One hari, and his Reyna
Riding the chariot of
The otherworldly;



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

You marmalade dropper, you.
You cause an enfilade with the briefest of your words, my love.
You cislunar beauty.
Let me watch you. Make me your auspex.
Stravaig through my heart.
Be your flagitious best with me.
Noctivagants, you and I.
Steal a pimpmobile. Let's run away.

Welcome to the feast
We all come here for the hunger
Come and take a seat a while
Lets talk of friends
Lets talk of style


Elizabeth Squires
She is one to admire
Connecting the dots
So that love may transpire

Kim Johanna Baker
By God’s blessings and grace
Makes this portal
A magical welcoming place

Then there’s Temporal Fugue
Who’s magic awakens
With his humour
Much of my time he has taken

TSPoetry is a royalty
With his noble voice honours me
How much sense that I make
From the words that you’ve choiced

Donna Jones
The three line queen
Pure joy through her literature
Now I’m forever dreaming Haikus

Ouise Godsent Abode
He knows
With five lines he unravels
Then tickles your bones

z-blossom your stanzas
Are so pleasing to the eye
How the vivid words ring
To my ears as sublime

CGY Your haikus
They have blown my mind
To collide with Benji’s
Beautifully long, flowing write

Ghostwriter and Mykayla shea
Even though I rarely see ye
I’ve read through most your poetry
And hope that there’s loads more to read!

As for Clark Dave Hitchens
I just read him in my kitchen
This way I found a witty rhyme
But not to undermine his brilliance

Janae you are on it
Red Flag, Daydream,
Magic Kiss, Invisibility,
Brain *****

Vlassis I will quote you
When I need to charm a woman
Otherwordly Wanderer
When some hope I need to summon

God bless to Tyler Mathews
He is posting every day
I hope the universe conspires
For us to carry on that way!

To learn of freeform prose I can
Take a scroll to SR Millan
And if I want a treat dessert
Ellie Graves has tonnes and tonnes of work!

Zhanuary Arielle
So much passion your words tell
I feel I understand them
Natural imagery does us well!

Marie James Alexander
I pandered to the thought of you
When I put Ramen in my soup
I chuckle at some words you choose

Daniel Steven Moskowitz
Your poetry endless
Your writing is phenomenal
Your arguments relentless

Camiliamhd I wish that I
Could read what you are saying
When I read your pretty poetry
I feel like I am praying!

Vanessa Gonzales
She has got the attitude
With Fredrick Njoroge block style
They push onto higher altitudes!

Kesha You have peirced me
With your double barrel stanzas
I had to go read SoulSurvivor
To practice on my Mantras

Now that the round is over
It is time for us to feast
I thought that I'd invite you
So that we'd have a chance to meet

Thank you all for being
Thank you all for caring
Thank you all for sharing
Thank you all for reading

<3

A flickering illumination in a damp-aired room.
This lonely, glowing aura is the centerpiece of a dark abyss.
Crevices of this dungeon hide walls adourned with filth.
Suddently, wax drips from the candle reverberating an eerie echo.
This startles the only creature thriving in this everlasting, sinister darkness.

Awakened by the cease in silence and intriguied by the flame,
The moth leaves the safety of darkness and innocently begins to fly.
As he gently flutters towards the flame the moth feels something foreign --warmth.
Instinct tells him to continue flapping towards this otherwordly glow.
As if blind from birth and finally given sight, the moth now feels alive.

The combination of heat and light is addicting, he carniverously lusts for more.
Once innocent, the moth has now been corrupted by sheer ectasy.
Now, ceremoniously circling the flame basking in its heavenly glory.
Drunken with greed, the moth hastily swoops within inches of the flame.
A snakelike hiss consumes the room. --Darkness.

Its ravenous haste extinguished its short-lived salvation.
Now, cold as one-thousand winters, the moth can only dream of his lost savior
It can only wish that it had gone up in flames along with the candle now. . .
that pain would last a millisecond.

This pain is eternal.

i look down at my body and realize i am not the plain i make myself out to be. i see my hipbones, ribs, toes, collarbones, kneecaps. bumps and dips. so much variety. i am such a diverse being, with mountains and canyons upon my skin. you are just a boy. you are irrelevant compared to the earth that is me. i have galaxies inside me, worlds waiting to be opened, and here i am with stained cheeks because a boy doesn't consider me enough. i am enough. someday i'll find a boy with crevices and flaws just like me, and otherwordly beings inside, and we will join like clasped hands.

i look down at my body and realize i am not the plain i make myself out to be. i see my hipbones, ribs, toes, collarbones, kneecaps. bumps and dips. so much variety. i am such a diverse being, with mountains and canyons upon my skin. you are just a boy. you are irrelevant compared to the earth that is me. i have galaxies inside me, worlds waiting to be opened, and here i am with stained cheeks because a boy doesn't consider me enough. i am enough. someday i'll find a boy with crevices and flaws just like me, and otherwordly beings inside, and we will join like clasped hands.

I
The remains of love we left behind render the wisdom of our tears,
just like a bomb in the heart, a beating, a bound, a lightning in the sky...
we expect something from this world. Maybe not.
These visions of grim and obsolete grief believe in my particular way to solve these dreams;
What is happiness but a dream?
A slumber composed by attributes of trembling fishes and sad cats.

II
I hear someone yelling at my shadow, telling me that she was there all along, and I did not notice before.
She was like a lament, lovely spreading like a plague;
her motion reminds me of a quite afternoon in the meadow, chamomile tea and snacks of honey;
her eyes were just like stones, falling right into my lungs,
her hair... O Lord! It was like a galaxy, another milky way surrounded by the same amount of black holes the time ever gave, that hair consumes what is left of my personal reality;
the mass of Jupiter, the sleep of Saturn, the mystery of Kuiper belt,
There was no other chaos in the universe so beautiful as her,
because she is allowed to destroy everything we know and reset the laws of the universe, and guard the old Earth within the echoes of a distant dying star, which happens to be the jagged legacy of my youth.
But not in her space, not her planets, only her own rules of the cosmos that serve to herself and herself only,
specially everytime she sings to the sea.

III*
If I could judge the taste of her voice, it's unlikely to state, it's like a new kind of lemon dessert, or sinking the bare hand in a sack of beans;
She is the last incarnation of Galatea, this beautiful machine.
That's what she is. That's why I fell in love with her.
Aurora borealis, Horse Nebula, Andromeda and Zeta Reticuli, from Cassiopea to the depths of Aldebaraan, standing between Ursa Major and Betelgeuse. That is the measure of her spirit, so warm and cozy;
like the lap of a mother during the war, the careful walk of a cat in the night, the eyes of a giant squid, the joints of a china doll, the dust long settled in a basement abandoned 28 years ago.
The last otherwordly dream duel for the fate of humanity, and the conquest of the spirit, that brave and savage impureness we call soul.
I think I know what she is:
another way to die unkown to life standars, my hopeful unrequited love,
that's what she is,
carries destruction in every step, and gives life back with a smile,
she is imposible, she is perfect, she'd never be mine, but she's somewhere in this dream
and that's fine with me.

Pandora is suggesting
Music my mother would like
As if to say

You sound so much older
than you are

With those
Dark tinted glasses
And red blood roses
Running threw your head

Stumbleupon
Is treating me
To verses  
In latin

As if to suggest
I'm so otherwordly
That I sound
Pulse Dead

HelloPoetry
keeps on sending me
Poems about
***

As if to say
I'm not stupid
Enough to let
you in
my bed


Life
Keeps making me Dial
Numbers Written
In Red Pen
On Bathroom Stalls


Just to Ask,
Do
You
Know
Where
Your
Teenage
Daughter
Is

Right Now?

Water flows, as if racing itself to the end of its path,
The dark blue sky is alight with alluring purples and pinks,
with nebulae like otherwordly glistening waves.
Silence surrounds and embraces every being nearby,
as peaceful as even the sweetest of melodies.

Colorful flowers of blue, yellow, and pink grow scattered on a river’s shoreline,
jewels upon nature’s crown.
The river’s lifeblood runs blue, matching the Iris and Brunnera that line its own edges,
enchanting any who lay eyes on them.
Small whitecaps develop, a blemish upon the serenity,
even in complete beauty, nature’s imperfection manifests.

A forest grove spreads nearby,
green leaves and crimson red flowers swirl from shadowy, thick shrubbery.
A purple-blue glow emanates from bulbous pods along the outer edges, pinned on bushes like ornaments.
Pines, towering stalks that pierce towards the enticing but dim sky loom overhead.
There waits within the grove a tender darkness, holding secrets seen by few.

A campfire blazes, illuminating the surrounding tranquility,
warm red-orange flame whipping and snapping back and forth.
Adjacent rocks are scalded black, torched by an agitated inferno.
Sparks are lifted to the ether like minuscule fireworks,
before crashing down to the grass below, as if bombing the terrain.

These wilds are a mystery,
touched by few, but experienced by many.
They await all of us, close by at all times,
but many lack the sight to see them.
If you enter these wilds, enjoy your time,
but do not attempt to control them,
Simply hold on, and enjoy the naturalistic beauty,
It could be yours.

Once there was a lonely crow,
Who fell in love with the nightingale's broken soul
Bewitched by his otherwordly beauty and frailty
She yearned for his song to possess of her body

The nightingale fell in love with the crow's genuine affection
Of how she visited every day to listen to his misfortunes
She accepted his whole being despite of his imperfections
A broken bird like him doesn't deserve to have salvation

They shared a special bond, no one in this world could understand
One moment of their affection is eternity in Time's hand
The two understood that Fate abhorred their unlikely passion
And one night, they knew, everything came to a conclusion

"Sing with me, my love", the nightingale hums
"For this is a memorable night  I wish that would last"
The crow who does not sing, sang a song full of love
Two incompatible birds wove their melodious sounds

"Will you hold my hand while I sleep?", the tired nightingale pleads
The crow nodded her head, not looking at his misery
While holding his hand, she promised of unending songs of devotion
The nightingale closed his eyes and dreamed of their reunion

The clouds, low, thick and suffocating
Made the world feel compact
The airport has normalized
The strange metal beasts
That fly unhindered by gravity
The clouds hang low
The beasts fly high
The sounds of Engines
And Trembling Sonics
Are now heard without context
An otherwordly screech
By some lovecraftian horror
About to pierce the veil
And plummet into our plane

dancing on the edge of Andromeda
planets of pink trees and blue grass
animals of strange proportions
infinite possibilities of people
strangeness of otherwordly physics
warp tunnels to endless planets
cruising among the space rocks

I wish I was out there
I don't really belong

but
I tell myself I'm already here
a floating blue ball in our little galaxy
into whatever is held in the stars beyond

Nature has her own poets:
They do not wander among dactyls
and anapests or widen caesuras.

They dazzle with the quiet frangrance
of blossoms. They create diaphanous
webs, taut and quivering wordlessly.
They paint the backwash of evening
in shades of repose. They translate
the secret langage of butterflies.
The echo the silence of stones, mumble
the soft nothingness of currents of air, shine
rare, silky light through evergreens,
dance, noiseless, among mobile clouds.

How can we compete, with no adequate
expression for love or beauty ? Nature’s
bards bring us, with each dawn and dusk,
the gentle touch of the otherwordly.

I've been accused of witchcraft
by others, you're not the first
as if there has to be something magical
otherwordly
about what I do to you..
because how could it be
simply
that I make you happy?

Her eyes are full of stars
she might have even taken them
right our of the sky.
When I look into them
I see endless swirls of
galaxies and universes
colliding and shaping and molding
to fit into the expanse of her irises.

Her freckles are constellations
splayed across her nose and cheeks
and I could trace Orion,
Sagittarius,
Ursa Major
on her skin.

Her body is made from
stardust.
She's a composite of stars
and planets
and asteroids.
She's heavenly,
otherwordly
one in a billion.
I will never find someone like her
again
and I hope I never have to look.

If she,
this girl made of outer space,
leaves my life,
the night sky will be a blank
expanse
void of all its light
never to twinkle again with
gaseous stars
never to feel the pull of
planets and solar systems
never to experience a shower
of shooting stars.

I will never look up
at the sky
in wonder at the Milky Way
and all that is beyond it
if she isn't there.

She is the utmost center
of everything
the beginning and end to all.
She is a creator and destroyer
and I would rather her break my heart
than never have met her.
She is a goddess,
a living breathing miracle.
She is everything I want and need,
everything I am looking for.

I would lose my life before
losing her
I would fall on my knees
and give up everything I am
if she only asked.
I would be glad to lose everything
if only to keep her.

She is my salvation,
my every thought.
She is my future
I wouldn't want one without her.

She's made from outer space,
this girl I love.
I only hope
I am worthy enough
to deserve her.

happy we are—
my father in the driver’s seat, sleepy pupils set on a starry screen
—palms bloodied with sweat.

“turn right in fifty meters”
otherwordly whistles fall past my origami eyes,
while silver bullets carve a gentle varnish
on their cold, black portrait.

i search for you
inside a brazen, leather-skinned bull;
across a glossy loaf,
i see, scattered and dimpled, your elegantly ruined face,
and can’t help but notice that tinge glazed upon like dressing,
from between my eyes, along the outline of your ear.

and as droplets of canary englazen my entire being
and as i, myself, am prepared,
unified,
and divided again—

and as if you, yourself, were waiting for me
at the end of the elephant’s tail—

i’ll await unchained hands
whose nails will scratch at this unleavened flesh—
or at least, i may hope
—for what am i if not the object of another faraway song?

blessed and cursed
with distance and desire,
which god will tell me
that our fingers may meet?

I've got
trainers I can't train
sneakers that only clump
a fukin jump-suit that can't
jump
and
I've also got the right 'ump

otherwise or otherwordly
he
meaning me
is ok.

each freckle on her face reminds me of a different heartthrob;

the first him, i broke
the first her, i numbed
the other him, i begged to stay
the other her, i let go before it was too late


the familiar her, whom i am close to losing
the otherwordly him, who doesn't even know me
the exasperating her, whom i can't seem to fit into my own standards


finally, me.
each time
I cut
someone else
I also
engrave
them
onto
my
soul

i will attest to this much...
sometimes i sit this canvas and pretend to wonder:
they are not phonetic wars...
we are all somehow literate...
the priesthood relaxed rules for
"dyslexia": we can be noted as having
education in sound encoding...
pretty ******* late if
you ask me...
bad internet connection: primo...
and there i was thinking that
being honest could be equated to water...
how it might flow...
instead... i'm served up with a
crab-bucket of connectivity "issues"...
no... just plain bunny dandy:
you're not up for hopping this day....

i'll have to melt some copper ore
ask two Glaswegians to fight over
a penny to finally invent something
akin to copper wire...
too many interruptions...
it's almost as if all the things
that fly... are supposed to follow Icarus suite...
but no...

a little autobiographical nibble 'ere...
a little over "der"...
i see an apostrophe like i might
pretend to not see a letter
that has to become a surd...
again... i sit before this canvas...
which isn't much of a canvas...

i will take forever to make time
a concise redemption dimension
while attesting to the mere presence
of clouds...
hardly "rolling"...
but clouds are best for:
lest swans and castles...
come the night...
and more... time-keepers of what's
best to engage with THought
without a moral... ought...

all these technicalities...
i need a canvas...
shapes & colours that they ought to be...
instead...
i have these skeletons...
before the altar of God i'm climbing
this impossibility of how words
are wasted...
wasted on: bucra

a litany of best kept: to themselves...
even though i'm willing to contest
that orange, as a colour...
well... it's half as bad given a priori...
organic status...
orange is bad...
           but not when it's an orange... fruit...
or tinsel town or a trek 5 marlin bicycle...
orange is bad when
it's highten-tenet-tightened...
      as a detail... colour is detail:
otherwise to compose shapes...
here i am... bug-frightened hollow in sound...
looking at skeletons...
skeleton lettering... sounds that might
make it into the encycloepedia...
make it into an...

           because that's the correct "spelling"
of the word...
rigid: BULFAR...
    i just invented a word and it's a noun...
noun: posit place, state, origin, temperament,
and time... not a verb...

i write but i want colour...
paradox... i should have been a painter
detailing: not oxymoron,
not philosophy not true or, truant...
excesses in punctuation...
capture sounds... raise them toward
a status of letters...
have to have that
bored-up... pluck-my-eyes out
attitude toward deity...

   but when the sentencing resounds
via: god = word...
i conjure up the exhausting
use of words in all that...
forest that could have remained but
otherwise became...
pile on pile on...
a congested pike of amnesia-work
of... that still elusive spelling of...
fwench... table...
alias... bew-row...

phonetically that's how it looks...
ugly... beau-rho...
bew-row...
      biu-ro-kra-si...

that i write i have to cringe before
god while all other phonetic encodings
are wasted because
there's some dynamic of "authority"
involved because...
a handshake and a word-from-mouth
apiece is not enough to settle score
that i don't need to belittle man
that man belittles himself... galore...
is...

   a revision of punctuation at best...
punctuation being considered an
inter-verbum dynamic and since
in english there's no apparent
inter-verbum dynamic or the use
of diacritical markers...
the whole canvas the point of...
   let's pretend it's almost chess-esque...
this... chicken-scratching
scribblin' ol' me...

encyclopedia... that's apparently correct...
but it's underlined...
so there's a missing Siamese grapheme
waiting to be discovered...
rules... again: rules...
maybe... some greek?

i write China less as caron chasing doubles...
but more like the greek Xa Xa Xa laughter...
which became odd when reading sort of
Spanish of ja-ja-ja-ja...
     bothersome this... H this "e"...
this h... this "M"... **** it the letters
are toying with Copernicus...
no... they're not... but i'm also not equipped
with a compass... either...
who said compas and not compass
who said... the former looks ugly
the latter looks pretty?
and who objected to this language
being so "raw" phonetically?

en-sigh-clo-***-d-ya...
    d-ia...
       jumbling vowels together like it's
a spectacle of a tornado but
there's not ******* wind or
flush in the toilet...
great urn of mammon! speak!
hollow out... let's pretend otherwordly
dictates of supposing agony...

it's not like the english languge could ever
be undermined...
low risk status...
how they speak Fwench
BUT how they rrrrite it... emphasis on a
trill: rather than a Hark... X...
is another boulder of sort, "problem"...

but most certainly this is not painting...
if i were painting i wouldn't be
x-raying... these words these bones...
i'd have fully gravitating forms
and i'd have colours...
i'd be detailing clouds as not
swans or Rembrandt castles
and all "things" psychiatry prone...
i wouldn't be drinking red wine
wanting more: sugar...
more... water!

i relaxed today being inspected
by a female barber...
god... impromptu: i wanted to **** her...
she cut my hair like i might have
had a *******...
bartablondine: blonde moustache...
sodden tricklet...
these details of hair left most exposed...
from ***** to the chin:
yes... the mythological status
of chin and jaw-lineage...
hardly Finnish...

        but the hands on the head
felt most relaxing...
i pretended to doze off...
i only might wished for a whipping
of a non-existent *******
in a furry of pouching... cushion esque
lips...
then again: it might have taken me
a year or so, +, in having finished
reading a Pickwick Papers'... monthly..
entry... which it was...
serial praise...

ava lauren ava lauren....
****-tiptoe a sacred nugget of ****...
less concern in Cyrilic than in
any other... phonetically encoded a...
as in ah-sigh...
variant... denoting more vis-a-vis
aLPHA...
        prime suspect... supposedly...
no...

again.... what alleviates me from
not, to, stressing the sound
encoded in a letter
red is red...
blue isn't exactly black..
BL
BL
                 -ue
                 -ack...

hardly denoting it playing a...
******* fiddle... a violin...
when i am making excuses for a take
on volume while stroking my beard
and not a ferret...
chance me! you catch me a squirrel...
i'll denote you
both Robin and the ******* of Nottingham!

a paradise for opened oysters....
at least... gulped... down...
sobering...
slobbering tow: two...
              i slither i slobber...
this agitating moon...
this agitating closure... sun... exposed...
this, "somehow"...
all EU funding went into
a motto: all autobahns feed the traffic
toward... WARSAW...

but i'm hardly living... that sort of...
a... "sein und zeit"...
i'm not living this variation
of a congested marathon:
i have hours, there's a day...
walking a sum-up 'un of it
is not to my ******' liking...
i'll be adamant when licking
a Romanian **** or a ******* strawberry...
because ****** are ****** last
and **** first...

i miss ******* like i miss:
not being made tough:
experienced in a demand for flimsy filming it...
a mirror is / was an undermining
project... granules...
soothsayers... whip-em-silent...nibbling...

my beard 'airs are not like my
*****...
trim my 'ucking gravity of the brows:
assumed...
before...
left alone... this tired...
this creasing: too much...

  this knee at the altar of a beggar
come: nuance England via
an adhan...
not, e-nuff... / enough...
  call it hue of 'ringe
how can GHETTO:
                 how can... scrap of meats...
     linger like so...

in these letters... borrow some...
like... **** no...
no russian no prussian no austro-hungarian
leaves me gravitating to timid...
bottle of wine, solid...
i'll be leaving having
attained status of a St. Petersburg
grade 0 tourist...

i abhor writing...
each time i excavate this canvas
i'm tying myself to a deity outside of
a polytheism...
how does... multi-purposive...
functioning... plethora...
extension... jargon... loot...

    my cracking of egg shells...
my little Xiny...
chase...
             the plurality word
form for a people...
Xiny - ce-ha-iny...
    like Niem-cy...
             not exactly germs...
more like brick... mortar...
a bottle of wine...

a bottle of bricks...
i expect no wine...
i somehow envision a chance
for a trickle...
i want a teddy... a Theodore...
i want a: HWAM...
what's that?
phonetically it's... Barking &
Dagenham...
colourfully...
fit for a flurry...
it's a... pigeon *******
on a top-hat... *******...
spectacular...me... you are
assigned to heave...
a Forrest Gump from
a Forrest Gate in between
the A406 and... what's that
"blunder" in the middle...
between Ilford and St. Paul's and...
the praising of hybrid... walling...

i heard a piano... crash & fall...
i heard the skimming off details...
i heard the tired affair of circumcision
like i might hear
the grass being mowed
of the hair hair being trimmed...
i heard the donning of the kippah...
i heard so much i hardly forgot
tuning to deaf... dear me...
i heard a piano fall...
i heard a chandelier succumb to...
i was willing to borrow a barrel...
i forgot to can the laughs...
honest to god...
everyone is supposed to forget
to can the laughs...

otherwise we're dealing with androids...
aren't... we?

Onto a beam of light; I collided
Large impact
Devoid of pain?
Interesting.
Like the flash of lightning
A being stood before me
Hunched over
With tired eyes
Highlighted by malice
Familiar, yet otherwordly
As if it were a busy subway tram--
The Lighter barreled toward me
With one hand
I grabbed it
It wanted to dance
Soon, I grew bored
The rhythm of the Lighter
Took it off, toward the edge
The Lighter had fallen.