"weaved" poems
They rest all over
whilst I was rooted to the ground,
the water acting like superglue
as my limbs stretched out.
Towards the clumps of land
rods of steal and wood weaved,
to connect and *****
that which we call humanity.
But there were abuse on the rods
formed by hands who'd calloused hearts,
poison coursing through their veins,
but not a single thought was given
for they were innocent in their brain.
Said limbs and rods spiraled out,
as nothing was left to chance,
intertwining everyone's destiny
in majestic flare and grace, grand
like a ballerina's dance.
But the poison was too corrosive,
the termites were too much,
as everything eroded, imploded,
crumbled and buried under
mounds of earth.
But today is different,
a new beginning, a new life.
As if the gods have willed
something better to arrive.
Indeed they came: Ports
forged from purity anew,
where fresh legs are delivered
and old legs whisked away.
For no matter how dark it
was, is, will be,
even during the night,
there always is and will be
a pip of light.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 7:46 AM UTC
You have me bewitched...weaved around some magic wicked spell
It's like my body is mine no more
You have brought this woman out of her shell
How did you know where to find me
How did you know you could do this to me
How did you know control would be relinquished so easily
You are *** in every breath, every beat, and every motion
You are all of this and more without commitment and void of any emotion
You are a fire within my wondrous sea
A great burning rush that consumes me
The silky flick and swirl of your tongue on my flesh
Has brought me this intense current of desire
Your touch has magnified all my senses in a warm liquid fire
Your lips are soft and searing on the inside of my thighs
Your ******** a teasing length on my leg waiting to comply
Gasping... my lips are licked and bit in a wordless plea for more
As you start exploring and teasing my throbbing aching core
My thighs are now split on both sides of your hips
My breast in your mouth caught between your teeth and your lips
Our bodies melded together..heated skin on skin
Do not know where your limbs end and mine begin
To be desired by you is such a gift beyond measure
The submissive in me aiming to please and always give you pleasure
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC
The beauty of a woman
is in the poems she's wrote,
the dreams she's weaved
and all the stories she's told.
The beauty of a woman
is in the adventures she's taken,
the lives she's touched
and all the minds she's awakened.
The beauty of a woman
is in the caring she gives,
the sincerity in her laughter,
and the passion in her griefs.
It's not the expensive clothes she owns,
her body size, the diamonds she's worn.
Measure not the beauty of woman in gold,
for the beauty of a woman is reflected in her soul.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
And so the girl child sat
knitting melodies beside
the great river of words.
Soon her songs were heard,
beyond the Lake of Lyrics
and the vast Sea of Verse.
The evening tide carried them
across oceans to foreign shores.
Field workers sang her songs
to children in their hovels.
They escaped the lips of scholars
in the great halls of learning.
The child became a woman,
and still she weaved the magic,
from the words of the river,
for the hearts of all who read them.
As she weaved she told the secret
to a child who knitted beside her.
Emerging from the womb of time
I heard her whisper to my heart.
I felt the great river in my being,
and I began to knit a melody.
I heard my soul sing with joy,
I am the child of an ancient poet.
© 30/12/2009
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 9:51 PM UTC
cemeteries worn
delicately fall on chests
like grandmother's old necklaces
and inscriptions from headstones
draped in cold bronze
bought and sold, their epitaphs
like grandmother's old word
her lovely verbs
swathed in gold,
and ever were costly rhinestones weaved in
until every meaning to her lovely words were lost.
Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 5:29 AM UTC
Lou,
You're an orphan now.
The deciding vote
In your favor,
The good kisses,
The latent reconciliation
Linger in this thick room.
You won't need to clean chimneys,
Work in a blacking factory,
Get your ears pinched, and your **** kicked.
You've laid out a fine plaster effigy
In this cherry box;
Yet Enzo's nature is hidden:
His personal tears
And public laughter
Aren't in this demeanor
With rosary weaved into the basket of his hands.
We've polished our shoes,
So we stand and discuss
The crucifix wedged
To hold up the lid,
And how we follow our fathers' footsteps.
We knew it to end this way
With our fathers' generation.
*But you must know your father lost a father,
That father lost, lost his...*
I too am orphaned, Lou,
And we'll continue on
As orphans do.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
The coconut tree is unlike any other
From root to shoot
All valuable all useful
Giving shade when weaved into roof patches
Giving sustenance in the form of food and drink
Even when completely chopped, it leaves its marks
As the bridge people built to cross the river!
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 5:19 AM UTC
Day breaks over a sleepy village
Morning absolutions completed
An excited buzz is in the air
Everyone is a buzz with cleaning
Hundreds gather wild flowers in the fertile fields
Many were in charge of raising the fires
Soon the whole town had bright blooms weaved from one end to the next
The horizon alight with smoke and power
Goddess and God rights invoked within circles round
Pulsating, rhythmic energy racing through each dancing body
Gyrating to the cosmic beat of life
Couples jump merrily together over cauldrons ablaze
High hopes rise and give way for dreams of children
Lovers round and round they twine
Maypole ribbons rainbow hued passing through hand to hand
As dusk falls the Queen is crowned
Mead flows freely through the jubilant worshippers
The moon hangs round with fullness above their heads
Lighting the way for love into the night
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
I watched the fox, rat held firmly in its jaw,
Trot across the street, lithely avoiding the cars,
Ears pricked up.
It slithered under a fence and weaved through the undergrowth,
Not once acknowledging my presence.
Disappearing in the night, it yelped out its echoes in the wood
Licking out worms.
The shadowed moon slung down its light
Like weak silver bristles from the back of a carved out hedgehog
Covered with newly deposited fox saliva.
It had screamed as it was consumed-unable to die!
The crow stabbed at a newly dead rock pigeon
As the stalking cat pounced......
Death mingled!
Joe, who lived near me, waved:
I waved back, wondering why he saw nothing.
Sep 26, 2016
Sep 26, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
My hijab is a piece of imagination
a symbol of Islamic populism,
yet I get carried away by racists
misjudging my outer belief, only
for the sake of white extremists,
I cry and wet my birth certificate!
why am I a Muslim? Is it my choice?
I see a minute third-piece frame
down the lane-a sorrow to share,
it chokes my individuality- an insult
to my devotion for god, for life ;
yet, people have the time to call
us terrorists when they roam naked,
some pretending to be feminists
and lovers! Reality is a bitter piece
of chocolate melting away as time fades,
as it erodes the values we held before,
20th century is still marred by those
who wish to keep their history books
unfolded, un-kept and unstated;
a wish down the memory lane is needed
for it will awaken the senses of my fellow
brothers and sisters fighting over a shawl
covering my head!
I am curious and this curiosity is not a mere
joke, its the curiosity weaved into a cloth
hiding my sensitive and strong brain
from those “all-seeing” eyes around me,
pretending to expose my hair as if it was
something of utmost importance and value,
but friends, it’s nothing, it’s a trick
by those who seek to humiliate me and
my faith for god, and I am sure that this
will echo for the decades to come,
for me, a hijab is – “ a piece of head
covering worn by women of the world”;
and I am sure that our fight for the right
to wear something will reprimand
and will be carried out by my fellow
successors and those who shed light
to our cries and woes in this big world
of ours!
[AMEN]
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
I walked today to the ocean bay
In my pants and dress i went in
The water was not cold
The tides pushed and pulled me
Soothed me
What a beautiful day to be my last
Rocks flew from my hands and skipped upon the surface
A long time i stood
Wanting to jump in and disapear
Down in the water i saw beautiful rainbows
Shimmers of light weaved between
Thoughts about lungs filled with salt water
Thoughts of loved ones left behind
A rock named Integrity stopped me
Waist deep i picked her up
She lives in my pocket now
And the ocean in my heart
Even the small things
Can give a new start
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 2:25 AM UTC
The forest of legs swayed in the moving shadows beneath the chatter over head, each threatening to block our path and crush our attempt to get to the first fallen crisps of the party season, which as yet laid undisturbed.
We weaved and advanced as fast as their legs allowed, eager to scavenge the waiting bounty before they were trampled underfoot by the oblivious adults who were intent on a seasonal ritual of their own that went on high over our heads.
We emerged unscathed at the edge of the forest and raced across the open parquet to the cover of the drapped, white topped trestle tables catching our breaths and crunching our snatched crisps planning our next move toward the plateau above.
Our scout had reported rich pickings, but when we looked around, seeking signs of our brave advance party, we could find no trace beyond a half eaten volovant and what might have been regurgitated mushroom. We shook our heads in despair at their folly. Every kid knows to stick to crisps and to processed meats, avoiding anything that might contain vegetables. We saw an open French window just beyond the trestles and heard plaintive heaves that had a distinct 6 year old strain.
We checked each other's resolve and saw on each other's faces that we believed our mission was more important than any one stomach. With a maturity that would have surprised our parents, we pushed the plight of our friend to the back of our minds and focused on the task at hand.
We each reached up with practiced stealth, taking only a second to check the food on offer and with a speed bred into us by the curse of older siblings, we each grabbed our prize.
Acknowledging the hazards of the return journey we devoured the meat at hand and with hyena grins savoured our just rewards. While our fallen friend heaved once more, we saluted one another: the season had started better than any of us could have hoped.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 5:25 PM UTC
It was only ever flowers, in a meadow wild
tangled tendril vines, of blue eyed passiflora
caressing stems of blooming heart, delicate dicentra
shining silver in early summer, a pond of silken mirrors
leafy vines of garland rings, nature weaved
perfectly a tranquil scene of bonny swans
float silently amidst fallen petals
soft nests of downy feathers, wispy on the winds
that a woodland summer drifts on
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
i.
mo chroí, do not dismay, we art not chained global slave's, as tis
We art ourn father God's chosen; we need to bringeth hope to those lost, wearied and broken.
ii.
mo bhanríon, these stanza's art ourn song's, ourn voices shalt carry on, as peach-faced lovebird's in the dawn;
iii.
a chuisle mo chroí, holdeth me closer, embrace mine visage, we must be Argus-eyed, in the coming soon explosional shock, for this terrace of dirt shalt shaketh as rock's, back to the sand- dusted, eleven-fifty-nine's on the clock;
iv.
We were created together, verily for this reason, to emit forgiveness and compassion, if even for one planetary season; also we were generated distances ago, then we were soulmates as still now- though then at that time, thou didst not know. I weaved intimately in and back out of thy soul, thine past spirit memory faded, before now I was thy king and thy whole. When we were sent to earth to taketh human form, ourn affections from kingdom's ago were forgotten and mourned, though tis mine lass when I saweth thee again, I kneweth thou were me, as tis I'm thee mine sweet, mine Jane, mine best friend. So now that I haveth thee again, back Into mine reach; we'll spend eternity with the saint's, well learn together, and we shalt teach......
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose ) dedication
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
You were the star that watched me,
twinkling in a vast dim space;
You were the candle in the middle of the room,
sending wisps of smoke in air.
You built a pathway for the microchip,
directing energies from place to place;
You weaved your words into my mind
and left with an unfinished blanket.
The moon was still up in the midst of the day,
the clouds are spouting rainbows as rain.
The years have passed, this flower has not bloomed
Will this ever be the day I awaited?
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
Her smile was the salt and the beauty of the sea
Her hair was the mist and the tears of the ocean
Her head was lost in the waves crashing through dreams
Her heart was made of butterfly wings and humming bird songs
And her pulse continuously weaved a cocoon of love around eternity
Her skin came from the softest clouds of heaven
And her blood was pulled from the concupiscent flames of hell
She was the story spoken by angels
And the hidden whisper in the devils eye
She pulled black feathers from the night sky
And sculpted them into the first birds of flight
She gave one bird the sun
and one bird the moon
and one bird the stars
Then set them free into the night she had made them from
She taught madness how to laugh
Then gave it a mountain and a hat
She once had a cat
But only kept it long enough to teach it to smile and vanish
And then never saw it again
She spoke only in the lost language of sleep
But never slept herself
She watched over the breath of life and was the mother of death
She belonged with the dreams of a dream
And was the dream of the waves crashing through her head
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
Seamstress sew me a line of word
Make it colourful,
Make it stand out,
She did it, the words weaved in and out
One over the other,
They flowed vibrantly,
She was a master at sewing word
Her pins were
Pencil
&
Pen
Woven with each, shades came out
Each told a story, a life of its own
Happiness
Darkness
Terror
&
Joy
What was asked, she would sew
Every stich was new in her mind
To sew a word profound,
All took time
Once stitched there was no going back,
It was complete
Colourful,
Dark,
The words woven in style
Like it or not,
Her woven words stitched to the page
This seamstress of ink and lead,
Now waiting to once again sew words
Upon a blank page...
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 11:57 AM UTC
A domino pile are my notebooks
and the bottom thoughts
hold my wand.
Unleashed with certain and schemes,
the past asking what ends meets means.
Walking somewhere
going through,
But be careful to slay the monster,
what a story can become.
Once the swift master,
now a slave to my dog.
The Archer and Orion,
Apollo and Venus shining.
Battle for my sake.
It is, there minds and souls
weaved from foxed cloves
the slip in space and rhyme.
Just in my skin as a stitch
and storm to sailor's plight,
"Oh my captain, Ishmael
Sank into the night!"
Leaning Tower now breaks
inside,
opened window to the sunrise.
Tap. Tap.
Went the sound of ink,
Ocean breathes me
I breathe the sea
princess and
pea
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:21 PM UTC
A garden of marigolds....orange, yellow and rust,
Bright, soft and rich, touched with golden dust.
Quiet and regal, sun kissed and fair,
Basil -citrus fragrance that mellows the moist air.
A thousand smiling marigolds, a thousand smiling suns,
Sweet nectar, ambrosia, for natures gentle ones.
Woven into garlands, yellow with tips of red,
Woven into memories with many a words unsaid.
Love's hopes of an Indian bride, clad in marigold,
With dreams wrought, promises that two hearts dearly hold.
Tearful farewell to soldiers who traverse through destiny's doors,
A garland weaved with love for those from across the seven shores.
And when the being is but a thought, as life grays and olds,
Wrapped in a hearse of love, their love, with weeping marigolds.
An offering so humble yet flowers that Gods wear,
An offering with love, with a souls quiet prayers.
Orange, yellow, rust..to love, to pray, to mourn,
Golden, sun kissed, blessed.. marigolds that life adorn.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC
Last night, a spiraled light
it caught and submerged me--
carrying far off
all my fears.
My drum-pulsed heart was flying.
I rose and weaved my airy way
among jagged mountain rock--
my path opening, opening
until a high-arched gate appeared,
laced with colored flags
and I moved through it and beyond.
In a while I saw among distant shadows of villagers
and wisps of smoke a child there, sitting,
her back to me.
Are you my teacher?
Yes, she said, though not with words.
What do you have to teach me?
Be simple.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 6:44 AM UTC
that night, under the dark midnight sky
I weaved daisies into your hair
and pinned dandelions to the collar of your shirt
left lipstick trails like stars along your jaw
and goose bumps trailing behind my fingertips
and I came home at three a.m
wearing your soft grey jacket
and traces of your cologne on my skin
sleep willingly lost
and innocence willingly traded
for just a taste
of what love truly is
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
A tangled web weaved
intricately designed, by patient time.
Three unfortunate victims of untold lies
Glances misinterpreted, signs and all now cease.
The truth will set them all free …
She thought his eyes only held hers that way
It will set you free they say
The signs were all there… promising
Braver he got… more confident he thought
“Hey I like you” found its’ way out one afternoon
Everything seemed to be right she thought ….
Truth is those words were not meant for her ears.
They fell on the ears of a close friend.
A friend who doesn't see those brown eyes the way she does.
Tangled and weaved the web becomes once again…
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Letters of the day.
Perhaps Apollo snapped his string
And shot into the beings below:
Synecdoche.
Illuminate your ink markings,
said He,
My eyes long to see images leap from your words.
Write creatures, Write.
Interpretation was weaved together,
And the god was satisfied.
For these words began to walk,
Then dance all around him.
As the edges of his mouth curled upwards,
As the parts synchronized,
As the genus became the species,
As the species became the genus,
A new definition was formed.
The world celebrated the melodic movements
Of mere symbols.
Today’s world must continue the dance
Carry it through screen and paper,
So Apollo remains amused
As all watch the words sway with the wind.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 4:58 PM UTC
Lost completely in thoughts
not unusually so
Reminiscing those first moments
beneath a canopy of snow
A nervous first glance
That look in your eyes
I think we both knew
we were in for a surprise
Do you remember
that first kiss
unexpectedly new
The shock of realizing
I was seducing you
I was shocked too
Do you remember
walking in the clouds
of frozen waterfalls with me
Kissing on a bench
beneath a tall willow tree
Shivering from the cold
you held me in your arms
Birds watching from above
as you weaved your charms
Setting off all
of loves alarms
Lost completely in thoughts
not unusually so
Reminiscing each and every moment
after that first hello
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC