~~
Away A Spring comes
Through the windows of the old
Where yet I see the past times of gold
Though I could mention
Still takes some times to
Get out of detention
Of all those values of drowning dreams
Though everything passing with trims

Either Come back again
As any other forms
In the horizon of the Wren Drongo, Myna
In the Sparkling bright days
As if red flamboyant of lost Spring
That only Says a beautiful String

But yet the dried leaves are floating
In the water of Calm Lake
Where yet I'm passing a fake
Within the game of light and shadow
While Love wearing a mystic mask
That confesses me too many tasks
Bright and dark moving with cradle

Forbidden to go near
That I Couldn't bear
Flood tide in the river
Full moon broken with eight pieces
In the silver light her silhouette stands on the shore
Behind I see the closed door
In the known Seasons of moon
Century's sigh as if an elusive tune

If slowly lost all
Put those dreams here again
Even I couldn't leave any pain
But the rainy season can be washed
Saltwater of eyes
I try to feel the bliss
Away, will return the golden
Days of Summer  
Off course there will be
Something on the bottom
Love will come on the
Cloud's raft of Autumn
Away, A Spring being a call of beckoning
~~

I have tried too many times
reaching out my hand with no kind returns
pulling back my hand to find
just broken fingers, scars, and burns

Dear muse, I penned this verse with feather quill,
To gently praise your beauty of renown,
My words to float aloft your gaze until,
They softly kiss your eyes like thistledown.

One single thought of you is all I need,
Pure beams of gold to light my dulling day,
A gorgeous wildflower peers from tangled ****,
And paints a splash of colour to my grey.

My lonely shadow drapes this em'rald shore,
With somber heart I yearn your close embrace,
Between us how wild stormy waters roar,
Such tempest I would brave to see your face.

Fond kisses blown on gentle winds your way,
Warm breezes seek wherein the fells you stray.

i.

Thitherward to Corinth,
Thus wherein mine
Grandfather's dad
Was from. To seeith
The bards of old,
Legends of agora
Soul, mingling
With the
Aegean
Sea. O' the natural spring's
Of healing properties, a place
Of new testament biblical fact
And history. How I wouldst hath
Adored to seeith the apostle Paul,
First known as Saul of tarsus; eye's
Once sealed, then opened; By the son
Of God. Fain were the Grecians, in
Yesteryear's thought. The turquoise foam
Betwixt their homes, the beauty was told
And taught. Hither the Mediterranean center
I want to be, scribbling-scrawling, prophetically.
Breathing in the aura, mine ancestors once did.
Spirit-floating the isle's, of pious hymn's for mankind's sin.
Rendering the prognostication's, told in God's own word's,
Rouse a sleeping nation, that once resounded the laureates shores.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Prophetic poetry

Barbecue is blowing in the breeze , the city of Jackson is "rolling up the streets " ..The old soldier guards the city square , thoughts turn to Saturday night , stripers at the lake and the devil-may-care ..
Shady southern avenues and picnics at Indian Springs , lazy Sunday afternoons and playful children on dead end streets* ...

Okay
I know my
Background is
White
But does that's
Not what's making
Me real happy to be
Me