Poetry of Jonny Alexander Nay

Up from the sky, behind the dark and blue mountain. Ethereal, Love. On wings, and winds: myself.

I am her, my movement in eyes. In the way, I reach, but cannot grasp the sky. I am her: and how it hurts to know this. I may stand, but how to stand together: when they have taken home? in this, even disappointment, dies. --- A miracle. A fondest love is born. up from the smokin ashes,  and blood, and trumpet sound,  a black procession, unmourned.  and shirts and dresses, torn.  across a raging ocean: in me. What could we say of love? --- That even from the depths of sorrow. A dove.

That horrible stairway,  falling down, in  charade of darkness.  align in my crystalline stream,  reading the marking on the walls of dream.  Echo: outwards saying,  "How long until, break my bonds, and walls,  to be!"  I can hardly stomach their taste anymore,  and mine, and  that fine line, between, my soul,  and what is too far away to see.  -- But. 

Who am I? --- An open field, of flowing grain. Waiting to be pulled, up from the earth, to be waved by the moon. So why maintain, against the dark? You are the hope. so be in time, in this divine. that rocks the earth, and moon. Enthralled, you and me. Brother and Sister, Wild and Free. We touch, and hold, for in warmth is told, Play of Body, and bliss, a bond of old.

Solitude of myself, between two shores. and the Scottish Moors. Step by Step, on this sacred ground. I am found.

What it means to be an america? --- Is to simply, "believe" in future: with a religious fervor, and all of your bones: to leave your family in a tomb of memory, then go out on your own. To be american: is to give, everything you have, to the present, and loss it all again, in a rush, a traffic. a whirlwind, of words, and a god awful noise, and that goes on-and-on, and never ends. To be an american is to, lose yourself, except for one small voice: "Why me!" To be an american, is to have your color, knocked off you. Treaded upon. To be american is to be dispossessed: In one way, or another.

Beauty What cannot be named, Will go the same, Down the path, of all-Forgotten. So in who’s, black hair, I writhe, and dare. This I have not forgotten: You are not, And simply not, Although it’s taken time, time, and tears: mine. -Intimacy- I can look into jewel-y eyes, daring not to claim. I can be delicate, I can be calm. I can admire, Without a need, ha, to tame. And you will love, And do the same. -With your Art- I see your fire -- I am a cave, And cannot be burned: But I will reflect your name! For eyes are Keen, To show the heart, Though a shield, of hatred, Drawn and raised. I am stream, So, I move, with your art. -I would like to dedicate these songs, to Lisa, whom showed me the mad strength, of this heart. And courage, to be. - Lisa, you’re spirit is a clear river, Your soul is a dark forest, Your sexuality is a fire, that burns me, Cauterizes my wounds, Your sm...