"wantings" poems
When my height is matched only by my age,the sage told me, 'that I will have found an ecstasy so rare,that no one will ever, have ever been there.
I count the rings as if I am a tree
but ecstasy eludes me, as I knew it would.
I could have counted grains of sand and after,started on the rice or carved upon a cuckoos egg,something very nice,just to let the cuckoo know,that we know why she builds no nest.
I have festered long enough and boiled up in the glare of a staring midday sun,it's time and time has just begun to interest me,
never mind the ecstasy, that will come as surely as the night begets the day,one day my day will arrive in all its splendour.
This is the agenda that I look towards the sky and pray for,
a gender difference in her magnificence and I would bow before this maiden,laden as I am with all these wantings in my head.
I read once in a book,
that all it took was just a look and then we're trapped,wrapped inside her spider web,carried off and eaten in her silken bed,but I would like to try it anyway,come what may my day will run before the settings of another sun and I will taste that which is fun or I will die,
in contempt and contemptuous of my inconsistency,I allude again to my search for ecstasy and is it that my eyes or indeed my body fail me,when she hails me from her sanctuary?
and I see only what I want to see,
something that the sage had been careful not to tell me,
fruitless.
On the tree of evolution, I am just some insects ignorant secretion and as I wait for some predetermined 'who dares wins'completion
I count again the rings.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
I don't know.
Maybe the static in my head, or the heartbeat I long for everyday.
or maybe the running my legs like to do, no matter what pain they end up with.
Maybe it's my chapped lips and my oddly shaped head,
-it's like a circle wanting to turn into an oval-
What part of me is actually me though?
Music? No. Everyone loves everything.
The thing that I love, that no one else can like I do though, is Craig.
Pathetic - what makes me, me is my love that no one else can give to him.
No, no, no
there must be more to me.
But what?
The anger that shines through due to family, the scatterness of wantings that surround me,
or maybe, just maybe,
it's everything you could ever think of.
Into one.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
Alabaster Archipelagos
Benevolent Beauty Beaming
Constructive Contradictive Creative Contemplations
Dante's Darling Dances Deliberating Denominatives
Effervescent Escapisms Endearingly Emerge Elusive Edens
Fantastic Flamboyant ******** Flamed Fabulous Fiery Flickerings
Gorgeous Garden Gim'memores Gaudied Garnishing Gasps
Heavenly Hues Humming Heart's Harmonies
Immortaly Impregnated Inspired Ideals
Jessamin Jargon Jacuzzi Jams
Know-how Knacking Knurls
Light-spirited Lovers
Merge Magnificent
Naked Nocturno Nights
Omnipresent Ousia Over Odeons
Palpitations Perfect Peaks Pi Paws
Quintessential Quality Quarrels Question Quarks Quietness
Rododendron's Richameters Rescued Raw Reeling Ruby Realms
Sentient Syllabic Sapfo's Splendidly Spirited Semantics
Turning Turner's Timeless Timeless Twinklings
Unified Undulatory Unsolved Unicorns
Velvety Venice Voyages
Wanton Wantings
Xsylophone Xsantiphas
Yearnin' Yuki's Yen
Zed's Zealous Zen-it-hall Zeppelins
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
what poetry is:
a cacophony of tangled-up images
and slashed-to-the-bone words.
a waterfall of bitterness and
passion and
(words, just words).
a jumble of unorthodox punctuation,
and spacing,
and spelling,
a painting with verses of rainbow-colored years.
foggy-eyed venting,
bitter-mouthed shouting,
soft-hearted pleas
to the people
(hearts and love).
not-quite sentences,
half-finished ideas,
cliches and brutal originalities,
shocking in their genuine
and raw
and profoundly inspired power
(things we didn't know we were capable of).
cravings and achings and wantings and knowings and
(words, just words).
so won't you read between the lines?
it's all so much simpler
than it seems.
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 6:10 PM UTC
Advanced and Belated my Greetings fare
For the Lone Star Beauty my Summons despite
Having left my Tearful Wantings despair
Then offer it to your Happiness quite
For this Independence judged by your Name
How cool are his Forceps fused into yours,
Nipped your Smile's Edge his Quintessence became
Offered once - twice - then advance into fours
As what any Wise-Stoned Elder would Perscribe
Since Feelings sincere broke the Munchkin's Heart
To lift as the Cross your Saviour subscribe
This One Joy liberate was yours from the Start.
Blessings indeed bill this Sacrosanct Day
Then corral your Fortunes for Candle-Light's Way.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
I'm getting tired of my fears
Of my wantings
Of my aims and my goals
They're always the same
I'm getting bored of everything
Of my eternal wait
Of his face
Of the thrills I'll never feel
Every beautiful thing is killing me
'Cause I'm not able to feel it
My head is full of senseless words
That fills the emptiness I'm carrying on
I don't want anything
I don't want anything
You can't hear me
I don't want
I don't
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Who knew our spirits would be so easily broke? Who knew our past loves would come crawling up our legs to meet us for dinner? who knew the joys of rhythm and melody would stand and stare us down for hours and never lead with the first move. Who knew the catacombs of my fearing mind would desecrate the innards of my only wantings. Who knows why the big ones reel in after dusk. Why did things turn out in the season of so much anger? How can one overcome any proportion of ill intention to an honest living. Where are the street-grit-fighting-fearless godsends of our time. Where are the nights of comfort among the towering plagiarisms of sonic inequities. Why am I stone in my own mirror? And how often shall I have to shave off the transgressive anachronisms of the jesting majority-unjust. Will I ever see a cannon with a name other than "jesus the king" around the barracks of quen anne burrows? I am cold and engrossed with my feelings. I am the youth's catch-all phrase for re-new-all and desperate tendencies. I am the unconscious objection to that censure of my own old crowning. The way i was held like an infant again. I mustered and mangled and derived that only in my free gliding could i roll down the soft hills of my fervent dreams. I can smell and sense the rays of jubilation i reach when drifting in tangent with the innocuous verbiage of my unbridled soul. Bringing the bleak toned honesty I once and always devote my sincerity towards. and alas my mind begins burrowed in the melting tin of bleeding doves. Not to be confused with other obscurities We Speak Wandering. Pleasant by night,
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 5:08 AM UTC
it was bursting at the seams when you held me -
and i could hear the muted thump of your heart
through the fabric of your t-shirt.
when your fingers pulled through the growing-out shortness of my hair and
your lips at my forehead -
that was when i knew it.
and when you would whisper,
"i have a secret,"
and i would look up at your shining-eyed face,
and smile, and whisper back,
"what is it?"
and you would whisper,
"i think i've told you before, but
you're beautiful."
it was bursting at the seams when i kissed you,
and the way we couldn't breathe
and the kind of want we didn't know existed.
and falling asleep with my face tucked into your chest
and your fingers brushing my hair back
absently
from my face
and our breathing slowing
and our whispered wantings
that was when i knew it,
and soon i'll have to say it.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:13 PM UTC
<>
(for patty m)
*"always love hearing from you,
it's like a kiss in the wind"*
we are intimate
though never ever close,
but faithful closer
familiar,
though our convivial roads
are uncrossed, except and accept
in the delicate pearl inlay
of our poesy path
our common way station,
where can we exchange private confidentialities
publicly, above and beyond,
the plain and ordinary everyday
intimacies
from the balcony of the sixteenth floor,
I can see the horizons holding
our shared land together.
the wind blows by,
from the Atlantic crossing,
continuing on its
westward ** way
wind comes inquiring as is its wont,
as a faithful and familiar evening-tide messenger,
desirous, needy for its wantings fufillment,
to be a deliverer of
deliverances and
all kind of tidings,
sent by the
in absentia
I post a poem
the letters scatter heavenward,
no worries,
the amorphous wind,
will Oz like
reassemble them
in holy order and
brush them
across your face,
tickle the lips and eyelashes,
still moist from
missing a man who was
intimate different,
in a lifetime way
and that kiss,
that postage paid,
the meager cost
the wind receives,
for a mission well accomplished,
is transferred to you and yours
to enable you to decode
this implausibly but-all-to
plausible,
devoted message
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
Today,
As I sip from this green coffee grail,
The ginger warm's me,
As it reduces mine pains of ulcerative wantings,
Needings
Yearnings!!!
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:02 AM UTC
golden sliver, Fistfuls of skin
Such a scenic sight
Clenched sheets like prayers,
Hailed gospel to the ceiling
All was holy in the twilight,
I spoke aloud my wantings
You replied with your own,
I've fallen for eden,
Knowing the consequences
Lord have mercy
On our sinning souls
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 10:04 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
Ethereal
Pale wantings
Left lone save for slow movements
Even the mirrors lag their reflections
Even the world knows not of their presence
Yet listlessly they sit
Ghastly reflections
Awaiting something far less physical
Than you or I were ever meant
to understand.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
The soft wind yet breaks on my cheek,
Its frigidness does my heart keep,
Inside its breath and wantings weep,
I lost everything in the haze of sleep.
-
Upon a drifting willow's bark,
I spied the sights of twisting arc,
The ax that had here made its mark,
Had morosely torn the tree apart.
-
I found there that nothing may change,
Yet everything has something to gain,
The profit in sales of wilting and pain,
Has lead to self-proclaimed "insane."
-
Footprints in sand with tide washed away,
Echoes enchant the hive mind, astray
I walk only to get through wretched today,
Tomorrow holds no reason to stay.
-
Love contaminates the air I breath,
Infections break in my head and seethe
How does one follow this revolting creed?
I know not this virtue, it escapes me.
-
No folly of mine found in books of lore,
I'm not kept hero in tomes of yore,
I remember naught of all before,
And I lay down to die in the awaiting shore.
-
Bitter and relentless does my heart scorn,
That I wish to remove it and flesh betorn,
That my hopes may bring sickle to corn,
That I pray for mourning's distant morn.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 3:52 AM UTC
Shades of grey cover with whispered wantings,
becomes cool breezes that stirs every winter leaf of
almost barren trees sideways, ever so brief.
A flicker of color against cheeks brushed by lashes
and kissed with freckles of mumbled promises.
Moments stolen but ours to take them
Seasons past of futures glimpsed hanging on hope.
Perchance you hold empty offerings but upon inspection
of closer sighs you hold a vessel of sentiments which
beats with rhythmic precision that is immeasurable in worth.
Parry and ****** in a dance of breaths and winds that move
time beyond possibilities like clouds atop dreams.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC
Souls lit
With the intent to
Distribute
Who wants
The unwanted
Essence of wantings
I've lived long enough
To break
The imaginary chains
Still young
My pains have yet
To grow to scars
The long lasting
Feelings
Of dishappiness
Happens
To compliment
The complex
Ideals of discernment
The hurtment
Lies deep
Forged thoughts
On the cheap beliefs
Of peace
This arrangement
Was made
With an agreement
To never forget
The unminted conditions
Of descent
I fail often
Off ten
Bottles to
Lessen
The knows
On my lack of progression
Yet
It seems to only
Fuel the aggression
Aggravated
By the mistakes
I take
Like second chances
Hoping one day
I can rid
My emotions
By drinking
Cups of defeat
The war is insane
Like me
There’s no where
To retreat
So that’s where
I’ll be going
The same
Is all I have
Until the next time
We meet
Though shallow
My love remains
Deep…
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
there are so many thing i want to tell you
it's like i'm an open sky and i'm just waiting to spill constellations of light and explode ever so gently and politely into your eyes
it isn't fair you know
my life has always been a room of stark white black and grey
then you walk in and splatter colors onto my wall
then walk away
so i stare day and night at the brightness on my wall
i've never let anyone desecrate my mind in such a way
i'd always let people know to take off their shoes and remember their coats
that they were only visiting
and what's more
you never came back,
though i left rsvvp apologies and wantings at your door
most guests wouldn't dare leave a crumb
but there's a splatter of hues on my wall
and try as i might
i can't bring myself to clean it up
and it's crazy
how you never know your were living in a colorblind cell
until someone opens your eys
and then you see
the whole world's in color
and your life of rights and wrongs suddenly goes out the window
but you never came back to teach me how to walk in the light
so i'm stumbling into my own shadows and it's bright
and i'm frightened
come back
i've started dreaming in blues
come back
i'm a white canvas with a black scribble down my spine
come back
i've started bleeding in reds
come back
i'm tired of feeling in shades of you
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
*There are so many reasons,
So many things I have to say,
All about the tender of your spine,
The way you breathe,
I love it when you whisper
to me all your wantings,
I will reply with the most
caring of skin*
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 8:54 PM UTC
I am a narrative
of my own dictionary
there's nothing i need to keep it adorned
as i rarely see much of the world
other than nature
and the beautiful smile's
warm eyes
visionary minds
people don't fascinate me
shallowness
hollow mind's with greed to overcome
i let it be..
i'm not competing
to the world
it doesn't subtract me from my living
nor does it take me to its world
as i use my own words
undefined
careless and without of matter..
there's no subjection
or objection
i'm my own subject
there are dreams
I allow myself to be me
as i move here to there
one moment to other moments
i'm complete in this existence
i use words to rewrite me
when i'm removed by people
their thoughts, their wantings..
I choose not to be
as i read my own mind
I know i'm a quiet being
with no specific need.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 8:49 AM UTC
Connecting night's dots of lights
I'm so often left bewildered
If I could, I surely should
Travel Milky Way unfiltered
Squishing aglow to dim although
These wantings have been pilfered
By blur of light from this night
And another man's wish differed
Star snatched crime, so sublime
Nothing and all considered
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
I'm lifeless
Running out of time
Inbetween wanting and desiring nothing
Things are never easy, it comes and goes
They say life is priceless,
doesn't mean much to me
I look in the mirror and only see hate
there's nothing inside me worth wanting
nothing out here worth touching
just can't shrug off my tears
cause I've lived this life
beneath a mountain of fear
I'm nothing, nobody, and I just can't keep up
with everything everyone wants, always been a ******
I'm diseased, plagued by failed wantings
every moment passes with a bit too much haste
this life will be nothing if not in vain
I seek remedy to rivers overflowed in pain
and in the end, will I get anything I've wanted?
can't stand to live without my emotions being blunted
so I hide away in days best left unsaid,
and forgive me cause' all I'm saying is nothing worth reading,
and the entirety of whats to come,
doesn't deserve repeating.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 6:22 PM UTC
Connecting night's dots of lights
I'm so often left bewildered
If I could, I surely should
Travel Milky Way unfiltered
Squishing aglow to dim although
These wantings have been pilfered
By blur of light from this night
And another man's wish differed
Star snatched crime, so sublime
Nothing and all considered
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
It's been weeks now
The wantings have gotten the best of me
The taste of your skin so golden
Every twilight bares the thought of you
I promised myself not to give in
But that oath is long gone
So I'll retain my distance
Leave no trace behind
The path to our encounters
Remain hidden in the leaves
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
I saw you that day when
the end of you was the only thing in your way.
Your undulating wrinkles softened the rocks, and I caught sight
(maybe just a glimpse) of music gingerly stroking your neck,
and you were beautiful.
On the Cliffs of Moher you stood two feet calm
atop a fire you had built as a pedestal for yourself
and all your wantings.
The time was droll, playing ribbons up the backs of your knees
and as I watched you ( me, wide eyed and heart so full of wonder it hushed itself to cease to beat)
I cried.
Your stories of arms threw hyacinths to the ebbing tide,
and the breathing of the earth was left impatient.
For a moment you took to dreaming,
and your eyes filled with alabaster love.
You remembered your brother, a radiating mass of
muscle and joy; how you once vowed
to save the world together. You remembered her, your pearl,
your human nightingale with wings in her mind, how she used to steal the wind
and hold its sweet smell hostage to sing your baby lullabys.
I saw you that day.
I Saw you that day.
I saw You that day.
In your face there was a secret and I knew it to be remarkable.
The Hum of your pumping lungs set my fingertips dancing from
the Drum of your aching prayer.
The Hum of your smiling skin left me breathless and heaving through un-clenched teeth to the beat of
the Drum to your star fixed gaze.
The Hum of your words reeling through the cracks in the sky to tune the wind with
the Drum of your hands on your chest.
And in this song you moved. A manmountain in the shape of pieces.
The world lept from its axis and ran to your side. "Oh! " you cried.
"Oh, for just a lapse in the root of time. I don't care for the meaning
of it all, I only want back my rhyme!"
I was still as you dripped into the cliff. You fell
knee, knee, hands to your head and head to your feet.
In this moment you were incompletely complete.
And I saw you,
and you were beautiful.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 12:39 PM UTC
He only wants me until the mornings.
But is he really the one to blame?
As I am telling him that me laying in his bed,
For his satisfaction is okay.
Or maybe it's me?
Since, I can no longer sleep without being in his arms,
And waking up to his kisses.
Yes, they are no labels,
Lost in confusion, as to what we are,
And realizing you do not care..
So maybe,
It is not him that wants to stay, until the sun rise,
But rather me,
While I lay on his chest,
Not wanting him to leave,
As if it was a sarcarfice.
And yet I crave more than just this,
But never find the effort,
To find "this".
And yet I feel like his wantings are different from mine,
But yes I am okay with this,
And some days I am not.
But laying by his side,
Is something I cherish,
I can't deny.
And I know he lies,
And no he's not the right guy,
But why is it that when I am not laying by his side, until the morning sun rise,
I cannot sleep at night?
..
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 1:53 AM UTC