
To the temporal, sacrosanct we
Art, divinity's temple's. Patration
Hath been acknowledged, by the
Guardian's of the extrasolar, as doth
Me and thine beauty amour', lieth in
The eye's of ourn beholder.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedicated
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
drink pour drink
lacking love I sink
swimming in the pink
my soul is stretching for the leek
the thing I want I'm doomed to want
if ever id had it, id have at least lost
but never at all not for lack of trying
meany a time offered out to be cried in
any time other its *** or its sin
unlovable or am I looked down upon
some god picked me to frown upon
some life randomly to be shat upon
unneeded my outdated satyricon
Faust verily howbeit parfay
whilom methinks maugre swoopstake
twixt speed and sweven, swink eke teen
mayhap afore alack fore fie
clepe gardyloo thole
whosoever sith wist whereof speed
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
The right hand that harkened to soothe thy brows
forsooth vanguards the left that spells thy ruin.
She came to thee in nakedness ‘ye saw,
thy yellow grin played her like a clavecin.
Whilom vase filled with posy gently care,
thy indecision maketh poison alack,
from its petals sith thee became a hare
thy hands darketh the ink already black.
A sweven verily haunts the fortress,
swith as the horns of a centaur bleed her
to her I swore fealty my naked mistress,
my lance revealed thy realms of plunder.
In the blood thee spilled, made mirror, there lay,
reflecting a portrait of vile beasts and a man.
The creature that ‘ye bade devour thy prey
is the wolf that one day shall swallow the sun.
Aug 19, 2011
Aug 19, 2011 at 9:24 PM UTC
*As you plunder my heart,
A new beginning was born
amidst to the ***** of thorns
a forlorn whisper of my dark soul,
whimpers every night, trying to
find the piece and unite. I
tasted the sour devour
and it was the last bite, I assure
for you steal the light with fain
There's no more disdain
The grotesque past was
all gone, The sun rise
and I still got you by my side.
A sweven paradise began a new life.*
(a.k)
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 7:43 PM UTC
I hearkened thee enunciating,
“Those who oft visit thy swevens in sooth miss thee”.
I can not sweven thine Eden.
I do not sweven—
Thou bequeathed me insomnolence.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 12:52 PM UTC
Pine Needle Spine Man
You housed our hollow heads.
Filled the vacancies
With ink and shouts and Magnetic Zeros.
It was the age of kissing wrists
and secret smoke.
Pulsing plastic bottle poison
Wrote Om Nashi Me on my neck,
So we never had to check
If anyone was still breathing,
Because of how hard our blistered hearts were beating,
And our songs raged, wreathing.
Some nights beneath the blades,
we claim we can’t recall
But fossils were burned into our shoulders,
and I know we felt them all.
Pine Needle Spine Man
We strung you up with lights
The fistful of blonde hair
Had those ****** knuckle fights
With the dead letter secrets
In the ribbon spit trunk,
Dipped our hands in *** and balsam
We sunk into the drunk.
Blast beats, we’d
Retreat.
It was a world gyrating in slow motion.
Dancing on the mulch beds,
We hovered high on reckless rebellion.
Our feet rejected the floor,
But ghosts were moving into our cores.
It was all golden rod and the 4-H stone,
Sarah Jones and the radio wars.
When they cut you down,
We washed your hair with wine.
Found our cigarettes hidden
In the notches of your spine,
And drank what was left
Of the Rabid Bits of Time.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
Wonderful town of Whitby, hundreds of marketplaces,
England's own astounding alleys of traditional aces,
Many things this obscure area tends to hide,
the most enjoyable boating docks and brine and quayside.
With cobbled streets aplenty,
Whitby is where I'd like to be,
no matter where on earth,
Whitby is the best for me.
Wonderful town of Whitby, Honour be upon it's history,
But how it's backstory came to be differs as a mystery.
Once upon a supposed legacy of legend and lore,
One quite possibly never seen before.
With it's Mystic vampiric anomaly,
Whitby is certainly my place,
no matter where on earth,
I'd love to be upon this space.
Wonderful town of Whitby, many books wrote about it,
with Whales, abbeys and vampires, it's hard to doubt it,
rare and beautiful creatures, dance within the mist,
Humpback, White and Minkeys on this list.
With it's Whales and sightings,
Whitby is my Sweven,
no matter where on earth,
This town is my Heaven.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 7:03 AM UTC
Yack **** **** dripping down your chin
Your smile gushing evidence of this your mortal sin
To somehow lack the clarity of mind to note your in
A bukakai and so lucky as to of met your man of sweven
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
it can be hard to assess necessity in a cesspit,
calculating and scouring different ways to find respite.
it can be hard to commit time against the heart.
finding access to hiatus just to breathe,
it's never been easy to be lazarus.
unsure of consequence, skirting bereavement,
reborn doesn't necessarily imply previous demise,
what's almost new cannot be considered unwhole,
nor can it be trusted as a reprise.
it's an artful venture to learn the cadence of presence,
not an effort or a movement, but something of a lucid sweven,
something nestled in the stitching of the seventh heaven.
autonomously authoring my perception,
desecularizing my intense intent and conception.
understand that the brain is a somatosensory mech pilot,
no shame, no rhythm, just an absently-go-lucky organism,
chasing imaginary crystalline butterflies into the background,
thriving in the quietness, malaprop to say forever semper-vivus.
i consume my need to separate ideas as fuel for philomathematics,
pioneering new tactics, new habits, through acts of active practice,
emphatically denouncing the topical, the maladroit, the labels,
let me sing my own mantra,
humming to the hymn of my own humble tantra.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 6:12 AM UTC
You've asked for Cloud Nine
But we don't have to deal with trine
We can get to the prime
Sending you to Ten
Even Eleven
When I think of this, it's a duplicate of Heaven
It dates like a Sweven
But time can't eradicate the value
Peaceful as the beaches of Kahaluu
There's no limits on the elation I want to bring to you
Make love on the soft sand
Saying words only the Motherland
Should hear
These aren't formalities, dear
They're semsuality
Coming from the best place of me.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
I rush into the middle and sometimes to the end, ********** off any chance of an epilogue
You can predict the preface easily, lack of joy in the soil, sunlight retreating to the enemy, a reversal of virtues
The centre is frantic, usually, wouldn't you say, with its superstitions interwoven with the conventions, a drop or two of irony
But the end- how abrupt
-cj
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
Once I went for a diving school,
it does not look like a swimming pool
when I jumped inside the turquoise blue,
i found myself at bottom of blue
by chance i got a shining pearl,
which reflects the tale of hidden past
once, the pearl got hit by the rays of sun,
soon it will end up the curse of blue
but the hurdles to win is not so clear,
the path is got to be simply hard
and if the mindset is the crooked way,
then I'm sure you'll be the mightier...
Apr 14, 2021
Apr 14, 2021 at 5:55 AM UTC
everytime i dream of you
everything feels so true
i guess it really shows,
when i'm missing you
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 11:23 PM UTC
The Universe will not break you
It rubs sweven pain to wake you
For I'm a solivagant in my latibule
Hugging my demons in irenic rule
Humans flash in multi-phosphenes
Supernovas blending into scenes
Fighting until they are consumed
The end is stardust as assumed
Dividing the Ge Earth into stakes
And all is only you that it takes
Strangling their orenda in dismay
Then departing in the Milky Way
∴ Lyna Salman
Jan 6, 2021
Jan 6, 2021 at 6:23 PM UTC
In my dreams, we get coffee. I don't like coffee. I tolerate it for you, even in sleep. you drive us somewhere, we joke in nonsense words in this swimming, changing sweven. each time I reach for you, long, languid, far away from you, my hand misses. I can't see your eyes behind your sunglasses.
In my dreams you lift me, swing me round, tip my chin up, my lips parted ready to receive. romantic, amatory, intoxicating as my mind manufactures what your scent is remembered to be. your curls rumpled beneath my fingers, your lips crushed to mine.
In my dreams, your fingers glide over my skin. I still can't see your eyes. obscured, hidden, far away from me. those voids I could get lost in, soft like trodden soil in a forest of forgotten name, the deep warmth that I would tear the sky open to see, in my dreams they are shrouded.
In my dreams, we are luminous, candescent, besotted with each other. in love with the coffee made of toleration, the car I can't recognize, the jokes spoken in garbled nonsense that will be forgotten as sleep slides from me, as your image slips into the ether.
In my dreams, I can't see your eyes.
Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC