Best Alterations Poems
Why Can’t We?
Are we not all mere music notes sprinkled
on the grand staff of time, alterations
between sharp and flat spanning a few chords
looking for some thoughtful orchestration?
Are we not but specks from the dust of stars,
all equal in breath and design, fleeting
sounds still striving to be heard from afar
signs hoping to be harmonized, waiting?
Why then do we thrive on friction, battling
like giant tectonic plates colliding
in the dark never to be reconciled?
Why by so much division are we plagued?
Why can’t we look up and greet a new day,
make a new friend without always asking
dividing questions and wanting to weigh
what so brightly stands before us, shining?
When did you outgrow my love?
When did the fabric of my tenderness
Become too tight
Too fitting?
When did the garment of my passion
Become restrictive?
When did you start to look for new coverings
To clothe the nakedness of your soul?
When?
Tell me…
When did you outgrow my love?
When did you outgrow this nest?
Was it when you found out that you could fly?
Having been nourished, pampered and preened
Your wings of self-esteem
Unfurling to soar on the word wind of my praise…
Was it then?
When did you outgrow my love?
Ah, Hush…my love, no need to speak
For my heart knows the answer well
I know when it all started to take place
I could read your face
The expression you wore
As I helped you dress
That look in your eyes
Belied the lies
That the fit was just right
And so you tugged at the seams
Unraveled my dreams
The stitches undone
My garment you tore
And yet you swore
Alterations wouldn't do
You needed something new
In the dead of night
You took to flight
Undressed, free
For you had outgrown…..
You had outgrown….
ME.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Without a doubt, mankind demonstrates proficiency in many ways. In our own way, we manage and master 'daylight saving time'. Every six months we change the numbers on our clocks, but
cannot change or set the sun. We set the numbers forward in the spring, but cannot change the moon. We adjust the time and 'fall back' in Autumn but cannot alter the stars.
With no assistance from us nor aid from the internet; with no alterations nor assembly required; with no adjustments nor repairs needed, God Almighty createded the sun, moon, stars, and the entire universe.
11022018cjPoSoup
August 28th 1968*
Written: by Tom Wright
3/20/2014
Without joy I faced a mountainous rise,
A pale rider had entry into my day.
Sitting astride, the specter of my demise,
No longer, my concerns, could I allay.
But from uplifted prayer, an answer,
Descended not as an eminent surprise;
I was jolted by news that it was cancer
By the Holy Spirit, God did baptize.
Straightaway from that earlier mount,
Came sudden alterations to my life.
The pale rider was dropped for the count,
God’s unseen hand controlled the knife.
*The day that I committed my life to Jesus
Had Cancer at age 28
Alive today at 75
Praise God
To the people of the earth, we convey this greeting.
We are quite anxious for this long-awaited meeting.
Coming in peace, we are your cousins, as once before.
In a few hours, we’ll be reunited once more.
You will recognize us; our appearance you will know.
We see the sun we once shared ten million years ago.
The planet’s orbit remains between Venus and Mars.
History is forgotten, but we remember ours.
Our first arrival was with the great reptiles roaming.
Something happened, and we could not save them from dying.
Your entire world was completely warm and tropical.
This appeared to be the ideal place for our people.
Our interstellar travel made us masters of space.
However, we knew nothing of climate in this place,
or evolution and genetics within our race.
Your planet is in a section of isolation.
It takes many years to reach your civilization.
Our starships would be bringing news from the galaxy.
They would land three or four times in every century.
Your earth was once a constant tropical paradise.
However, climactic changes covered it with ice.
A strange phenomenon caused some harmless mutations.
Some of us were immune. There were no alterations.
This did not kill, or cause destructive physical harm.
It did start to arouse inevitable alarm.
Two separate groups arose over thousands of years.
Suspicion was perpetuated and caused great fears.
Those who did not leave earth sank into barbarism.
Envy, discord, and conflict were caused by the schism.
We had thought the end came for your civilization.
Your first radio signals gave us indication
that your culture has survived all these millennia.
This discovery has given us euphoria.
We see you have made your long ascent from savagery.
We are here to restore the long-lost fraternity.
We have uncovered much since we abandoned the earth.
Now that you are re-discovered, there will be much mirth.
Perpetual tropical climate, we will restore.
You won’t have to withstand freezing winters anymore.
With genetic mutation, there’s no need to endure.
For your offensive, yet harmless plague, we have a cure.
For what is now wrong, we have the power to make right.
Only let us know how many of you are still white.
Based on the short story "Reunion" by the late Arthur C. Clarke
Can you forgive someone who has stolen your life?
A person with full faculties of the knowledge that
they have invaded your every ounce of pureness.
With only the craving of self gratification, with no
concerns of the damage inflicted upon the naive victim.
Life as you have known it to be is no longer, therefore,
the changes require extensive mind and body alterations.
Not given a choice confuses the brain to believe this
person deserves and should receive the same destruction.
Then you ponder the satisfaction of their demise only
to feel ashamed when you get enjoyment from the thought.
Seeking the answer deep down in your soul while
struggling with the transformation of your future life,
you ask yourself if this person is worthy of the
compassion that is required to mend your sufferings.
The only answer that can possibly ease the curing
process of this human err, however intentional, must
be divine forgiveness to begin your inner self healing.
Yes, you can forgive what you shall never forget.
Contest: "To Err Is Human, To Forgive Divine"
poetically fractured retractions
gnashing night prayers,
scribbling braille,
written sideways
dipped in holy water's resolution,
compromising statements
of disbelief's proclamation
spinning music the color
of nakedly sick psycho, yet
burnished souls keep on ticking
quarter past total trade-offs
in a spoonful of smoky reflections
sans acid's sugar trip,
anointed of rose-reddish
bloody false pretenses
dancing off center phases
in disillusioned
pirouettes of pseudo redemption,
whirling out of control on
staged tapestry's loftiness
surrendered ballet slippers
in blistered half promises,
as twisted metaphors sprightly
tuned out spun anomalies
below birds on a rusty wire tweeting
admissions' cobalt blue hazed execution,
rendered inky alterations' inquisitions
'pon pedaled pink fluff profundity,
exhaling paroxysms' jazzily engaged poesy
in vehemently enraged deliverance,
naught one is ever as they seem
through pigmented film 'neath
figment's imagined looking glass
of ingratiated delusional grandeur
Have grocery stores become delivery systems?
Bearing insidious alterations in organ function?
I asked my local grocer-
"Please show me the labelling of GMO products you carry"
His reply-
"I'm not responsible for the content you consume"
My reply-
"Fair enough, who is"
His reply-
"Way above my pay grade, buddy"
My reply-
"Then your response is...buyer beware?"
His reply-
"Your words, not mine"
From that moment I decided, food
....is the new wild west
Soul-are
Is my soul conscious at this time?
No further question marks in asking
as the query is itself the answer
tentative and playful statement
of intent of letting go solutions
to a problem which is not
The conscious soul
There is an ‘is’ somewhere
out there in there and
where they meet when
is and when they not
No definition and it is
at the point and time
the fleeting flowing moment
ever changing change
‘My’ is longing and belonging
when the meaning wanders
me in fragments wholeness
wonderment and expectation
pondering what’s mine
possessions baggage lightness
entitlements and freedom’s safety
When I am and not am and both
and stand and fall proceed
my journey un-arrested
‘Soul’ my essence source
alone conjoined the Universe
en-lived en-storied
told untold narration from within
without because of why
and how my circles spin
spiral radiate alive and morbid
mortal where the crossing
exit point and destination
questions not what there if now
is after momentary permanent
impermanence for ever lasting
going gone beheld in truth
‘Conscious’ of the contradictions
compliments of contemplation
complementing opposites and syntheses
polar angles sides perspectives
hidden exposed below the surface
and above the tidal mark
of scion’s collaborated offspring
consciousness of consciousness
transcendental comprehension
and awareness of what can
can not be understood
‘At’ where at when at
is lost and found and lost again
no at without the it and as and I
attending context inconsistent
alterations wrapped in time
location in perceptions
‘This’ that there is here
for now and when it is
and gone just when the past
has changed from present
to the future this and
present past and yet again
is what there is appraised
forgotten passed surpassed
uncommented in meditation
upon reflection feeling thought
‘Time’ so much so little just enough
and left beyond the time of time
when time has come will go and stay
forever when my consciousness
which was has gone
20th May 2016-05-16
Contest entered: Is your soul conscious at this time?
I feel my ears pop,
As the light above me increases ...
Columns of purple sunshine shimmer and dance.
I swim up out of the cool, inky blackness of the depths,
And finally reach the surface, head bobbing like a balloon,
Frilly slits on my neck closing up and sealing, as I switch to breathing air.
I suck the thick oxygen atmosphere deep into my lungs, then exhale.
The detritus from my gills comes up with the first breath, and I spit it away,
(Small creatures that follow me, gobble it up hungrily ... nothing wasted).
I need not struggle swimming on the surface here -
The water's high saline level helps me float without effort,
So I lay back and stretch, relaxing my length, as if in a chaise lounge.
The bright purple sky dances with clouds, (and a couple of bright stars),
Two blood-red suns now low, nearing the horizon.
Though they never set, they do crimp the reach for many hours,
Before climbing again to make the sky near-blue.
Clouds are rarely white, (only when the suns are high),
But vary in shades from crimson to pink,
Again, depending on the time of day and moisture content.
I live above AND below the water here ...
My genetic alterations, (very expensive, thus),
Allow me to extract oxygen from air and water, easily transitioning.
I have long webbed toes and fingers to swim speedily,
Eyes that can detect ultraviolet and infrared,
And something similar to sonar, that I can search the depths with,
And also use to tap into the communication satellites,
As well as send personal messages to others here such as I,
Who have chosen the amphibious life of this purple planet.
I have a house back on the island, with all amenities,
But I rarely go there, choosing instead to spend most of my time
On or near the water, searching the depths for the edibles,
Or sleeping on the beach under the stars,
Composing music and poetry during the day, or visiting friends.
I send my work out onto the inter-world web,
It earns me enough to remain comfortable ... and happy.
But what I love the most, are the other intelligent creatures here ...
Most are "sea" dwellers, but all are non-aggressive.
Learning the language of each will take a lifetime,
But it is a labor of love, with joyous reward ...
Friendship!
I had a dream last night
fogged by an uneven frost of the morning
guessing if the sun rose.
It dawned on me
it was night still
with forehead engulfed by the fallen hair.
I figured her out
against wealthy gold streaks of sky
while flowers kept merrying in the garden.
Sitting cross-legged in the pavement
She awaited a long cherished arrival;
the pavement turning
BLACK , white
Black , WHITE
Wh…
Time danced on the cross roads
with a series of its resonant restrained movements.
Its hand drew out for me
and I trying to grab them
found the sun shining
illuminating everything
except shadow of my own construction.
The very next moment
ate up its hands
and shadow intermingled with the silent darkness.
Vehicles tossed up the roads
flooding the pavement with light
Yet,
Alterations marked the vivacity of vagueness
to fathom the unfathomable
and fragmented mirth wetted me from within.
Perhaps,
WHITE would make my shadow flee, I thought.
Sitting there,
she snatched stars from the moonless sky
and buried in the boisterous soil.
I climed up the hill
and fell from the precipice
and she followed
like unshed tears of void eyes.
I kept stringing up my instrument
as I had only songs to offer
that of my own disintegration
And she stood
in front of the church-gate
in deathly austerity.
The deity rose in protest,
Melodies evolved from the ocean-cradle
-filling the air with its uncommon pitch
and my songs kept straying in the corner
looking for fortification.
I dreamt then-
trees stretching themselves upright
trying to peep into heaven:
Deep fragrance of incences rising
where I stood
draped in WHITE
praying with vague distrust.
……..
‘AMEN’
……..
I rose from the bed rubbing my eyes
and at the breakfast table
I sat dismayed
as I remembered all.
The Writer
Inspired by darkness he writes only at night;
Studying stanzas—seducing spellchecks
With the stroke of a pen he is anyone or anything
His great works are subjected to sabotage—prone to plagiarism
His ideas far exceed his lifespan
He will take them with him so that they remain unforgotten
There are times when he is repulsed by his own thoughts
Ashamed that his open-mindedness is so brave— so brazen
He must be careful with his words
Disguising them to avoid unwanted attention
He masters this skill by the memorizing
His important blueprints: a dictionary and thesaurus
The only two books worthy to his cause
He is a word hunter; silently stalking his prey
Snatching them from songs
Taking them from television
Scavenging from scripts
He fishes them out in an ocean of conversations—inspecting his catch cautiously
Releasing the insignificant
Filleting the essential
He doesn’t waste words by packing them into passages
He displays them attractively on a canvas of possibilities
He raises them from lonely letters to surprising syllables
He rescues them from reckless writers—saving them from abuse
His message is vivid and clear, he refuses to practice the art of confusion
Without writing he is nothing; another drone in a misguided world
With it, he is unstoppable
Creating creative carnage
Amongst freethinkers and immortalizing injustices…in print
He sees he world in rich detail; analyzing the outline of all creation
Nothing is missed— from the tiniest atom to the utmost wonder
His memory is impeccable—photographic and precise
Every element, since childhood, is engraved in his mind
He has a fetish for fountain pens—collecting them like trophies
Never using them, only worshiping their power, it is mightier than any sword
Writing is his purpose
Even though he will never be satisfied
Every draft s a rough one— susceptible to alterations
It is his weakness
He is forever troubled by the idea of revision
Small Space
Space is tight in the small garden
Planted on the small terrace
Along the side careless
Climbing beans
Easily grow
Space is limited in sections small
Plants in pots along the rail
Alternating seating well
Carrots seeded
Earthen stow
Space is reduced for entertaining
Partial am I to fresh produce
Alterations seem obtuse
Cuisine freshness
Efforts show
Written for Members Contest : Space on 2/27/13
Mother Earth
An ancient, elegant – once jolly – old Lady,
deserving of so, very much more then
the rape and pillage, the destruction and pollution,
the chemical alterations – poisons,
the theft of, the abuse of
all her innocent, naked, natural beauty.
This old Lady, who has been – who will again –
as self-destructive as any of her daughters –
of man kind – and without the help of man kind’s
selfish, inconsiderate, thoughtless greed.
Will She, ?, will we ?, survive the turbulent throes
of an uncertain, an unpredictable, veiled future -
even if we ( as capable human inhabitants ),
even if she ( the energy, mother of us all ), -
are able ?, to curb our insatiable appetites,
are able ?, to thwart what may be inevitable -
change and a world, - her life time of changes.
Is her ?, is our ?, relationship to this universe
a foretold tale of unavoidable doom.
Is our evolution ?, life ?, destiny ?, our development ?,
upon the breasts of Mother Earth,
to come to an end in a daze, a haze of gloom ?,
as we all ( Mother Earth, Life, human kind )
are destined to become ( once again ) cosmic dust
blowing in the winds of memories hoard, of time –
passing into - becoming spirituality adrift on cosmic winds
– ghostly souls, spirits - once again sailing, searching,
seeking solidity, - once again - of visible form
to walk upon the surface of a much better plane,
better then what has become of what we are now !
Next time around, will thoughtfulness ?, be the tought !
It has been thought of more that opened the door,
that – if we do not, soon change - will be closed –
Forevermore !
B. J. “A” 2
May 23rd 2008
Persuasion's possessive verses
'midst absolute poetic madness
surrendered in rhapsodic poesy,
poets are a tidy sum of quirky &
care zilch of external perceptions,
content to breathe 'round seduction
and unicorns' phantasmagoria
insomuch nonsense amid candor,
directionless winds 'neath allegory
'pon posies and dragon's intimation
twisting mundane to vibrant intrigue,
translations representing prism's
kaleidoscopic colorful impressions
and themes of whimsies' schematics,
transparency & transcendence yielded
'neath abstraction's elaborations,
refining & expounding unspoken lyrical
compositions of a fancied expose
commencing communed communication,
redundancies' excesses never take recess
panoramic hues of conceptualizations' foibles
reverberating gusto of paradoxical aberrations,
chromatic visuals swaying eye's sensory perspective
distorting brain synapses proliferating alterations,
dancing 'tween fiery moonbows & dandelion whims
'pon emotions flabbergasted mid-starry night folly,
prancing within rain's whetted infidelity of sunrises
hanging amongst cosmoses' effulgent constellations,
feet never planted firmly in earthy burnt umber
viewing worldly horizons differently upside zest's zing
of inky relished sublimation and shifting symmetry - -
and we make naught apologies for imperfect paragons