"otherwordly" poems
shots over the plaza town square whatever
it is comin down
i'll meet you in simple decision making
i'll feel you in real courage
and raw fear
but i know that you will be there
the earthen the otherwordly
visions words whatever
the shots over the plaza town square
the dead people
the dead souls lovers whomever
i know that you'll be there
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 3:23 PM UTC
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.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 12:13 AM UTC
One hari, and his Reyna
Riding the chariot of
The otherworldly;
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 7:34 PM UTC
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.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
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.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
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?
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 2:44 PM UTC
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.
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 3:46 AM UTC
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.
Feb 18, 2014
Feb 18, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
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
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 8:38 AM UTC
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
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 12:27 PM UTC
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
Jul 29, 2023
Jul 29, 2023 at 12:39 AM UTC
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?
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 9:08 PM UTC
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.
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 9:12 PM UTC
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.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 5:02 AM UTC
do you exist?
in this realm,
in this time,
in this small blip of moments,
and if so,
how do i capture you?
hold you in my hands.
in my heart.
how do i seek you out?
when you’re nothing of our kind.
neither here nor there.
you’re simply smoke and mirrors.
nowhere, yet everywhere.
you’ve got no flesh and bones,
simply god made and grown.
you’ve got no fear, just quest,
a longing to roam.
are you even real?
or just an ache that I conceal?
if you are just fiction,
how do I conjure you
and keep you with conviction?
you’d be locked into my mind.
giving me endless daydreams,
yet consuming all my time.
then maybe i’d be lost
in your never ending shimmer.
my life and light would fade
in comparison
to a low flicker dimmer.
i would waste my decades decaying.
simple, stupid, and waiting.
i would turn down every suitor.
yet I would be an angry, seething,
lovelorn refuter
and if i can’t have you,
or sift my hands to grasp,
what will be the purpose?
and what heart of mine will last?
Jul 22, 2025
Jul 22, 2025 at 9:35 PM UTC
Wings shimmering in the moonlight,
Superlunary in appearance but all too average in actuality.
The sparkling visage of an angel, deceitful.
Blood trickling through the cracks of the floor, the source hidden.
You can't lose your perceived innocence, if they see you any other way your not so angelic.
To be seen as devilish is like death to you.
No longer would your wings glimmer, no longer would you be as otherwordly,
But sharp tounged and fiery, and burning with rage.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC