Best Change Shape Poems
I saw a dragon flying overhead
In fascination watched him flap his wings
Then suddenly, he was a thoroughbred
Whose smokey breath came out in giant rings
How gracefully clouds play as they change shape
At times it seems they silently collide
Lost in imagination, I escape
Down in the turn we dove to the inside
Just for one second we were in the lead
Time stopped as we raced t'ward the finish line
But then that cloud changed to a centipede
Out for a sunny stroll in summertime
The clouds are filled with fun and mystery
Their beauty lies within simplicity
Sept 20- 2018
by Daniel Turner
Beautiful Mystery
I sat outside at end of day and watched the night close in.
A year had come; a year had gone, since death came for my friend.
The sadness so well known by now crept softly to the fore.
The tears spilled from my eyelids like so many times before.
A small white dog sat by my chair: remainder of a well matched pair.
This little dog I loved so well could not replace the one who fell.
My thoughts were of the absent one, my Boggs, who’d left my side.
I wondered had he been near me and knew the times I cried?
I asked him for a tiny sign that I might hear or see,
That he was in the midst of us, young Casey dog and me.
But then I felt so foolish: commenced to think out loud.
“Oh sure, you’re going to see him in that single, passing cloud.”
And even as I spoke the words my eyes were drawn that way.
The sky had darkened deeply with the closing of the day.
A cloud hung there before me, white and large and clear.
The side view of a canine head, its eyes and mouth dark smears.
Its pointed ears were wispy, it’s nose that of a dog.
It hung there in the twilight sky: the image of old Boggs.
I then felt thoughts within my mind: thoughts heard, as if were spoke.
And still the cloud remained the same, did not change shape like smoke.
“You see I’m fine, I’m here with you, at times you think of me.
My new life is a happy one. My spirit now is free.
Stop knowing such great sadness and stop feeling so bereft.
Give Casey all the love you have, for the time that he has left.”
These thoughts would end the chapter of the sharpest of my grief.
My love could now be Casey’s and I felt a strange relief.
I wondered at the message though, of Casey’s time now left?
The answer came before year three, at the time of Casey’s death.
I sit outside at end of day and watch the night close in.
The years have come; the years have gone, since Boggs came for his friend . .
Deep in the swamp on a full moon
Legend says a creature roams deep in the lagoon
Eyes red and glowing in the dark as he prowls
Even the alligators hide to the sound of his growls
A few brave souls have searched in the bog
For the creature with the body of a man and head of a wolfdog
The legend originated in France from there it grew
To the swamps of Louisiana
The Rougarou
Parents told the legend to their children to keep them out of the woods
Also, to scare Catholics to keep Lent as they should
He is super strong, moves fast, can change shape
Anyone who finds him needs to know how to escape
Put a leaf in your pocket and say a prayer
Whatever you do, never into his red eyes stare
If you should find him mustn't tell anyone for a year and a day
You must heed this warning to what I say
If you make those mistakes
I'm warning you
You could change and become
A Rougarou too
Let me tell how is to be a cloud
They are lovely, I am lovely too
moving swiftly without a sound
when the sky is white and blue,
They are soft like cotton candy
going back and forth as the wind
crosses oceans to reach an island,
or just halting idle by the seaside.
Maybe they will change shape,
A bird or a lion or a little flower
Or like an abstract weird scrape
Shadowing a hidden bower.
Tidy white on a sunny day,
like sheep’s herds moving
Clouds can be heavy and gray
with thunder and lighting,
If they kiss under the rain
hovering over a greenly plain.
A Warm and Windy Day
The flowers are dancing to and fro
with Maple limbs dipping and bowing low
Long grass flowing in jade green waves
as my canopy swing glides and sways
Birds float along on currents up high
both light and dark clouds are draping the sky
They quickly change shape and feather away
Then for a moment, blue skies add to the day
Dandelion seeds lift and then fly along
as the wind in the trees keeps singing a song
The sun will pop out and let shadows be
Then it clouds up again, no shadows to see
This lovely warm day has so much to bring
As I lounge here and write from my backyard swing.
I stood behind my deep breath
with evidence sorrows leaking
from my eyes,
From next door a curious old
poet
walk by with a tongue of
questions
before I could reply he said
"Don't drown yourself in your
in your deep breath,
because this world make you
cry.
Don't throw yourself in a den of
darkness,
to get eaten by the roaring
nights,
because this world is standing
in your light
Brace your face against
the moonlight for a while,
so this world see the glow of
your smile.
When the earth change shape
and
get flat again, don't dangle the
edge,
Live to let everyone see
the grace in your style".
As he further recite his poem
I left go off my tears and held
on
to a smile.
The final stanza of his poem
end with
these words " don't lay your
wings down
to die "
I was walking in the field that time
The maize leaves blinding my eyes,
Star thorns pricking my feet,
I could hardly find what we were looking for;
We kept on following our leader:
He is the one who had sown everything,
Within minutes he had picked five huge pumpkins,
I had none at all.
I felt my effort was being thwarted
My will started to dwindle;
I started following behind him,
My eyes settled on a small pumpkin
His leg already half astride passing it by
I chose to show him how my eyes had opened.
He said its mother had died:
That's why it hadn't fully grown;
Why it wasn't worth packing
For the special people in Harare:
We just left there holding on
To its withering mother.
It had not grown half for us to see
What kind of pumpkin it would make:
They are all green
When they are not fully grown,
But they change shape,
Patterns of shade and what have you.
Each time I think of the small pumpkin,
I wish its mother had survived,
While I could not explain the death
With the rains having been so plush that season:
It had fallen hard and soft and all.
I remember the mattress,
where you saw me asleep
for the first time, where we held
our breaths as friends passed my
door, keeping our love a secret garden.
I remember the mattress,
where we lay lazily in heat, skipping work
and the outside - waiting, wanting,
to have and to hold a place just our own.
I remember the mattress,
how it would become a dream to me,
change shape: from four sides and walls
holding me to you; to a triangle, three lines,
with that other body separating us; to a circle,
forever knowing I could never leave you.
Not that we married.
I remember the mattress,
where I’d read as a child,
feeling mulch and moss in the damp fabric,
sand dunes rising through the seams,
even levitating; the mattress
taking me beyond those words.
I remember the mattress,
as a map of friends, of tissue,
of spilt drinks and nail varnish -
red, your blood, hers - of letters
stuffed under pillow at a parent’s
approaching foot.
I remember the mattress,
pillows pushed to the bottom in sweat,
sheets tossed into a curve like a smile,
those pillows as eyes, tangled legs as a nose,
our splayed fingers the crooked teeth
with white tips.
I remember that mattress.
It was the last thing they loaded into the van.
How empty the apartment looked without it.
Your things in boxes. My eulogy spent.
I remember the mattress.
I remember you.
A blessed cloud moves overhead
I watch its journey
I watch it change shape
Blend into whatever vision I need it to be
Monumental time on my hands
Seperated by blue skies
You're caught in my mind
But soon you'll be back here with me
Meaning seems to fall by the way
The day can be whatever it wants
It makes no sense to wake up
When you are not a moment in grace
You're caught in my mind
Every moment captured
Freezed framed and on pause
My heart has relied on this place
'Words-The Heart of Imagination'
To feel those arms around me,
change shape, size and pressure
I'm lost, feeling strong words spoken,
but not a sound was made.
Are you expressing, what I think
your saying. Or through your silence
of Unspoken Words.Your message not clear
The warmth of your
body so close to mine, not
everyone can make sentences
of body language this divine
Caitlin
10-5-12
Does the moon have holes and why are they there?
It looks like it's been injured, but no one seems to care.
Does the moon have a face? Is it looking at me?
I don't really know. Tell me what you see.
Why is it so far away? Look at its light!
In all of this darkness, it looks pretty bright.
Why must it change shape? That funny little moon.
It has happened many times before, but it will turn round again soon.
Why is there only one moon, but so many stars? Why is it all on its own?
The stars need a leader, something brighter than themselves, so nothing is ever alone.
Even with light, shadows still lurk. Why is it so dark every night?
They are so far away, still at war with the blackness, where the moon and the stars must fight.
Why is there nighttime? Why in the dark must I lay down my head?
I'm too tired to think about that question right now, so just let me go to bed.
Eyes fixed, locked on for sure
Target selected by this majestic predator
Lock tight, body role, velocity control
Change shape, speed make
Drive through raw might
Awesome nature of flight
Vertical stoop from on high
Rip through the sky in the blink of an eye
Killer takes the prize
When the skies ultimate predator strikes
There is nowhere to hide
Legendary Falcon, the fastest hunter alive
Peregrine...
This Raptor surely is
The king of the sky.
I see two lovers kissing, one face missing,
a barking dog, a fallen log, a wheel cog,
a brandy glass, balloons like someone's ****
change shape when all things come to pass.
Pilgrim's progress, perspective roads, spotty toads,
a fencing match, someone smoking a pipe,
those lovers again but you're not my type,
a glass table which someone forgot to wipe.
Candy floss, pink and white, pressed together,
waiting, getting ready for stormy weather;
the sun burst thro' making golden rainbows,
leaving openings like teeth and turned-up toes.
An angel appeared to close all of the doors,
and said: 'What's mine can also be truly yours.'
I'm lost inside a feeling
I thought had disappeared
In a state with a see through ceiling
With walls of pain and fear
The blueprint seemed to be flawless
From materials unknown to man
For those of us seeking solace
From a life of selfish demands
There are no doors or windows
With only one way to escape
The design is totally enclosed
To leave you must change shape
All I see around me
is based on how I feel
which begs myself the question
"Is any of this real?"
All of life's reminders
only come from looking back
Memories are the binders
to this vicious painful track
The barriers around me
are all I choose to see
To change my view prospectively
just might be the key
Perhaps upon a second look
there might be something more
past the pain and fear I took
to fight this evil war
My apprehensive prison cell
will one day set me free
when I decide to see my hell
as possibility
With wisdom I could live my life
outside these walls of fear
I'd say goodbye to days of strife
and never shed a tear.
The beautiful, stoned wall garden
sunlight and barren but for a single rose.
Gazing at the stem which bore a rose of such beauty
his breath was stolen.
As he stared, the stem dissolved,
and the rose floated free amid glittering mists
that obscured all else.
It seems to lighten, change shape, floating
into a vision of
swirling mists, which became a face.
A face of fragile beauty,
the eyes held him entranced.
The lips parted, crimson, moistened,
appealing above them soft but vivid pools
of emerald green,
haunting, looking up at him.
The lips formed the words as they parted,
Reach out thy hand,
Pluck me...
Take thy bloom from your garden.
‘Tis yours for the holding.
He retreated onto the leafless torn jungle of his mind.
Not wanting to go there again...
The siren sounds of her voice beckoning him...
Blinding his will to all, but the beauty beckoning him.
He lunged forward, carelessly.
He almost seem to brush the blood red petals
before the vine caught him.
held him,
with evil eagerness the thorns
plunged deep into him, ripping their way
until he sobbed in agony
the burning whiteness of the pain
wiped away his vision.
Each movement freshened the ecstatic torture.
Falling into the deep flower bedecked forest
his vision was just that
A vision...
Copyright 1999 ACB