"writeth" poems - Hello Poetry

When a poet taketh a pen And writeth a stanza or line; It's as if we're junkies Shooting dope, getting high. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Oct 14, 2015

Oct 14, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Poetry junkies

When a poet taketh a pen And writeth a stanza or line; It's as if we're junkies Shooting dope, getting high. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

6

There is a poet And poetess That writeth; In the slums And the ghetto's; In the suburb's In the meadow's. There is a poet And poetess That prophecieth In the mountain's In the city, neath Their graves, in Tomb's, free one's, Slave's, some known, Many doomed, in Heaven's gates, some Art poor, some telleth Of fate, some art lonesome, Some speaketh of amour', Some linger in the shadows, Tortured by demon's, anguished; Fighting hellish and earthly battles. There is a poet and poetess that writeth in blood and in ink: Some feareth death, death to some doth succumb when these artist's speak. Some hath wealth, some with naught, some groweth their own food, whilst other's stick to store bought. Some art peasant's, some art farmer's, some poet's preach and teacheth; whilst other's want to alarm us. There is a poet and poetess in this life and the next; some looketh down on loved one's, whilst the living is blinded by material net's. Some art lost, forgotten, some speaketh Spanish, Hindi, English, Arabic, french, lost languages, or Latin. Some just want to love, whilst some seeketh to findeth love, some want to flyeth away, as if a falcon or a dove. Some thinkest their better than most, others thinkest they art not better then noone, feeling dead as if a ghost. Some jotteth poetry to make them remember living, some art charitable, whilst poet's in prison sit and rot from killing or stealing. Some passeth time staring at the ceiling, whilst some overwork, some casteth their ten percent to worldly lusts, whilst other's pay to God in church. There is a poet and poetess that writeth, being dead or alive; O' poet's were all distinctly different though the same, in God's poetic eye's.............. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Dec 12, 2015

Dec 12, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

In oculo magni poetae ( In the great poet's eye's) latin tongue

There is a poet And poetess That writeth; In the slums And the ghetto's; In the suburb's In the meadow's. There is a poet And poetess That prophecieth In the mountain's In the city, neath Their graves, in Tomb's, free one's, Slave's, some known, Many doomed, in Heaven's gates, some Art poor, some telleth Of fate, some art lonesome, Some speaketh of amour', Some linger in the shadows, Tortured by demon's, anguished; Fighting hellish and earthly battles. There is a poet and poetess that writeth in blood and in ink: Some feareth death, death to some doth succumb when these artist's speak. Some hath wealth, some with naught, some groweth their own food, whilst other's stick to store bought. Some art peasant's, some art farmer's, some poet's preach and teacheth; whilst other's want to alarm us. There is a poet and poetess in this life and the next; some looketh down on loved one's, whilst the living is blinded by material net's. Some art lost, forgotten, some speaketh Spanish, Hindi, English, Arabic, french, lost languages, or Latin. Some just want to love, whilst some seeketh to findeth love, some want to flyeth away, as if a falcon or a dove. Some thinkest their better than most, others thinkest they art not better then noone, feeling dead as if a ghost. Some jotteth poetry to make them remember living, some art charitable, whilst poet's in prison sit and rot from killing or stealing. Some passeth time staring at the ceiling, whilst some overwork, some casteth their ten percent to worldly lusts, whilst other's pay to God in church. There is a poet and poetess that writeth, being dead or alive; O' poet's were all distinctly different though the same, in God's poetic eye's.............. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

27

Mine lily of the valley, mine lotus of the unrestrained. Mine Senna alata, mine allay of human angst; Mine Kalinaw in mine Stygian juncture's, Mine Kaulayaw aloft the extraterrestrial Structures. Mine Paraluman that giveth me these word's to writeth, the one that bringeth me excite; In mine core thou art invited. Mine Kundiman by which I replay in this skull, Mine hand of time, mine angelic mind- That I do learn from. Mine Makisig precious stone, undug from the clay, Mine, all mine, I canst sayest it all day. Mine past, present, future; woman of now, forever's our's Mine Jane. O' how Dalisay, O' how Dalisay, doth ourn water run sparkling; Only because mine love, we sip it as queen and king. One time soon, to shareth wedded ring's, wherein the pain's of the now; art gone and unforseen. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry' ©Earl jane sardua Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedicated

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Jun 4, 2016

Jun 4, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Mine lilly of the valley, mine lotus of the unrestrained

Mine lily of the valley, mine lotus of the unrestrained. Mine Senna alata, mine allay of human angst; Mine Kalinaw in mine Stygian juncture's, Mine Kaulayaw aloft the extraterrestrial Structures. Mine Paraluman that giveth me these word's to writeth, the one that bringeth me excite; In mine core thou art invited. Mine Kundiman by which I replay in this skull, Mine hand of time, mine angelic mind- That I do learn from. Mine Makisig precious stone, undug from the clay, Mine, all mine, I canst sayest it all day. Mine past, present, future; woman of now, forever's our's Mine Jane. O' how Dalisay, O' how Dalisay, doth ourn water run sparkling; Only because mine love, we sip it as queen and king. One time soon, to shareth wedded ring's, wherein the pain's of the now; art gone and unforseen. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry' ©Earl jane sardua Nagley ( àgapi mou) dedicated

16

She writeth mellifluous calligraphy When she speaketh in her mother tongue; She's ineffable, irresistible, Tis, she's mine chosen one. Her kaleidoscopic ambience pirouettes around mine being, heaven's own, the most beautiful soul; O' how I'm blessed with this queen. Supine I layeth, looking aloft mine glimpse, a brightness flashed, in Asian sash, turtle shell's around her hips. At that moment, I hadst an epiphany, I was finally living, to God I owed thanksgiving, for this archangel he hadst sent to me. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication

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Dec 18, 2015

Dec 18, 2015 at 9:43 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Leagan faoi Supine , ar epiphany an Dhiaga ( Laying Supine, an epiphany of the divine) old irish tongue

She writeth mellifluous calligraphy When she speaketh in her mother tongue; She's ineffable, irresistible, Tis, she's mine chosen one. Her kaleidoscopic ambience pirouettes around mine being, heaven's own, the most beautiful soul; O' how I'm blessed with this queen. Supine I layeth, looking aloft mine glimpse, a brightness flashed, in Asian sash, turtle shell's around her hips. At that moment, I hadst an epiphany, I was finally living, to God I owed thanksgiving, for this archangel he hadst sent to me. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication

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A poet Jot's word's Even whilst being broke; A poet writeth his last stanza In his deathbed whilst he chokes. A poet in the living Beyond his death; The poet recites Poe Whilst quoting Macbeth. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poets poetry

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Nov 2, 2015

Nov 2, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

A poet's tomb lies here....

A poet Jot's word's Even whilst being broke; A poet writeth his last stanza In his deathbed whilst he chokes. A poet in the living Beyond his death; The poet recites Poe Whilst quoting Macbeth. ©Brandon Nagley ©Lonesome poets poetry

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An old man in a lodge within a park; The chamber walls depicted all around With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark, Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound; He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound, Then writeth in a book like any clerk. He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote The Canterbury Tales, and his old age Made beautiful with song; and as I read I hear the crowing **** I hear the note Of lark and linnet, and from every page Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead.

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1.6k

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Chaucer

An old man in a lodge within a park; The chamber walls depicted all around With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound, And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark, Whose song comes with the sunshine through the dark Of painted glass in leaden lattice bound; He listeneth and he laugheth at the sound, Then writeth in a book like any clerk. He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote The Canterbury Tales, and his old age Made beautiful with song; and as I read I hear the crowing **** I hear the note Of lark and linnet, and from every page Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead.

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Differentiation between the poet And the journalist; The journalist writeth a script that's scripted, A poet wilt writeth untamed, none script, just raw soul!!!!! ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Aug 1, 2015

Aug 1, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Differentiation of the poet and the journalist

Differentiation between the poet And the journalist; The journalist writeth a script that's scripted, A poet wilt writeth untamed, none script, just raw soul!!!!! ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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I don't write of amare Out of boredom or dying thought's I write for mine mi amour' Because it's mine heart she hath got. I don't write of amour' Out of lonesomeness or to get attention I write out mine souls truth Because I loveth a godly invention... I writeth for mine ELSA Because that's where love taketh us... I writeth for mine ELSA Because it's her who to me is a must. I writeth for mine ELSA Because many ages for her I hadst to wait... I got lost from her before Yet met her at heaven's gate... I writeth to mine soulmate Because she's all to me, And though tis she canst seeith it all right now... Trust me, I do see.... ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Elsa angelica dedication

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Jul 12, 2015

Jul 12, 2015 at 10:13 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

I dont write from lonesomeness or boredom

I don't write of amare Out of boredom or dying thought's I write for mine mi amour' Because it's mine heart she hath got. I don't write of amour' Out of lonesomeness or to get attention I write out mine souls truth Because I loveth a godly invention... I writeth for mine ELSA Because that's where love taketh us... I writeth for mine ELSA Because it's her who to me is a must. I writeth for mine ELSA Because many ages for her I hadst to wait... I got lost from her before Yet met her at heaven's gate... I writeth to mine soulmate Because she's all to me, And though tis she canst seeith it all right now... Trust me, I do see.... ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Elsa angelica dedication

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What is this lodging and people strangeth Yond walketh but never see Looking as the screen doest changeth Laughing with mirth and glee And roaring beasts runneth up the roads Like dragons with hurtling and smoke Gigantic monsters with heavy loads May runneth down honest folk Just to returneth to calmer times Would maketh mine own journey pleasant I feeleth yond hither I'm out of rhymes I'm nay more than a peasant Taketh me back to times more sane The fifteen nineties art for me I cannot writeth, nor bethink, nor remain In twenty twenty three

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Jan 19, 2023

Jan 19, 2023 at 3:06 PM UTC

achunn

Shakespeare in 2023

What is this lodging and people strangeth Yond walketh but never see Looking as the screen doest changeth Laughing with mirth and glee And roaring beasts runneth up the roads Like dragons with hurtling and smoke Gigantic monsters with heavy loads May runneth down honest folk Just to returneth to calmer times Would maketh mine own journey pleasant I feeleth yond hither I'm out of rhymes I'm nay more than a peasant Taketh me back to times more sane The fifteen nineties art for me I cannot writeth, nor bethink, nor remain In twenty twenty three

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i Earl Jane, oriental poetess, thou art so down, that's why I writeth this, Earl Jane, best friend of Friend's, thine heart's open as thou doth not pretend, as so many other's do; Earl Jane, thy hand's writeth as a muse, thou art not abjected in mine room, welcomed ii Earl Jane, lover of all being's, agone wherein thy heartbreak Sting's, I shalt taketh thine wound's mine friend, kind, gentle, thy charity with none end, thou shalt filleth thy dream's unlike other's thinkest, thou shalt glaze the moon in color's, I'll watcheth iii Earl Jane, afoot beside me, its thee I shalt helpeth and guide I seeith the passion and compassion in thine eyes, as thou art free Earl Jane, poetica dream, taketh the rope off from around thy neck, ourn savior saved thee, as I'm here for thee to protect. iv Earl Jane, I knowest whence thou came: from the before life of this, wherein romantic's met the poetic flame, earl jane, Asiatic bird, let thy anguish cometh out in word's, and jot and scribe thine soul down as it glide's, and frolic for new tommorrow. v Earl Jane, is this helping thine sorrow? Art thou smiling now as thou shouldst? Just look at mine face if thou needeth a laugh, we both knoweth its stained, like church rose glass, I knoweth right now that thou shalt laugh, art thou smiling now? Dearest friend... ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane dedication/ friendship poem

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Aug 4, 2015

Aug 4, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Asiatic jane, art thou smiling?( dedication poem to poet friend earl jane of H.P) shes been down all day , think she needs a booster (:::: for you friend

i Earl Jane, oriental poetess, thou art so down, that's why I writeth this, Earl Jane, best friend of Friend's, thine heart's open as thou doth not pretend, as so many other's do; Earl Jane, thy hand's writeth as a muse, thou art not abjected in mine room, welcomed ii Earl Jane, lover of all being's, agone wherein thy heartbreak Sting's, I shalt taketh thine wound's mine friend, kind, gentle, thy charity with none end, thou shalt filleth thy dream's unlike other's thinkest, thou shalt glaze the moon in color's, I'll watcheth iii Earl Jane, afoot beside me, its thee I shalt helpeth and guide I seeith the passion and compassion in thine eyes, as thou art free Earl Jane, poetica dream, taketh the rope off from around thy neck, ourn savior saved thee, as I'm here for thee to protect. iv Earl Jane, I knowest whence thou came: from the before life of this, wherein romantic's met the poetic flame, earl jane, Asiatic bird, let thy anguish cometh out in word's, and jot and scribe thine soul down as it glide's, and frolic for new tommorrow. v Earl Jane, is this helping thine sorrow? Art thou smiling now as thou shouldst? Just look at mine face if thou needeth a laugh, we both knoweth its stained, like church rose glass, I knoweth right now that thou shalt laugh, art thou smiling now? Dearest friend... ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Earl Jane dedication/ friendship poem

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Dear grave keeper if today mine heart is to expire Telleth mine mi amour' I haveth a hundred more poems for her in the top drawer, By the Cologne and incense attire... Dear grave digger if today mine soul doth leave Please telleth me amare I was always there Tis for her in heaven ill be watching As tis mine love for her wilt forever be... Dear midnight caretaker if right now mine skin frails Telleth mine rose Mine love was unlike any she's known For she doth knoweth It was on a different scale..... Dear mortician if mine eye's do close Tell her I wanted to marry her And us to be adorned In angel form And black and white robes Dear undertaker if this is the last time I writeth Please telleth mine Spanish queen She was mine dream, Reality, Amare Amour Mine only girl Please telleth her sir..... To meet me again In that same cloud The one around her moon... On cloud number nine In ourn special room.. . Canst thou telleth for me sir. ??? Thanks... Brandon cory nagley ..... © Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Jul 8, 2015

Jul 8, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Dear gravedigger

Dear grave keeper if today mine heart is to expire Telleth mine mi amour' I haveth a hundred more poems for her in the top drawer, By the Cologne and incense attire... Dear grave digger if today mine soul doth leave Please telleth me amare I was always there Tis for her in heaven ill be watching As tis mine love for her wilt forever be... Dear midnight caretaker if right now mine skin frails Telleth mine rose Mine love was unlike any she's known For she doth knoweth It was on a different scale..... Dear mortician if mine eye's do close Tell her I wanted to marry her And us to be adorned In angel form And black and white robes Dear undertaker if this is the last time I writeth Please telleth mine Spanish queen She was mine dream, Reality, Amare Amour Mine only girl Please telleth her sir..... To meet me again In that same cloud The one around her moon... On cloud number nine In ourn special room.. . Canst thou telleth for me sir. ??? Thanks... Brandon cory nagley ..... © Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

37

Amorous one, bedight me in snug linen Canopy me in thy oriental pinion's; A ditty for thee, I writeth in this amour For thou hath let me in, and opened thine door. Forsooth, we shalt be lover's in cinema Booth's Letting go of ourn past, cutting ropes, untying the noose; Thither the jungle's we shalt be missionarie's, exemplary No thwarting to enter in the tropical orient gate's Openness cherished, withy exotic plant's to fit ourn date; Don't be late amare, thou canst put up, or keep down thy hair For thou shalt blend the forest's, as no makeup for thee is needed. Thou shalt quench me by thy tan colored painted skin Betrothing another, fused bodie's together, preparing perfume; Locked behind ourn own wall, leaving the world in back room Other's think we're dead, because ourn spirit's from tombs, alive. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry/ ああるじぇえん

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Aug 5, 2015

Aug 5, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Suobenis sponsabo ( Faraway betroth) latin tongue

Amorous one, bedight me in snug linen Canopy me in thy oriental pinion's; A ditty for thee, I writeth in this amour For thou hath let me in, and opened thine door. Forsooth, we shalt be lover's in cinema Booth's Letting go of ourn past, cutting ropes, untying the noose; Thither the jungle's we shalt be missionarie's, exemplary No thwarting to enter in the tropical orient gate's Openness cherished, withy exotic plant's to fit ourn date; Don't be late amare, thou canst put up, or keep down thy hair For thou shalt blend the forest's, as no makeup for thee is needed. Thou shalt quench me by thy tan colored painted skin Betrothing another, fused bodie's together, preparing perfume; Locked behind ourn own wall, leaving the world in back room Other's think we're dead, because ourn spirit's from tombs, alive. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry/ ああるじぇえん

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In the spectral mausoleum Wherein the human's left me deserted; I still wilt writeth transcendent poesy Mine blood as the word's to be posted. An anointed omnipresent To luster her anticipation of mine proclivity; She awaiteth me, behind the benevolence As her optical's art painting's in Renoir relevance . I revamp mine apparition To maketh mineself to her more known; She seeith mine black suit, unbuttoned shirt She feeleth mine flesh, and strokes mine old bones. All mine bad misgivings, she erases like as if at school She's the teacher, I'm her student, though tis I breaketh rules; Yet I do payeth attention, to this queen whoever she is Yet thou must remember, this is all a dream, spurious wish! Though tis just an illusion, I still hath highest Hope's Because I'm not the other men, proudly others seeith that most; As tis I shalt continue on, writing amour for one not around Whoever she is, and who she might be, please release me from.. The ground................ ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Aug 1, 2015

Aug 1, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Ubi est amantis Quidve release? ubi es regina? ( Where is that lover release? where art thou queen?) Latin tongue

In the spectral mausoleum Wherein the human's left me deserted; I still wilt writeth transcendent poesy Mine blood as the word's to be posted. An anointed omnipresent To luster her anticipation of mine proclivity; She awaiteth me, behind the benevolence As her optical's art painting's in Renoir relevance . I revamp mine apparition To maketh mineself to her more known; She seeith mine black suit, unbuttoned shirt She feeleth mine flesh, and strokes mine old bones. All mine bad misgivings, she erases like as if at school She's the teacher, I'm her student, though tis I breaketh rules; Yet I do payeth attention, to this queen whoever she is Yet thou must remember, this is all a dream, spurious wish! Though tis just an illusion, I still hath highest Hope's Because I'm not the other men, proudly others seeith that most; As tis I shalt continue on, writing amour for one not around Whoever she is, and who she might be, please release me from.. The ground................ ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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i Her cotton swab bolster Marinateth her midnight sweat's; She titter's thus from woe Though I seeith when her heart burst showeth. Dejection corset. ii Epistle's art stacked up in her thought's Of what she should writeth tommorrow; Grief stricken, by none restful sleeping Awaking for school, Another day bottled. iii Her way's art of God He's her truest guidance; She giveth truth Sweetful tooth A fruit of whom I shalt liveth. iv Death she's tasted, as Dom Pérignon Her word's, as the wine she speaketh; Her back hurt's, her love's at work She telleth star's, from whence their birthed As tis she's a faraway light as well. v She's seen Gehenna, she's been trapped in cell's She's seen misery, and heaven and hell Though when I'm close, she heareth Bell's She raiseth a toast, when I'm in her realm A queen, a rose, a bud bloomed, sadly, she wanders her room. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry © ああるじぇえん

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Aug 7, 2015

Aug 7, 2015 at 3:40 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Errant de la douleur ( Wandering sorrow's) french tongue

i Her cotton swab bolster Marinateth her midnight sweat's; She titter's thus from woe Though I seeith when her heart burst showeth. Dejection corset. ii Epistle's art stacked up in her thought's Of what she should writeth tommorrow; Grief stricken, by none restful sleeping Awaking for school, Another day bottled. iii Her way's art of God He's her truest guidance; She giveth truth Sweetful tooth A fruit of whom I shalt liveth. iv Death she's tasted, as Dom Pérignon Her word's, as the wine she speaketh; Her back hurt's, her love's at work She telleth star's, from whence their birthed As tis she's a faraway light as well. v She's seen Gehenna, she's been trapped in cell's She's seen misery, and heaven and hell Though when I'm close, she heareth Bell's She raiseth a toast, when I'm in her realm A queen, a rose, a bud bloomed, sadly, she wanders her room. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry © ああるじぇえん

33

A poet needeth not pen and paper To writeth down their prophetic vision's; A poet, is one of the soul As the soul Keepeth all poetry by memory, Not needing some pen and paper. . ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Jul 28, 2015

Jul 28, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

The poetry locked inside the soul, not needing a pen

A poet needeth not pen and paper To writeth down their prophetic vision's; A poet, is one of the soul As the soul Keepeth all poetry by memory, Not needing some pen and paper. . ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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The poet To God Is an apostle Of wisdom; The poet To God Is the bringer Of God's kingdom; The poet Created by their Creator Writeth heavenly knowledge down On spiritual paper; ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Nov 16, 2015

Nov 16, 2015 at 9:40 AM UTC

brandon-nagley

The poet writeth on spiritual paper

The poet To God Is an apostle Of wisdom; The poet To God Is the bringer Of God's kingdom; The poet Created by their Creator Writeth heavenly knowledge down On spiritual paper; ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Must I sayeth Sayeth do I; This pen is getting lonely Wanting to write amour' for one! Though not just anyone I sayeth Sayeth I do; I seeketh one to writeth for Who wilt loveth me, as I loveth her to. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome posts poetry

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Aug 1, 2015

Aug 1, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Must i sayeth; sayeth i do

Must I sayeth Sayeth do I; This pen is getting lonely Wanting to write amour' for one! Though not just anyone I sayeth Sayeth I do; I seeketh one to writeth for Who wilt loveth me, as I loveth her to. ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome posts poetry

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Oct 30, 2015

Oct 30, 2015 at 12:05 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Poorer word's art worth more

5

Whenever I writeth her I knoweth she loveth me... Because when I do write, She Bud's out Like a rose Opening up its pedals in mid-day sun..... And she feeleth so good opening up...

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Jul 7, 2015

Jul 7, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Mid day blossom

Whenever I writeth her I knoweth she loveth me... Because when I do write, She Bud's out Like a rose Opening up its pedals in mid-day sun..... And she feeleth so good opening up...

6

There art those who liveth to writeth And those who writeth to liveth.... The distinction between the duo is The one who writeth to liveth He's the lonely one Seeking truest amare... Writing daily on it.... Giving all with no return... And he writeth to liveth... Because he knoweth if he puts down that ink blotted pen..... It's all over!!!!

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Jun 27, 2015

Jun 27, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

writeth to liveth or liveth to writeth?

There art those who liveth to writeth And those who writeth to liveth.... The distinction between the duo is The one who writeth to liveth He's the lonely one Seeking truest amare... Writing daily on it.... Giving all with no return... And he writeth to liveth... Because he knoweth if he puts down that ink blotted pen..... It's all over!!!!

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Any writer canst writeth word's From their tongue's and their lip's; Though canst thou speaketh From thy soul? ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

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Aug 15, 2015

Aug 15, 2015 at 5:18 AM UTC

brandon-nagley

From lip to soul

Any writer canst writeth word's From their tongue's and their lip's; Though canst thou speaketh From thy soul? ©Brandon nagley ©Lonesome poet's poetry

6

This lonely pen Writeth lonesome word's I see the end Of everything on shore Yet the luminescence tis coming Wherein one shalt stand by mine side No two to be next to me Just one glorified, I do not need other's To come in between Mine heart grips, rips Shackles and screams To the dead of the dusk And the first of the day Mine eyelids shut This brawn glimmer doth fade I'm ready for new Not the same old same I've passed through The conduit's of shame I've been lashed Thrashed to mine core Shadow's follow Me upon distant plore I rattle mine Scriptures To the newbies whom come I giveth sight To the deaf, blind, and dumb With them I run Wherein the rainbow's art seen I live for today In an ablaze of rings.... ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Brandon nagley

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Jul 14, 2015

Jul 14, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC

brandon-nagley

Lonesome pen

This lonely pen Writeth lonesome word's I see the end Of everything on shore Yet the luminescence tis coming Wherein one shalt stand by mine side No two to be next to me Just one glorified, I do not need other's To come in between Mine heart grips, rips Shackles and screams To the dead of the dusk And the first of the day Mine eyelids shut This brawn glimmer doth fade I'm ready for new Not the same old same I've passed through The conduit's of shame I've been lashed Thrashed to mine core Shadow's follow Me upon distant plore I rattle mine Scriptures To the newbies whom come I giveth sight To the deaf, blind, and dumb With them I run Wherein the rainbow's art seen I live for today In an ablaze of rings.... ©Lonesome poet's poetry ©Brandon nagley

34

I guess I've gone MAD I write to much A poetic BATH I splurge mine touch By paper and PEN I dieth to write I writeth by DAY And reciteth by night!!!

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Jun 19, 2015

Jun 19, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Woopies

I guess I've gone MAD I write to much A poetic BATH I splurge mine touch By paper and PEN I dieth to write I writeth by DAY And reciteth by night!!!

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Don't knoweth if anyone else feeleth this way But when thyelf taketh a break from HP And cometh back more lonesome, Seeing all the other lover's writeth Mine heart sinketh to the abyss I feeleth I want to go to sleepeth...

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Jul 1, 2015

Jul 1, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC

brandon-nagley

Sleeping beauty....

Don't knoweth if anyone else feeleth this way But when thyelf taketh a break from HP And cometh back more lonesome, Seeing all the other lover's writeth Mine heart sinketh to the abyss I feeleth I want to go to sleepeth...

6