"xviii" poems
i.
She's beautiful. She's an angel. She's everything we asked for. I cried for the hopes and dreams of a future that was never mine. I didn't know any better, so I kept crying.
xiv.
*You can't run around like before anymore. Don't get your knees ***** Elbows off the table. Grow up.* I brushed my hands of the dirt and picked myself up, because ladies weren't supposed to pick earthworms out of the grass. I picked up eyeliner instead.
xvi.
I'm trusting you. Don't get into trouble. Don't do anything dumb. There's something satisfying about hearing the roar of an engine at the start of a July evening. With the wind in your hair, freedom at your finger tips, I could have done anything. But I shut off the car and went inside.
xviii.
You're grown up now. You're an adult. You can't afford to make stupid mistakes anymore. I was composed of keg stands, one night stands, roommates, 2am Taco Bell runs, first dates, caffeine, prayers, tears, insecurities, heart to heart talks, "just try it, it's fun, I swear", friends that turn into bridesmaids, broken promises and broken hearts. I can still hear the train's whistle.
xxi.
I told you not to do anything dumb. I told you not to make stupid mistakes. I don't know what to tell you anymore. Here's a standing ovation to being immortal; hats off to the teary drunken nights and the existential crises. These are the days that we'll look back and wish we never wasted and I'll wonder why I let you wipe your muddy shoes on me.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 2:57 AM UTC
i.
Imagine, mine love
I'm on one knee;
ii.
Imagine mine love
No distance in-between;
iii.
Imagine mine love,
Thine glimmering
Wedding ring:
iv.
Imagine mine love
Preordainment's best
To bring;
v.
Imagine mine love
Angel's that wilt
Sing;
vi.
Imagine mine love
Just us two;
vii.
Imagine mine love
Making love upon new moon's;
viii.
Imagine mine love
Enthroned as mine muse;
ix.
Imagine mine love
Osculating that wilt soothe;
x.
Imagine mine love
Mine finger's stroke thy strand's;
xi.
Imagine mine love
On the sea of love we dance;
xii.
Imagine mine love
No world, nor worldly plan's;
xiii.
Imagine mine love
Toe's locked, buried neath' the sand;
xiv.
Imagine mine love
Hand held to hand in hand;
xv.
Imagine mine love
Thy head upon
Mine chest;
xvi.
Imagine mine love
The thought of nothingness;
xvii.
Imagine mine love
Mind free from pain and stress.
xviii.
Imagine mine love
Imagine mine love
This;
©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
XVIII. TO HERMES (12 lines)
(ll. 1-9) I sing of Cyllenian Hermes, the Slayer of Argus, lord
of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, luck-bringing messenger of
the deathless gods. He was born of Maia, the daughter of Atlas,
when she had made with Zeus, -- a shy goddess she. Ever she
avoided the throng of the blessed gods and lived in a shadowy
cave, and there the Son of Cronos used to lie with the rich-
tressed nymph at dead of night, while white-armed Hera lay bound
in sweet sleep: and neither deathless god nor mortal man knew it.
(ll. 10-11) And so hail to you, Son of Zeus and Maia; with you I
have begun: now I will turn to another song!
(l. 12) Hail, Hermes, giver of grace, guide, and giver of good
things! (31)
4k
I
That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers,
And the blue eye
Dear and dewy,
And that infantine fresh air of hers!
II
To think men cannot take you, Sweet,
And enfold you,
Ay, and hold you,
And so keep you what they make you, Sweet!
III
You like us for a glance, you know—
For a word’s sake,
Or a sword’s sake,
All’s the same, whate’er the chance, you know.
IV
And in turn we make you ours, we say—
You and youth too,
Eyes and mouth too,
All the face composed of flowers, we say.
V
All’s our own, to make the most of, Sweet—
Sing and say for,
Watch and pray for,
Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet.
VI
But for loving, why, you would not, Sweet,
Though we prayed you,
Paid you, brayed you
In a mortar—for you could not, Sweet.
VII
So, we leave the sweet face fondly there—
Be its beauty
Its sole duty!
Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there!
VIII
And while the face lies quiet there,
Who shall wonder
That I ponder
A conclusion? I will try it there.
IX
As,—why must one, for the love forgone,
Scout mere liking?
Thunder-striking
Earth,—the heaven, we looked above for, gone!
X
Why with beauty, needs there money be—
Love with liking?
Crush the fly-king
In his gauze, because no honey bee?
XI
May not liking be so simple-sweet,
If love grew there
’Twould undo there
All that breaks the cheek to dimples sweet?
XII
Is the creature too imperfect, say?
Would you mend it
And so end it?
Since not all addition perfects aye!
XIII
Or is it of its kind, perhaps,
Just perfection—
Whence, rejection
Of a grace not to its mind, perhaps?
XIV
Shall we burn up, tread that face at once
Into tinder
And so hinder
Sparks from kindling all the place at once?
XV
Or else kiss away one’s soul on her?
Your love-fancies!—
A sick man sees
Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her!
XVI
Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose,—
Plucks a mould-flower
For his gold flower,
Uses fine things that efface the rose.
XVII
Rosy rubies make its cup more rose,
Precious metals
Ape the petals,—
Last, some old king locks it up, morose!
XVIII
Then, how grace a rose? I know a way!
Leave it rather.
Must you gather?
Smell, kiss, wear it—at last, throw away!
2.8k
XVIII
Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounc’t and in his volumes taught our Lawes,
Which others at their Barr so often wrench:
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting drawes;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav’n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
2.8k
I.
My first in first grade
I carved your name in my desk
I hope it's still there.
II.
Made class valentines
Required for everyone
But mine was special.
III.
You begged the teacher
To sit by me on the bus
With a great big smile.
IV.
The first who wanted
To take me out for dinner
But it was a joke.
V.
Dedicated song
I can no longer hear it
Without thought of you.
VI.
You never said it
But your eyes always told me
You had wanted more.
VII.
You dated my friend
And I never told you how
Much I adored you.
VIII.
Playful like a child
But mature like an adult
So interesting.
IX.
You asked me to prom
Yellow flowers for friendship
That's all I wanted.
X.
You said you loved me
I loved you like a brother
It would never work.
XI.
You swore up and down
You had changed for the better
You didn't, first kiss.
XII.
Late walks on campus
Never saw me with makeup
We were so natural.
XIII.
Eyes found each other
"I don't forget pretty girls"
you whispered to me.
XIV.
I fell quickly, hard
But you still loved someone else
A girl with my name.
XV.
A friend of a friend
Texting non-stop everyday
Going nowhere fast.
XVI.
Liked me from the start
Bruised and broken, I do care
But not in that way.
XVII.
The piano man
It was all right but timing
One that got away.
XVIII.
We tried to fight time
Thinking that you were ready
Left us with heartache.
Feb 21, 2013
Feb 21, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Cantaba como un canario
mi amada alegre y gentil,
y danzaba al son del piano,
del oboe y del violín.
Y era el ruido estrepitoso
de su rítmico reír,
eco de áureas campanillas,
són de lira de marfil,
sacudidas en el aire
por un loco serafín.
Y eran su canto, su baile,
y sus carcajadas mil,
puñaladas en el pecho,
puñaladas para mí,
de las cuales llevo adentro
la imborrable cicatriz.
2.3k
XVIII
I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully,
I ring out to the full brown length and say
‘Take it.’ My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot’s glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrow’s trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,—
Take it thou,—finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
1.7k
Shall I compare thee to a Winter’s night ?
Thou art more ugly and more bitter cold:
Soft fogs do wrap the vestiges of light,
And winters lease hath all too long a hold:
Sometimes too cold the hand of hell can feel,
And rarely is her blackness ever lit;
And every shade and shadow oft conceal,
By scheme, or nature’s sly force of habit
But thy eternal winter will not pass
Nor find concession in the surgeon’s knife
Nor can repair or lift your sagging ****
When in infernal lines is etched your life
So long as men can wink and ribs can poke
So long lives this, and you are such a joke.
*
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
Self,
Here are the ways you have been loved
Instead of the ways you have lost it.
You have known love the color of autumn dogwood
The deep red of want
Rising in the cheeks like steam.
The magnetic pull of moon and stars
Orbits spinning until they are null
The rush of blood in the ears
Tempests in the paths of plans.
You have known love the shade of fall juniper
The argent blue of constancy
Silver dust on fingertips
Invisible until tasted.
Pepper and pine, the flavor of rain
And washes of hope.
You have known love the hue of October roses
The bittersweet fragile pink
Bright and fast and pure
delicate as a dream on waking,
fading in the opening of an eye,
Its memory more solid than its time.
Self,
You have loved and loved and loved
And you have been loved.
And on the nights this does not fill your cup
When your arms are empty
Your voice dry,
Wait, work, and wonder
Through solstice, equinox, eclipse,
For each in their season returns and returns
And all seasons come anew.
Oct 11, 2021
Oct 11, 2021 at 9:47 PM UTC
i. take a lesson from the way watercolor paint bleeds through notebook paper
ii. if i lose my mind and we lose our clothes i promise to never lose our hands and i hope you never hate me when the sun is up
iii. you made your bed now lay in mine
iv. my death wish is you telling me that you're sorry over and over again
v. all of these streetlights won't stop staring at me
vi. your eyelids, someone wants to kiss those and no it's not me okay it is
vii. what do you mean you don't keep all of my exhales in a glass jar
viii. i loved a thing once and then i died
ix. **** the world and then don't text it back the morning after
x. **** your love is my benzodiazepine
xi. are we making love or sulfuric acid
xii. how it is vs. how i want it to be vs. how it should actually be
xiii. oh, you didn't hear? your raspy screams and hollowed eyes aren't enough anymore
xiv. and now every car crash sounds like the last time you ever said my name
xv. pretty sure i have john f. kennedy's brain
xvi. you whispered "i love you" and it sounds more like an apology than anything
xvii. i have no poetry left inside of me, just a lot of white paint
xviii. accidentally bashed my head into a wall on purpose today and yes, i still have a mind and yes, you're still on it
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
Cómo conocieron las uvas
la propaganda del racimo?
Y sabes lo que es más difícil
entre granar y desgranar?
Es malo vivir sin infierno:
no podemos reconstruirlo?
Y colocar al triste Nixon
con el traste sobre el brasero?
Quemándolo a fuego pausado
con ****** norteamericano?
1.2k
Show me, dear Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear.
What! is it She, which on the other shore
Goes richly painted? or which, robbed and tore,
Laments and mourns in Germany and here?
Sleeps she a thousand, then peeps up one year?
Is she self-truth and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
On one, on seven, or on no hill appear?
Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
First travail we to seek and then make love?
Betray, kind husband, thy spouse to our sights,
And let mine amorous soul court thy mild dove,
Who is most true and pleasing to thee then
When she’s embraced and open to most men.
1.2k
I
Again the larkspur,
Heavenly blue in my garden.
They, at least, unchanged.
II
How have I hurt you?
You look at me with pale eyes,
But these are my tears.
III
Morning and evening--
Yet for us once long ago
Was no division.
IV
I hear many words.
Set an hour when I may come
Or remain silent.
V
In the ghostly dawn
I write new words for your ears--
Even now you sleep.
VI
This then is morning.
Have you no comfort for me
Cold-colored flowers?
VII
My eyes are weary
Following you everywhere.
Short, oh short, the days!
VIII
When the flower falls
The leaf is no more cherished.
Every day I fear.
IX
Even when you smile
Sorrow is behind your eyes.
Pity me, therefore.
X
Laugh--it is nothing.
To others you may seem gay,
I watch with grieved eyes.
XI
Take it, this white rose.
Stems of roses do not bleed;
Your fingers are safe.
XII
As a river-wind
Hurling clouds at a bright moon,
So am I to you.
XIII
Watching the iris,
The faint and fragile petals--
How am I worthy?
XIV
Down a red river
I drift in a broken skiff.
Are you then so brave?
XV
Night lies beside me
Chaste and cold as a sharp sword.
It and I alone.
XVI
Last night it rained.
Now, in the desolate dawn,
Crying of blue jays.
XVII
Foolish so to grieve,
Autumn has its colored leaves--
But before they turn?
XVIII
Afterwards I think:
Poppies bloom when it thunders.
Is this not enough?
XIX
Love is a game--yes?
I think it is a drowning:
Black willows and stars.
**
When the aster fades
The creeper flaunts in crimson.
Always another!
XXI
Turning from the page,
Blind with a night of labor,
I hear morning crows.
XXII
A cloud of lilies,
Or else you walk before me.
Who could see clearly?
XXIII
Sweet smell of wet flowers
Over an evening garden.
Your portrait, perhaps?
XXIV
Staying in my room,
I thought of the new Spring leaves.
That day was happy.
Jul 17, 2015
Jul 17, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
By: William Shakespeare 1564-1616
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 10:49 PM UTC
The Art of Poetic Creation and Inspiration is necessary for the World to detach from the Trickster Mind lying all the time to us and others, distorting perception of reality and sustaining our false ego, causing innumerable troubles.
Through Art and Poetry we develop the higher Intuitive Mind. The only place I know bearable enough to exist within.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
I
Left to myself I finally look up to the mirror. Tear runs through cheek.
II
Crying back to me my reflection listens as noone has before.
III
"Look deeper" she cries. Darkness dwells where nothing dwells.
IV
Past my glasses, past the glass of the mirror, past my glasses. My eyes' look at my eyes is the only thing I have left.
V
My body's body demands attention. Silent scream in the twilight of spring.
VI
A second tear runs across my ****** hair, and it knows itself a stranger.
VII
Stepping down my eyes I see my body. My body that is not my body. My body and nothing more.
VIII
My paper gets wet as a man's hand grips my pen and writes. A stranger's hand.
IX
Chest up and down, the man's body refuses my call for change.
X
And my body that is not my body moves along with my body's mirror.
XI
My manly jaw opens the silence up, and my mirror cries out. I dive in to help.
XII
I continue to step down into the night. There's nothing to look up to where I came from.
XIII
And the echoes of the well hear out my name, my real name. There is wind at the bottom of my heart.
XIV
As I dug deeper into my reflection's eyes, I reach a wooden floor. Nothing but stone saw me prior.
XV
When I look in the mirror, I am there.
XVI
A lonely little girl shivers back to me. I am alone yet I am the one that shivers.
XVII
When I step onto the wood it cracks. The girl looks at me and moves away from the light of my eyes.
XVIII
I follow. My soul cries. It is the girl that cries. It is I who cries. No surprise, I was the girl all along.
XIX
I caress the girl and take her upwards through my mirror's skin. Here she will suffer.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
My little ghost baby is the love of my life.
He keeps me so grounded.
He is the most precious thing.
Every "I love you mama"
Melts my heart beyond belief.
He's sleeping now,
Because he didn't nap today.
But I thought I'd take this moment of silence
To appreciate my little family.
My littel ghost boy and myself.
I love you Collin.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
i. you never ceased to begin and end your day by saying “i love you.” it’s the little things matter. it’s the little things that make my day complete.
ii. i know nothing with certainty about most things, but with you i am more than certain. with you, i’m entirely sure. i hope you are too.
iii. let me be your cigarette so i could touch your lips.
iv. i have tired eyes and a tired mind from running away from my demons all day. you know exactly how to calm me down. perhaps you and only you can help me feel at ease. thank you for slaying my demons for me.
v. i feel the sting of the sun. the moon has set. i sacrificed sleep just so i can spend more time with you. i want more hours with you.
vi. i’m fighting off sleep yet again just so i can hear your voice on the phone. sing for me, my love.
vii. i have never felt safe anywhere in this world, until i felt your embrace. your arms feel like home.
viii. you made me listen to a new song today. it’s beautiful. you’re beautiful.
ix. as the band sang on stage, you held my hand. you looked at me while you sang the sweetest line from the song. in that moment, i felt like i’m the luckiest girl in the crowd.
x. for the longest time, i’ve been afraid of heights. “you can do it! close your eyes and jump,” you told me. my hands were trembling. my legs were shaking. i was barely breathing. i took a leap of faith and jumped, knowing that you were there at the bottom waiting there for me. not even my deepest and darkest fear can stop me. you make me fearless.
xi. i only have the silver moonlight in me but you wouldn’t even dare trade the brightest star, the glow of the sun, with the light gleam that i have. you make me feel like i can outshine anyone. “lumiere, darling, you’re beautiful” you said.
xii. i was cold and you gave me your jacket. i saw you shiver while you handed it to me. i knew in that moment that you would sacrifice everything for me. i love you.
xiii. how i wish you would defend me when someone talks **** about me. i feel betrayed. you know me better than they do. don’t do it again, i beg you.
xiv. i’d open the door for you again and again. that’s what scares me.
xv. when we spent time apart, i asked myself, how can emptiness feel so heavy?
xvi. we were talking about our future, and i’ve never wanted to fight for something so much in my life.
xvii. someone stole my color and threw it to the wind. i don’t know if i will still find it, but you still looked at me like i’m the brightest rainbow.
xviii. you said you are afraid to lose me. i am hoping that you wouldn’t have the strength to face your fear and leave. not now, not ever.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
¡Ah, cuando yo era niño
soñaba con los héroes de la Ilíada!
Áyax era más fuerte que Diomedes,
Héctor, más fuerte que Ayax,
y Aquiles el más fuerte; porque era
el más fuerte...¡Inocencias de la infancia!
¡Ah, cuando yo era niño
soñaba con los héroes de la Ilíada!
854
Today,
I walked back and forth
and tried to shrug off those memories
words
and promises dangling on my hair
like confetti strewed on our favourite park bench.
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
EᔕᔕᕼI
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Esshi and Ainhara look around the
shop. Thankfully, it is just them.
'One less thing to worry about...' Esshi
sighs as she looks at Ainhara, the
concern in her eyes is clear.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Shh!" Lyn waves her hand and stops
them from bowing. "Please don't
bow. And don't call me Your Grace,
either." Bree and Michael stand straight.
"Please, I just want to temporarily
escape and enjoy the day."
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Of course, your secret is safe with
us, Your High- I mean... Nyl..."
Michael says and they nod.
"It's a honour to have you here.
You and your handmaidens."
Bree says, eyes shining.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"The honour is ours!" Esshi says.
"If you would be so kind to-"
"Not inform anyone? We won't."
Michael promises them with a
reassuring smile. "But I will say
that we are glad to see that you
are well, my lady."
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Thank you." Lyn sighs. "Ainhara."
Her handmaid digs into the basket
and brings out some gold coins
and a few gems. "Here. Please
accept this. Also know that I will
send a few gifts your way for
keeping my secret."
"You are far too kind, Nyl."
Bree teases.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
Fatigada del baile,
encendido el color, breve el aliento,
apoyada en mi brazo,
del salón se detuvo en un extremo.
Entre la leve gasa
que levantaba el palpitante seno,
una flor se mecía
en compasado y dulce movimiento.
Como en cuna de nácar
que empuja el mar y que acaricia el céfiro,
tal vez allí dormía
al soplo de sus labios entreabiertos.
¡Oh, quién así -pensaba-
dejar pudiera deslizarse el tiempo!
¡Oh, si las flores duermen,
qué dulcísimo sueño!
740
ya no se como usar las palabras. se sienten como un buzo regalado, viejo, estirado, que me llega a las rodillas y me cubre los puños. cualquiera puede ver lo inmenso que es en mi, lo ajeno, lo usado, lo reciclado. porque así son mis palabras: son de otros, usadas, reutilizadas, usadas de nuevo, para dar mensajes baratos en los que no creo.
¿cuanta gente usó las mismas palabras que yo, con la misma intención, en un mismo orden? ¿puedo reclamar algo que ya fue usado, que ya fue preguntado y respondido y olvidado? ¿es mio porque yo lo diga? ¿mis palabras serán las suyas? ¿las tuyas?
no se como usarlas porque se siente como si nunca me hubieran pertenecido. si son suyas o tuyas, no me importa, porque nunca fueron mías.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 4:45 PM UTC