i.

O'
Timely
Apricity;

ii.

Mayest thou
Warm, and blanketeth
Me; as a neonate, as
Thou shalt gorgonize
Me, from within the space,
Ourn embracing is a cataract,
Of heavied chime-together laced.

iii.

Thine speak is comely, Concord
To mine earshot; the copse is
Surrounding, none manor
Needed, just the coney's,
With the delightful tree's,
veneering ourn cot.

iv.

Exhaling all ourn woes
And sorrow's, as if none
Tommorrow; None haste,
And none distaste, house-
Leeks groweth whilst the
Flaxen colored roses follow.

v.

O' oriental Apricity
I'm cold mine lass,
I'm freezing fast;
This winter day
Hath chilled mine
Soul, I needeth thine
Fire-place, to heateth these bones.
Though far-flung, away on stretched water's.
I'm awaiting for thee, mine queen, O' Apricity,
I'm awaiting O' queen, mine swart of the sea, thou holdeth the lock, tis I hath the key, here thou goeth amour', open it up, flyeth on through-setteth me free.



©Brandon Nagley
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
©Lonesome poet's poetry

I am a motherless neonate
I am lapping up dew
with my forked tongue
I am sliding my plated belly
over the cool wet grass

I am entirely my own
I am scouting out rabbit dens
ambitiously
I am engulfing beauty
with my deep, long belly

I am a parentless subadult
I am basking out
under a full white moon
I am flicking out
my black-tipped tongue

I am an unashamed *******
I am unperturbed in my solitude
I am studied only in myself;

In another life, perhaps,
the sudden ruffle of leaves
to the left
would stir me
but here in my reptilian hide,
I am unflinching

I am a motherless neonate
and I blame
no one

I named you once before you were born and once after.  your room was blue for so long.  you’d kick and I’d press my thumb to your father’s wrist.  my hand is still wet from putting jesus as a baby beneath a nervous goldfish.  I know what happens to people like me.

Happy future
Tidy earth
Humanity around the world
Upcoming child is there
The eyes of our delusion
Hopeless frail
But Anu;
On the skeletal idol of cholera
A constant stream of thoughts
How to connect the religion
How to stop the baby in future
The whole empire is in capitalism
Committed to various associations
Fear of that naked newborn
Chase after
This is the edge and edge of the earth
Meeting procession UN
Walk in their way
Born with an irresistible heart
The next **** infant
I am one in the world court
Poor unbearable poet
I want to be independent in the future
And naked neonate.

Ink
blots
impossible
knots
testing the limits of
a circular drive
one hand on the wheel
the other copping a feel
of his passenger mate
dutifully nursing her neonate
foot goes down
to apply the break
fracturing fingers
is what it will take
to lessen
the voice
avoid
the slade
move
the mountain
tell me, don't floaters
eventually get flushed?

I am as young as the hillside
old as a neonate
I am the miles and trials
between our distant smiles,
We will celebrate forever
we were made to believe
the gift of today is not
tomorrow; it is now.
This treasured  gift
is not a destination;
it is a journey
in seconds,
between this one and next.
We are the breathing
monument
of one life's span
in secondhand
experiences
lived within
a blink
of the
eye.

Will not put any claim.
Neonate my poem
has gone gray.

Black days and white
nights.I will recall my
ghost and ask, O god-
do you exist anywhere?

A thread of pain, makes
a family of feet, climbing
in smoke.

Vulnerable to theft, my
thoughts divert me towards
cemetery, where I will
bury my sins.

You remained a question
for me on calender date.I
will hold on the time,
which has thrown me back.

I was not welcome at Hostel Neonate.
Thankfully, this was not a womb with a view. The proprietor, my young, ***** mother, had attempted a swan dive from the staircase of the two story Beantown walkup.  But she failed to stick the landing and I made my debut a month later.  

August 4, 1967, a cataclysmic requiem for the Haight Ashbury dream.  My birth, like that of so many others,  would come to signify the beginning of the end of the counter culture notion of making love, not war.  Free love was no longer free for girls like my mother, and it would never be free for me.  To be continued...

Tell me brother, can you see?
Yes, I can see.
And then tell me, what do you see?
I see the fire waves of a red flaming sea.

Tell me brother, do you wish?
Yes, I wish.
And then tell me, what do you wish?
I wish be blind, black dawns and gray eyes.

Tell me brother, are you afraid?
Yes, I am afraid.
And then tell me, what are you afraid of?
I'm afraid of the lady silver moon and of his pearly neonate son.

Tell me brother, do you feel?
Yes, I fiercely feel.
And then tell me, what do you feel?
I feel my black dense blood like tar and the smell of brimstone in my nostril when I kneel.

Tell me brother, do you die?
Yes, we all do it.
So then brother, Am I dying?
Yes, it is categorical, every breath is a second less, a moment left.
Brother, I tell you that die is living.

Will not put any claim.
Neonate my poem
has gone gray.

Black days and white
nights.I will recall my
ghost and ask, O god-
do you exist anywhere?

A thread of pain, makes
a family of feet, climbing
in smoke.

Vulnerable to theft, my
thoughts divert me towards
cemetery, where I will
bury my sins.

You remained a question
for me on calender date.I
will hold on the time,
which has thrown me back.