"wordly" poems
I was fairly drunk when it
began and I took out my bottle and used it
along the way. I was reading a week or two after
Kandel and I did not look quite as
pretty but
I brought it off and we
ended up at the Webbs, 6, 8, 10 of
us, and I drank scotch, wine, beer, tequila
and noticed a nice one sitting next to me -
one tooth missing when she smiled,
lovely, and I put my arm around her
and began loading her with ********
when I awakened at 10 a.m. the next morning
I was in a strange house
in bed with this
woman. she was asleep but looked
familiar.
I got up and here was one kid running around in a
crib and another one running around the floor in
pajamas. I picked up a letter addressed to one
"Betsy R.", so I went back and said,
"hey, Betsy, there are kids running around all over
this place."
"oh Hank, **** it, I'm sick. I want to sleep, not
rap."
"but look, the ..."
"make yourself some
coffee."
I put the *** on and the little boy ran up in his
pajamas. I found a shirt and some pants and some
shoes and
dressed him.
then I cleaned a bottle with hot water, filled it
with milk and gave it to the kid in the
crib. he went for
it.
then I went in and squeezed her
hand. "I've got to go. are you all
right ?"
"yes, a little sick. but please don't feel
bad."
I called a yellow cab and we went back across
town.
is this what happened to
D. Thomas ? I thought.
if a man didn't think too much he could be proud of his little
conquests -
except that the women were better than we - asking nothing
as we squirted our poetry
our ******** our
***** to
them.
we were sick poets sick
people.
across town I knocked on the door of my host and
hostess.
"what happened ?" they
asked.
"nothing. got
lost."
they sat a beer in front of me
and I drank it as if I were
wordly:
a piece-of-ass
any-night
anywhere
type.
"somebody got a
cigarette ?" I asked.
"sure, sure."
I lit up and asked,
"heard from Creely
lately ?"
not giving a **** whether they had or
not.
4.3k
Jesus looks so ruby red, dead
and your purring
wracks some embryo to
life, gave it a foreign ring –
hand-tested gold or
diamond surfaced from oceans:
or not, no.
No, it is just a mirror
and you are what makes it
look so beautiful, breathing
sea-salt and gasoline –
one perfect drop found a well
and down, down, down
it fell. I caught ants, I smashed
in their hissing heads.
Yes, yes, so red.
God would be proud of the
mystery you and I have kept.
We drag him along like a light,
lantern bleaching flame,
but as soon as the sun hits,
he, too, drops into a haze –
and lands cross-legged, think?
There is a jeweler up there
that makes his ankles shine,
they are bolder than the moon
cousin of his best side,
as you are mine. Mine,
some sort of wordly delight –
bravery, diamond, and be alive.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 9:35 PM UTC
When the wordly things get all the glory
You tend to live a life that's unholy.
Facing the life's painful reality.
Fight againt wicked principalities
Losing your sense of morality.
As you are procrastinating about Learning your biblical A...B...C's
You are counting up your salary
When you should be counting all of God's promises like 1...2...3..
Thats when it begins to Spread like an deadly ****** transmitted Disease
First its sniffle and a sneeze
Next is a cough and a wheeze
Then you'll Barely be able to breathe
Knocking you to your knees
Begging God, "Please Heal Me"
Praying desperately For His Mercy
Then the STD forcefully will begin to tightly squeeze.
Till it becomes an Infection that attacks your every function flowing like a virus.
This sickness removes the color from life and leave you like eyes with damaged to the nerves, pupil and Iris.
This happens when you Subtract Christ from your life like a math equation involving minus.
Being sticken with this ailment will deprives us, If we dont let Christ take the wheel to Drive and guide us.
This Infirmity is very cancerous
It will impact your 6 senses Just like the Symbol for The Eye Of Horous.
Because we are individuals who are like sponges, filled with holes, absorbant and yet very porous.
Beneath the fleshly being lies a spirit
Crying out for help can you hear it?
This deficiency will leave you Shivering from the Chill of it's swift wind's cold breeze
The very thought of this illness makes the soul freeze
Once it realizes it has a contracted a Spiritually Transmitted Disease.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 3:49 PM UTC
I saw an old man in Exeter today;
saw him twice, in fact.
Each time he was eating ice cream
beneath his black felt hat.
His face was wizened, a cliche I know,
but I don’t know how else to say it.
He looked tired and worn behind his smile,
his shoulders sagged, his eyelids low.
At his feet a collection of bags,
small and medium, all black.
His wordly possessions I couldn’t but wonder,
carried around on his back.
What stories do you hold, old man,
wrapped in the parchment of your skin?
Will they be forever mysteries untold,
or do you have someone to invest them in?
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 6:35 AM UTC
A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride—
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision on my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my wordly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish.
2.6k
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor beam of a starless night
Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn’s undoubted light,
Is the flame of life so fickle and wan
That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.
O man! hold thee on in courage of soul
Through the stormy shades of thy wordly way,
And the billows of clouds that around thee roll
Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day,
Where hell and heaven shall leave thee free
To the universe of destiny.
This world is the nurse of all we know,
This world is the mother of all we feel,
And the coming of death is a fearful blow
To a brain unencompass’d by nerves of steel:
When all that we know, or feel, or see,
Shall pass like an unreal mystery.
The secret things of the grave are there,
Where all but this frame must surely be,
Though the fine-wrought eye and the wondrous ear
No longer will live, to hear or to see
All that is great and all that is strange
In the boundless realm of unending change.
Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death?
Who lifteth the veil of what is to come?
Who painteth the shadows that are beneath
The wide-winding caves of the peopled tomb?
Or uniteth the hopes of what shall be
With the fears and the love for that which we see?
2.5k
Have you seen her ?
Her skin is like winter
Her hair as strands of gold
Her eyes a cerulean shade
Though she has unsteady hands
Yes ! She is in Wonderland
The ground is of sweetly confection
The clouds are of candy floss
The waters , of buttermilk
Though each grain of sugar is a little white lie
Oh how gracious , sounding oh so pleasant
And her name is Alice , soft like the finest taffeta
Do you happen to know where Wonderland is ?
Haste , Haste !
Oh yes I do , I have been there many times !
You must be willing to devote yourself completely !
For wonderland is of other-wordly proportions
But if you must know , She is in a the pretty box . Motionless in white
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
it is tempting to lose yourself
in the pleasure of wordly possessions
money, cars, yachts, beautiful things
the Dagobert Duck syndrome
as we know
even the pharaos of ancient times
together with assorted kings and emperors
chiefs, dukes, presidents, popes, & cetera,
could only take their toys
into their graves
and not beyond
we do not know for sure
although we may believe
if immaterial possessions
have a better fate
yet even though we do not know
what our final moment brings
a thoughtful wrinkle on your brow
looks always better than
a bleak array of orphaned things
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 2:51 PM UTC
What art thou doing today friend?
Art thou living in pleasure's;
Or materials.
What art thou doing today friend?
Art thou wearing a mask;
Putting on a good smile, screaming inside.
What doth thou doeth in thine spare time?
Doth thou hurt other's;
Taketh to never giveth, getting rich off poor and blind?
What doth thou feeleth dear friend?
Doth thou not realize, wordly pleasure's only last a second;
Until thine end.
What doth thou heareth O man?
The music to loud on thine speaker's;
Blocking out God whilst thou canst?
What art thou drinking oh brother?
Alcohol to dilute thee;
A well from God floweth much better.
Wherein is thine wife O mate?
O thou art not at thine abode;
Cheating again, with a hot date.
Wherein doth thou investeth thine time?
Material's that dissapear, putting loot into stock's and shares;
Loosing thine wordly mind?
Wherein art thy children?
Left all by their self, thy wife not getting help;
Whilst thou hath put them on the dusty shelf.
Doth thou even knoweth where thou art going?
When thine heart's pulse stoppeth;
There's a heaven and hell, beast's in cell's, where thy skin fryeth.
Doth thou taketh thing's for granted?
Living today as if there's another;
Forgot thy sister and brother's, as art purpose here is love.
Didst thou knoweth?
Thine sin's canst be forgiven, with the last day's to thee given;
Wilt thou except the creator's grace? Or turneth away?
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:01 PM UTC
I'm not here to leave a legendary impression,
these poems are merely syntactical confession,
and if you find in your own personal expression,
the mutual feels from the scheme of grand depression,
felicitation, aggression, commiseration, obsession
all of the above, et cetera, the thorough digression,
glory will be given to the one in succession
of the ethereal destination we hold in compression
with the wordly oppression and greedy possession,
without further ado and much indiscretion,
tis time now to reflect upon my next spiritual transgression.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.
Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.
So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.
I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.
I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.
Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.
A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now
Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.
Love is the stuff dreams are made of.
And through you..
Im through.
Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.
I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head
I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.
You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.
I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
i.
Betimes mine delicate, betimes,
Mine apricity wherein beauty's
Simplicity doth show it's shine;
ii.
None bourn's shalt mock
us, nor obstruct ourn journey's.
We shalt egress this wordly mess;
With Yeshua as ourn attorney.
iii.
This place shalt be halted,
The fireballs to renew with burning;
The floods to rage, mid flight we shalt take
Sight's, liberated-tear's gone
In freedom as bird's of learning.
iv.
Up into the air we go, don't frighten my girl
We've known this truth, we shalt be loosed;
Heaven's gates- a banquet of rapio plates,
Yahweh's name sealed in ourn soul's
Fate.
v.
Ourn bodies to be renewed
Gathering with spirit's, out of
Their tomb's; O' how wondrous
It wilt be mine muse, we shalt be
In tune, in harmonized music
Thither the Angel's flutes.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley ( agapi mou) dedicated
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
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
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 8:11 PM UTC
Rondeau
With not a sigh a tear or care
In gentle arms of midnight dare
Where dreams of wildest breeze elope
Roams twilight’s bless of softly hope
Toward an acquiesce of share
Warm snuggle now in cashmere bare
Suggestive of their sweet affair
A passion dance of thrill devote
With not a sigh
Tho drawn a more attentive pair
His smoulder deep, her raven hair
A love explored of wordly cope
For love there is no antidote
In mingle destiny’s somewhere
With not a sigh
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
What doth thou invest thine time into?
Is it watching sports?
Is it t.v?
Is it ***********
Is it lust?
Is it media in all forms?
Is it money?
Food?
Drink?
Is it memoribillia?
Is it the metal car?
That wilt just rust and ruin and not last........
Is it mansion, home or shack?
Is it dope?
***
Money orders?
Checks?
Is it hatred?
And greed?
Cutting others down?
Crying?
Is it lonesomeness?
When thou aren't really lonely?
Is it a fake smile
To please the phonies?
Is it thinking of tommorrow
When we've only today?
Is it thy looks?
Pride amazed?
Is it shopping?
Clothes?
Silver?
Gold?
Hath thou tried to focus
Not on these wordly things..............
But focus on thy lovers!!!!!!!
Husbands,
Wives,
Sons
Mothers
Daughter's
Pets(animals period)
Brothers
Sisters
Aunties
Uncles
Cousins
Neices
Nephews
Family period
Or the one thou art in love with
Romance wise?
Hath thou done this today?
Or keeping that love secret???
Tommorrow might not come
Better make the move,
Husbandman
Wife
Father
Son
Lovers
To be one......
Tis
Tis I sayeth
Tommorrow
Might not cometh....
Tis I do believe
Tommorrow don't always cometh!!!!!!
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 5:31 PM UTC
Maiden and Observer
As speculated,
The observer and the scientist
See an enigmatic entrance.
The arrival of the specimen:
He shows haste,
His wrist flickers:
Punctuality.
He mouthes questions of career:
Orderliness.
His vocal appetite silent:
Surrender.
He declares instruction:
Superiority.
He brightens athleticism.
Focus.
The smile appears through
in the unknownest places,
Within restaurant doors,
Through the soundwaves.
Through ideations:
Competitive movement.
Inertia and stagnation is of disinterest.
Wordly reflection produces empty reciprocration.
Can it be a metaphor for the observer,
Can the specimen by the symbol?
Both reflected from one another.
There is the one,
and then, the other.
The challenge is:
Exhibiting both states
Simultaenously.
This is the task of the maiden.
The balancer of scales.
The scientist seeks to understand,
There is evidence of somes sort
A hidden bliss a smile inside,
a moment of analysis.
Notions brought on by previous experiments.
Past failures predict present outcome,
Recent knowledge or estimation?
Emotion links to reason,
Reason negotiates but stands firm,
The scientist is fatigued, his hand lowers.
Body language is lazily interpreted by curious Observer,
Studying this new behaviour.
The professor places his spectacles on,
He sees no other path to take,
He concludes and hypothesises,
This specimen can be learnt from
No more.
Specimen's silence allows flowing thoughts to pervade the mind of the observer and the scientist.
Silence given to the cynicism of life,
the broadened mind
perceived as narrow.
The observer is observed.
Now conciousness changes in the realm of the user experiencing himself.
Self perception, self defense,
Guard is raised,
Gates are closed.
Only water flows through,
Other matter obstructed.
Maiden, Observer, Scientist, Specimen.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:07 AM UTC
Earth & metal, melting under the obsession of being,
Dissolving death & consequence, mirroring my green,
Like rage & despair, they settle for the walls of my veins,
Tainting my blood & caging me inside my bones,
Eyes & children lost their humor,
Pain amplified, bruised tears,
Compact surrender,
Love for this poison, the potential of relief & revenge,
The shaken & the colored,
Calmed spirits, not in areas of the unclear,
Content minds, never leaving their place,
Scattered brains, shot down,
You & your others, the nation of blood & killings,
The white roses, you’ve slapped ebony red.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 4:51 AM UTC
See her coming down the street,
Her clothes so perfect, her hair so neat,
The makeup on her face is placed so fine,
I think Mrs. Philips is so devine.
I watch her whisk along the way,
Her smile is bright, there's nothing to say,
She opens an umbrella, it begins to rain,
My obsession with her is so insane.
She enters yet another retail store,
The clerk who meets her is such a bore,
But she, like an angel, brightens up the day,
I love Mrs. Philips, what can I say?
I can't imagine a word she shares,
Isn't full of magic, the devil may care,
Her shoes so shiny, her demeanor kind,
I need Mrs. Philips, or loose my mind.
It is so sad that I'm only eighteen,
While she is wordly, the cosmopolitan scene,
But somewhere in my wildest dream,
Her love will make me feel serene.
So, now she exits the store, you see,
But doesn't look around, or see me,
Yet, I am there across the street,
Mrs. Philips, I hope some day to meet.
But there must be more time for me to grow,
My mind is young, with much to know,
And age is important, between people true,
I hope she'll wait and remain true blue.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 6:58 AM UTC
So I hear,
just today,
in fact,
I'm not certain exactly when it was said,
a reliable source,
NPR,
So, I hear that great wall,
the BIG & beautiful one
on our Southern border,
the one HE wanted to build?
The one he raged about,
& of course,
while it was always preposterous,
Anyway he says,
It can maybe be a fence,
instead.
Oh my ***
Huh, interesting,
Well, that's not wishy washy,
No,
At all...
solid guy, he is,
& along with all the other rapidly,
changing things,
that he was so very,
passionate about,
And given,
the absolute myriad of obstacles,
from forcing Mexico to pay,
(haha- good one)
yeah,
making Mexico pay,
sure,
By the way,
do you want to work for his immigration?
Cuz' he's gonna need a bunch of new
recruits,
if so,
Not to mention,
workers to survey & complete,
that ridiculous project,
the complex geological complications,
in an interesting terrain,
humph,
indeed,
& the endless wordly implications,
that and so MANY other problems
we face,
far worse,
& BIGGER ones too,
Seriously,
check it out,
it would literally take,
FOREVER to build,
true narcissism,
exists,
apparently,
Though,
he might have single-handedly stopped illegal immigration by being elected.
Mission accomplished?
Do you wanna come live in the U.S. now?
Hahaha,
So stupid,
not REALLY funny,
still good to laugh,
This?
This is who we elected?
were we ALL high,
on propaganda?
God help us in times of war.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
Whispered adherence
Love, Light allegiance
path torn
wordly plot disguises
thorns.
Lost wanderer
meanings hidden
weakened bonds
veils drawn
sufferance born.
Presence powerful
insistent. tangible
summons strength
Divine lest.
Awake wise
eve dawn
arise...
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 3:32 PM UTC
begin this life in a wordy
but wordly habit, daily,
father-gifted, though different,
in form and language selected,
‘tis the one and ‘tis the same
tally, a counting combination
of all that has been done, for both
better & worse, blessing/curse,
the key: revamp review reset
this day upcoming and welcome
all the major tasks, minor miracles,
that one can effect, select, elect!
by choice, a freedom so great it
tenderly rips joy thoroughly into
and from my cells, and my body
is enlightened, uplifted in this,
now a preposition, a conjugation, a
state of composition,
for the tasks given, the granted,
those that must be taken, those most
difficult, when knowing their choice,
entails pain, untempered, and
requires establishing a two edged
position of composure…
this is a hard and an easy
new proposition I create,
hard for I write on a tiny
phone screen, in letters so
small. it keeps me humbled,
a reminder of having
lived a span well
beyond belief,
for one took\gave body a
careless comfort,
giving little
of the differring
kind of nutrition in order
to live life, well and purposed
hard too, for my body has wept,
a steady stream of silent tears.
unceasing as I scribe,
making vision difficult, the
insight salty but clear and the
words contained within them,
flood for easy laying-down
for this AM workout of counting,
lists up and down, so many items,
of differring nature, even now
noticing for the very fitting first time,
the subtle hint within
differring,
for it possesses a doubling
of the enormity, the division
of what has been already
accumulated and what yet,
needs accomplishing, the tally
needy for resolving looking past,
for seeing with yet more tears
fast-as-you-can-forward
the tally never ends, paused only
for a quick question/happy deletion
of, and a resolute immediate, moving on:
***Where do I stand,
what is my position?***
keep on keeping on,
tallying has no finale,
no sunning/summing up,
for another day
will yet follow,
for you, and
your own
tallying must
goes on, on
and
not even,
nor even,
odd,
when mine,
mine no long,
and the
and yets,
no longer
commence
Dec 19, 2024
Dec 19, 2024 at 12:33 PM UTC
Heavy lids, lighthouse waves sputtering on the stone between steps,
the sound strangles you / breathe silently
exhalation loosens your limbs longingly.
Rhythms break the continuous system /
derivations of wordly conditions /
crouching tense in the reeds, jump to break gravity /
crouching beneath the monitor, ready to cut wires /
snips bright white
chunks of
hair on the tile.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 8:37 PM UTC
My words have left me here
I fear
Run off to find a worthy ear
They pranced away, my thoughts in tow
To trill their tunes
But I don’t know
The verses there
The verses here
Ripped out my hair
For you, my dear
I fear
My words escaped, crept lightly off
I was stuck to sigh and scoff
Calculating to derive
How to get out of this alive
I worried there
I worried here
Anxiety shares
The space with fear
Oh dear
I never meant to complicate
From a to b to integrate
Insanity
Profanity
And a **** near loss of humanity
Don’t you see?
There can be no stopping me
I burned right through with enthalpy
My words escaped this melted mess
Saved themselves from sheer distress
Spewed their logos to the masses
Ethos languished still in classes
The pathos far
The pathos near
Can’t hope to spar
With the letters here
I fear
The rhetoric isn’t clear
S, p, d filled up in line
The derivative was two roots of sine
The answer’s A
No, B
No, D
You’re all wrong
The answer’s Z
My words have left, abandoned ship
Now I’m stuck to sway and slip
The rigging’s there
The oars are here
The electrons are shared
The ideas won’t cohere
I fear
My words have left me here
Nov 27, 2010
Nov 27, 2010 at 5:38 PM UTC
I knew it would hurt to see you again.
Did I stop loving you?
Jamais
but I mistook my heart for that of a wanderer's
my eyes would get lost in the distance
I never saw yours begging that I'd stay
that soft chant
reste reste reste
I hear the calling now
et mon coeur, I am sorry
Je suis très désolée mon bébé
peut-être
because I lost you though you never strayed
or because your heart was put to rest
while I became wordly
and lonley
et j'ai decouvert
you were the only one who'd ever matter
e vorrei ritornare ma
les mots don't get through
I think it hurts most to keep a pull in your heart
your mind letting you know that quelquechose
was forgotten that held unparalled significance
in all those should have beens
Je ne t'ai jamais oublié
mais tu as fait
et c'est bon pour tu
but now I have to float away
encore
parce que je ne peux pas observer
tu et elle
*è mi e ti
o ti e nessuno*
on that first date
I'll shatter glass if I see you kiss
but darling, know I'll always return
I'll keep waiting until your alone
wait to see you eyes shine with our memories
caro mio, I'll be standing in front of you très vite
le dico per piacere
Reste Reste Reste
I wouldn't take a single step away again, my love.
Should you present her with a ring
I wouldn't ever greet home again
and if I'm able to keep strong
I'd meet people in my travels.
I'd try, only for you, resist the graveyard
but even now, your voice sometimes crackles
my heart hears, rest rest rest
I'd give anything you wish
Don't let my unstable mind bind your decision
It's a part of my soul that was never your fault
It wavers and crashes and gently glides
Don't let my turmoil ruin your sand
Ti voglio bene
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC