"otherworld" poems
sometimes the hardest part of the day can be waking up
i went up like five
and down like ten more
world spinning head on the
floor
hands shakingshakingshaking like wind blown leeeeaaaaaavvvvesssss
twice wasn’t enough, but the third time is always the charm—
i’m saving that for another day.
i’ve flirted with death
called him up on a tuesday
whispered sweet nothings— or maybe sweet somethings—
to him while his parents were asleep in the next room.
we cast devious glances at one another from over a bowl filled with
***** and blood, he knowing tonight would not be
the night
because I wasn’t ready— not yet anyways.
it was the loudest and most quiet moment of my life
my hands like the weights of Ma’at ten pills in one
nothing in the other
the world feels so different now
like i am playing with some otherworld
watching them watching me
waitingwaitingwaiting
on me to stop playing pussyfoot with the last round
i’m moving and i guess that means i’m living
i’m living so i guess i should be moving, but all i want to do
is
sleep.
i’ve set fire and doused it with gasoline
i’m burning and i guess as long as you’re
burning you’re alive.
but sometimes waking up in the morning can be good
it can put a wicked animal grin on your face
mouth full of broken glass and breath a chemical fire
as you wonder
*if that didn’t **** me
what will?*
death didn’t catch me
district twelve wins again
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 5:38 PM UTC
Ash Tree, Scorhill, Dartmoor.How many times did I pass you?Gnarled, twisted, soulful;You were a gateway to my otherworld,A silver portal to the circle of my heart,The winds have shaped your passage,Like a grey ship on stormy seas you have endured.The wave years have taken their toll,Branches bend now in nodding sleep…Your roots entwine the grey granite rocks,Smooth and strong, they bore my silent tear streaked dreams away….
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 1:16 AM UTC
I will make haste,
take thy talent,
copy and paste.
That some dry night,
when muses fail,
I'll dip my pen
into your pail.
In hopes that I
might loosen the tongue
of that incessant voice within,
that otherworld hum.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
Zara, love of life,
Spake in curtled call
Allfather, lover of light,
To bestow those "ants of the earth"
And arch-bound as the sinew of bowstrings
Howling as the volley hertz roped
Along the celestial violin
Pluck souls from their bodies
In symphonic prediction
Ascende! On the wings of love's Valkyrie-- in her shining eyes will you greet the stars of the Otherworld!
___________________________
Cleaning hide chunks from Buffalo tusks
There is a stranger, who knocks upon my door
The fire is wide and welcoming,
Borea chides the earthenwork
Outside, the stranger calls
distant through the door.
____________________________________
A last heartsong,
The cup overflown with honey
A facsimile of symmetry
And not distinctly human
There was something to love in that,
Just the simple inclusion
Of all the other animus
Being formed in their conclusions
And following the arrowpoint
Floating by the bolt
What losses there to seek
Beyond a veiled humanity
We strike the fire one last time,
She to travel the mountain passes
Ashen eyes, holding viscous memories solidified
I to gather my quills
My thoughts and brush quickly the embers of love.
Into flame, carried deep into the hearts of the world and explored in violent disassociate
Particles red and hot
Then would Zara Spake again,
"with his eyes on the earth, will he never see but the stars."
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 12:42 PM UTC
Between steady breaths,
I float away in peaceful sleep
although, I am not quite here
and I am not quite gone.
My slumber becomes a nightly rehearsal
for when the final curtain falls
only without strings attached,
as I flirt with oblivion
and keep my options open.
Each night I ghost the otherworld,
leaving my body wrapped in a duvet
as I run away with my dreams
and return before dawn breaks.
I have become death's friend
as I surrender to the darkness
without agreeing to forever,
as I experience my temporary death
with daily resurrection rights.
We share in the nothingness,
as my consciousness is on pause.
Tonight I'll die again,
and tomorrow I'll return.
It is the perfect arrangement
with death who waits patiently, understanding that I'm not quite ready
for anything so permanent yet.
©️Lizzie Bevis
Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 7:25 PM UTC
Technical issues
Malfunctioning wires
The power sporadically
Comes, then expires
As quick as the rains
In cascades upon town
Serenade me to sleep
As they crash all around
And depart to the chirping
Of crickets in thickets
Of dense foliage
As the canopy glistens
Bejeweled in the dews’
Opalescent sun rays
As the colobus leap
To and fro as they play
On display is a wilderness
Otherworld bliss
And the people as natural
Components subsist
Off the land that has nourished them
Centuries old
Now a part of their story
Mine set to unfold
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 1:03 PM UTC
hey, ma. it's been a while.
i don't know if you remember
the sound of my chirpy voice
anymore.
it still comes up, every now and again;
when i'm baked beyond my brains
when i had just cracked the rankest pun
when i'm tangled in a boy's arms, lost -
lost. just like you ma.
i wonder where your mind takes you
when the ringing in your ears doesn't seem to go.
when you dissociate into the otherworld, and
the lashes of your
third eye sweep me away from your vision.
i thought the power of the universe was
supposed to be
abundant.
yet i have lost you to the vortex of your gods -
the same ones that leave
only the wind
to rock me to sleep.
ma,
i am pockmarked with your bad habits.
i lose touch with reality
myself, looking for the warmth of your
recognition.
i guess space is too large
for me to find your meditative corner.
or perhaps
i'm just looking in the wrong spaces.
space is nice because you have
no weight on your shoulders.
i miss the feeling of having
no weight on my shoulders.
when i grow up, ma
i want to be just like you.
lost.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
Emerge from the depths,
Let your beauty shine,
Sing your song for me tonight.
An exquisite creature,
Graceful as a wave.
Your otherworld beauty shines like the moon,
Silver scales glint in the light,
A welcome distraction.
Beautiful and mysterious,
The charming seductress of the sea.
Luring poor souls to beautiful death.
Do you need love?
Do you need to pamper selfish vanity by proving your beauty deadly?
Swim mystical enchantress,
Shine your scales another night.
Sing for me again
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
~Christi Michaels~ February 2015~
~ω~⊙~ω~
suspended here
land in-between
chasm of otherworld
lays within
dreams that ride on
Spirit's back
bring stength through years
moments past
no fear of yarns of old that linger
within my heart~deep and tender
beats to breeze
moves tassled grass
rivers cascade
cleansing fresh within
my flesh my soul
gifts bestowed upon my Being
accepting all I'm given to know
~ω~ω~⊙~ω~ω~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
☆♢☆♢☆
Existential awareness
surrounds her being.
Emanating light in
the most magical of ways.
Lythe and lissome,
filled with the essence of Love.
Her smile settles in as a
wave into sand.
The embrace is filled with
compassion and mercy,
touching and dear...
One is blessed by energy received.
Our "I dream of" joyously present.
"Your wish is my pleasure" Genie,
reveals wisdom of
the Ancient ones.
A divine vessel of Being
Words of clarity, knowledge and
understanding, eminating
from a place of otherworld divinity
Her voice is an instrument of
Celestial Beings. A mistress to the
Heavens, She blesses us
with each communication shared.
Grateful for her miracle of
Manna (Mana) We are gifted by
the gentleness with
which she shows the way...
☆♢☆♢☆
☆Jeannie is a Channeler☆
(CHANNELER. : a person who
conveys thoughts or energy from
a source believed to be outside the
person's body or conscious mind;
specifically: one who speaks
for nonphysical beings or spirits.)
(MANNA: the power of the
elemental forces of nature
embodied in an object or person).
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Silver vein'd and shaking through.
The night oppresses me with a speed relentless
and a sound constant: the insect hum, the air conditioned rattle.
And I drop myself and I tuck myself and I sleep myself
as best I can.
And her hushed song, her morning song, her routine song,
while she plucked herself white and shaved herself clean,
enters the sacred corridors of my sleep. And her face burns
into my mind. Something religious. She's a godhead,
one who exists with or without my permission. And I'd
sing along with her if it weren't for the sleeping. But I'm
diffusing all responsibility and I'm creeping toward the center
of that otherworld, where logic and time bow to her
and who am I?
so I bow too.
The days of my old life, the ones well lived, bleed in
and the regrets smooth themselves out and I dab at
her makeup with a wet napkin and I say this:
Do you have any idea how many times I've said
I love you to an empty room?
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC
Twisted spirits
Mangled corpses
Cities of cemeteries
Limping, walking
Darting about
Power filled or
Completely burned out
This is the realm of the otherworld
This is where you want me to travel
This is where you want to go
Because you want to see it for yourself
But I've been here before
I know what it's like
Sure there's attractions
There's some nice places too
But you want to wander in the dark
Looking for a solution
To someone else's mistake
And you need me to help
You want to tap into my power
I've earned this,
I've put the work in
I've taken the risks
To gain my energy
You're asking me to call debts in
To ensure the safety of our group
Of our coven
Our circle
I know you'll do it anyway,
With or without me
I guess I'll be your safe guard
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
I am surrounded.
Surrounded by beautiful artists,
artists from every way to birth creativity.
for we give birth to memories
help them ease into their next incarnation
we bring the memory of music and words
images I'm sure my cave dwelling grandmother
dreamt of one night after a heavy meal.
we are each
in league with Da Vinci, Socrates, Shakespeare
We dream their dreams
We see their visions
We see our own simultaneously
We walk up to them in the dreamtime
shake hands
and sit for a cup of joe.
For me the title of
Bard is not easily given
it is a very sacred role in this world
It is the voice of the Otherworld in ours
It is the touch of the Muse
Yet, I am in the midst of so many Bards.
How do I find myself in this beautiful life?
I feel the excitement building
I feel the Muses converging
they have been working overtime recently
The amount of energy created in the birthing of a creation
stirs the energy around it, creating more
these are the ripples in the cosmic pond.
Who ever threw the pebble in the midst of my family
Thank you
Our homes will be messy
Our eyes red
Our clothes disheveled
But the things we will create!
The epic stories we will tell!
This locomotive is speeding up
The universe is slowly cutting away all those things
which get in the way
Sometimes it's a loved one
sometimes it's a trinket
sometimes it's your whole way of life
whatever it is
I see the obstacles around each of you
falling away
I see your lights shining brighter and brighter
Are you ready?
We are sitting in the midst of a renaissance
we are the renaissance
and I for one am relieved to be
Right Here,
Right Now.
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 8:15 PM UTC
I
Hero
in
Hero
He struts into a meeting feeling meek and needy but,
greater than the digit zero.
He figits around not breaking much mental ground although,
these restless legs could corrode the tiles to dust.
Nothing has been able to hold his attention,
they call it ADD.
He calls it the human condition.
He sees fear in a spoon full of dust,
shrugs it off continuing to pump veins full of rust.
Packs a bag and gives sister a hug,
trudge down under I95 reaching Broad to south Philly,
to be at peace and tormoil living amongst the crust.
II
Trying marijuana maintenance
Trying therapeutic intervention
Trying geographical relocation
Trying to be happy.
A pale king in the end a peasant feeling sappy.
He writes
He fights
To the bitter end he sees too many loved ones send,
Letters from the graves they dig for themselves.
An addiction which cannot bend and always leaves
Them broken.
These letters represent a token of hope to overcome
Dope, from beyond this temporal transient world,
He receives these letters.
Don’t give up! Don’t give in!
Written, in beautiful otherworld cursive.
III
These restless legs can wear the cotton sheets
To fractured fibers.
A splintered conscience,
A glint of hope,
These trans-dimensional letters arrive on a silver rope.
The pale king takes it all in with no buffering
And dismisses his selfish suffering.
He has won
He is the hero of this story.
The pale king who once strolled the Kensington
Streets less than zero.
Is now a ****** hero.
Rally around this man,
A clan of beautiful addicts,
Laughing and not being normal,
Who wants a life which is normal?
All his friends
All his friends
All my friends
The memories together blend,
In the end our fuck-ups make us stronger,
Than the accountant making ends meet in a
Culd-a-sac street sign labeled dead end.
We spent the last ten years trying to feel alive,
And will spend the next ten feeling justly deprived.
His letters scream to defend:
That it is all well worth it, in the end.
Where are those friends tonight?
He visits them at their headstones,
Reminded where it leads, a life being ******
Shivering cold to the bone,
Hot sweats dripping down flannel folds,
All we wanted was to break the mold.
He is more than a statistic of decimals and
Digits, greater than the sum of zero.
He is the ****** hero.
No longer
Less
Than
Zero.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
There is no time
It's like in a play where
the wet streets and architecture
the soles there
career and zoom
But I -
Nothing but time
Or like in a fairytale when
the leavery and gray rain
the fields there
rustle and unwind
Yet I -
keep walking here
being part of - but at a
distance, playing there
I like it like that
And then I
leave.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
Fascination in obscure
words or sensations
in my deep states,
seemingly insecure or even uncomfortable concepts to some
yet holding a great enigmatic eloquence
in elegance
when looked at through
a different prism of the crystal.
I could even say that my
Deep Stateness
is of the copper-dark
radiating scarlet paired
with lilac,
inky blue
and grey mist
at the Lighthouse Keeper’s shift
when all stories come alive
and what’s seemingly real
turns feeble.
An example word of such would be: “Incalescent”
or
“Evanescent”.
It holds that feeling
independently
from its cognitively
given definition.
Astrality, to me,
if you’d like to ask as a help
for placing it,
may be most probably
the aforesaid
Deep Stateness married
with the presence of My Lover, otherworldly consciences
without words
(as if I were some astral being
embodied
and aware of its misbelonging
to this world
and my moderated
female body)
and my Fernweh
for my Home.
It’s also that Phronemophiling,
like a thing greater
than getting high on drugs.
It is also my endearment
at my antics
or getting Philosophy
in me and what I read
as lovely,
playing naked on guitar
at night alone in silent dark
with trust in my eyes without glasses, looking at stars bravely
without this handicap device
and lonely daring the world
to tell me
I cannot see them without it
on,
using the strong reverberating
of my voice so pulsing out loud
with sureness and passion,
or fascinating at my tears
for more than two days
whilst in commotion
after reading deeply
“The Dead Poets Society”.
Surely you must have felt it
one way or another some time.
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 2:42 PM UTC
up & away floats my red balloon heart
lifted
lightened & (when) you kiss me feverish, the spring flowers
crushed beneath (our) bare feet & i think this must be the price
to the universe paid for love so sweet & so unrelenting, darling, you are
the stillest of seas after storms have swept past, the softest
lips i have ever touched my body
your body & be gentle with me:
in your arms is some kind of otherworld, the dis joint ed
passing of time
bothtooquick and f a r t o o s l o w but i am left always quite wanting
more & we become galaxies
when the lights go out, starlit & desperate for expansion
from the confines of our selves so, o love of mine, let us
mudddy the space between you & i
with uncharted exploration. a poetry of flesh on
flesh & i will lay you down tonight.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
If I told those
Who knew so little
Of another world
Who knew our tales one thing, it would be
That Thor is real, but he has become something to sell to us
That Jesus is real, but he has become something of a conflict
That wars are real, though to you I'm sure they seem insane.
I don't know you, and you don't know me, humans of the Otherworld
And by the rules of our game that should mean we hate one another.
We live by some standards, but sometimes standards build empires.
I want to tell you,
That some of us don't wield hammers,
But pens.
There are those of us who
Hear about a fight and
Run to break it asunder,
Some of us,
Really are heroes.
I've never met many, but I know they're out there,
Distant humans on a distant planet,
I guess we're both
A little detached from humanity.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
I.
He used to be troubled in
his thoughts.
One day, he decided to
talk about it,
write about it.
With each stage came
understanding.
Now,
he dreams only of peace.
II.
Though fear never leaves him,
he hugs it so tightly
like a lost boy finding
his dad.
With every soul he touches,
he sees not beasts but
blossoms.
Each with their own
fragrance and thorns.
III.
Coming from a lifetime
of detours, the
forks on the road now
ready to be mapped out.
Choosing to embrace
them all: caged
hearts of loved ones,
caring more with every
burden freed.
IV.
At the end of all ends,
he lets himself sink,
a former wanderer at
home with the earth.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC
I fell in love
With a black bird's wing
Stretched out wide
Bearing the night sky
I fell apart
On a broken sea
Waves of screams
And otherworld things
I fell to my knees
In a green clearing
Lit by all the lights
Of a faerie's sigh
I fell into place
To a mother's cry
Echoing the universe
Giving birth to life
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 4:38 PM UTC
Another world where the sky is always purple and red and filled with cotton candy clouds
Where the air smells like vanilla
Where oceans are that perfect blue and beaches only have white sand
Where everybody wears their heart on their sleeve and feelings are always put into the open
Love is love for what we see it in movies
Imperfect but awesome just the way god intended
And as you travel this new world, rose petals bloom at your feet and seas part around you
The ocean stops crashing for a second just so it can remember this moment
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 2:18 AM UTC
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 5/27/2019
Mother, you know - darkness is coming,
so lend me a lantern
that I may distinguish in the dark what is black.
That I may feel the white of the jasmines,
though their smell still makes me think of death,
but this affliction I would like to cure.
Plant the soothing flowers
and say - on the field furrows, like on a lowland meadow,
moments of happiness bloom as well
from a passage - to a passage.
Send me a letter of hope that you will be able to come
and that you will blow the candle out
when the time to wake up comes.
You will lead me by the hand because I am still a child,
and I'm not ashamed to ask you - talk to God there
about difficult matters - after all, you also
shared the burdens of existence,
here where every day is different
and where there are no sinless.
Copyright © by Wieslaw Musialowski 5/26/2019
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 8:47 PM UTC
tiny speck of gold,
an insignificant, grain of sand,
realised, it's equal to the land,
how could that be, tumbling wavewashed on shore?
how could so tiny, be deemed much more?
it took a lifetime shoved, and tossed by years,
eroded, polished, in saltwater tears.
Never even daring to dream,
sparkling tiny, in sunlights beam.
A fleck of dust, so small, so low,
how can it contain this sunlight so?
Once fairies said to a little girl,
"the truth, can bring you to our world,
we in fairy can be met, let truth ring like a bell."
Believing their story, remembering well,
a speck of gold, caught in giant golden hive,
which entered the room, lying down on its side.
Cogs moved and whirred,
lifted this vessell up,
an insignificant, tiny head, bowed down,
two angels, one placed a medalion, another a crown.
Returning to earth with invisible, otherworld treasure,
pushed aside by the men, snided down by their measure.
Her little heart buzzed, like a bee aloud,
mood altering peace, floated high on a cloud,
been swatted, and hurt before and then,
karmically bound, to unravelling men.
They hit out at small, they trample it down,
those haughty sunflowers, came tumbling down,
sat amongst grasses crushed,
down and trampled,
bending and blowing
tho' eternally growing,
throughout all lifes storms, never fully broke,
ribbon of grass stronger than windfallen oak.
Fairytales are true,
if only men knew,
they definitely would not, do the things, that they do.
It's never too late to learn,
how to avoid infrared, radiation burn,
funnelled and furnaced in a cosmic dance,
never dare leave destiny, to luck and chance.
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 5:51 AM UTC
In another life
I am free
I have no temptation
Into the otherworld
Where the darkness is
Alluring
In another life
I am free
Sadness cannot reach me
And failure is never on my mind
Where darkness
Simple does not
Exist
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 8:21 PM UTC
a gaze into a wavingly
hot otherworld
shining beneath
a monochrome skin,
groaning for its
meat of color;
and in the otherworld
an other-man,
with a gray hat and
face, looking
at the soulless mimic
forms which gazed
back at him in identical
agony,
as if they too knew
the cost of a life
Jul 13, 2025
Jul 13, 2025 at 5:45 AM UTC