Best Changelings Poems
Across from this municipality by the bay
I silently stand here
Looking deeply upon the open waters
Currents that make there way
Beyond the moon reflecting tide
The colourful lights....
Stillness drowns, the sounds all around
What a pretty montage, the skyline seems
Before my searching eyes, these images....
Turning inward, toward the depths of my mind
This quietness of floating, through time
With these metal laced wings
Weighing my spirit, to this place!
Caught within a world that I have never belonged....
But oh how it looks so lovely
Such portraits upon the wall
Except for these ones here
In black pearl frames; blank....
Center stage; as they stare back at me
Fireflies with fangs, swarming above the waves
On their way atop the jangled, turbid turquoise sea
Towards the glitter and the dreams
In the nighttime....You stand there?
Until one day you finally find
Reality....
Is but an illusion
Played amid varied and disappearing shells
This flicker of light; this vapor of sight
Beautiful chords of enticing pastel shades
Vanishing behind, a fog shroud mist....
These turning currents; which sweep towards the dissertings despair
With invisible brush strokes; charcoal
Splattered upon this absorbing canvas
The crimson crawl; changelings, like a disease
Clingling shawls....
Turning bright to bitter red
While the concerto plays on, its joyous song
And metal laced wings, fall from me
Beyond the skydome, of tangible tides
As poison basted water lilies....
Beckoned beneath the solidago; smiling
Pointing to all their pretty pictures
Before the fireflies with sharpened fangs
Hung their veils....
Upon the black pearl frames; blank
Chanting their songs, alluringly, to them all
As the splash of fallen things, fell; set my soul free
A new tune to compose, that shall never fade, away
While looking across the panthered purple waves, towards the city
Tides turning from arcane blue, unto another hue
Now rising....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Rabbit!?
Angel?
Demon?
Faerie?
Witch?
Random labels
None apply.
We are all changelings
Pure and simple
Or complicated and unpure
Depending upon the mood, the moment, and our momentous events.
Divorce, death, cancer, car wrecks, they all take a toll on us.
Changing us completely in one second.
Giving us a perspective we never had before.
Showing us that our opinions are not the same now.
Sometimes switching to the opposite side in one second.
When we become the needy, we stop bad-mouthing the freeloaders.
When we realize how close we are to homeless, we maybe develop a little more empathy for them.
There are life-changing events happening every day.
We may go into some of them kicking and screaming,
But we still
Go into them
Changelings that we are.
Angel? Demon? Faerie? Crone? We’d best leave labels well and good alone.
Across from this municipality by the bay
I silently stand here
Looking deeply upon the open waters
Currents that make there way
Beyond the moon reflecting tide
The colourful lights....
Stillness drowns, the sounds all around
What a pretty montage, the skyline seems
Before my searching eyes, these images....
Turning inward, toward the depths of my mind
This quietness of floating, through time
With these metal laced wings
Weighing my spirit, to this place!
Caught within a world that I have never belonged....
But oh how it looks so lovely
Such portraits upon the wall
Except for these ones here
In black pearl frames; blank....
Center stage; as they stare back at me
Fireflies with fangs, swarming above the waves
On their way atop the jangled, turbid turquoise sea
Towards the glitter and the dreams
In the nighttime....You stand there?
Until one day you finally find
Reality....
Is but an illusion
Played amid varied and disappearing shells
This flicker of light; this vapor of sight
Beautiful chords of enticing pastel shades
Vanishing behind, a fog shroud mist....
These turning currents; which sweep towards the dissertings despair
With invisible brush strokes; charcoal
Splattered upon this absorbing canvas
The crimson crawl; changelings, like a disease
Clingling shawls....
Turning bright to bitter red
While the concerto plays on, its joyous song
And metal laced wings, fall from me
Beyond the skydome, of tangible tides
As poison basted water lilies....
Beckoned beneath the solidago; smiling
Pointing to all their pretty pictures
Before the fireflies with sharpened fangs
Hung their veils....
Upon the black pearl frames; blank
Chanting their songs, alluringly, to them all
As the splash of fallen things, fell; set my soul free
A new tune to compose, that shall never fade, away
While looking across the panthered purple waves, towards the city
Tides turning from arcane blue, unto another hue
Now rising....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Rabbit!?
Note: This is not aimed at anyone in particular; surely not humanity!
Underworld, of changelings,
where shadows loom,
There lies a world, vitrified, consumed,
Its surface hardened, a relic of alchelimes,
a testament to sorrow, frozen in language
warning signs.
Once a haven of life, brimming with dreams,
now encased in glass, a tragic plightstoscene.
Whispers of laughter, now silenced,
veiled by the icy grip,
by memories assailed upon it's sardonic lips
North, stood a river, flowing,
purely succumbing to the liquid cascade of dreams.
Now stands a monument,
empty and obscure,
a sewage treatment plant of fear
and conspiracy, not theory,
but excremeofsupremacy
of Triremes of war eclipsing peace and prosperity.
A mosaic of black emotion, punishment's devotions.
Change resides in this vitrified tomb,
like fangled shards
of black mirror cutting Bards and Poets in handling, reflecting from corpused firmament womb, harpypsychords in accord with gloominess
and despair
etched on its face,
Obsidian tears.
The competing vision of the North-
sees a great Western deluge. A revival of the Sisterlings and the Brotherly.
Beasts roam like children in caravans
to witness mankind,
to pay homage for eyes opened,
having seen for the first time,
how things are meant to be, sublime.
Each year
I met September
with its calico seals of Samhain
slain in a fair death
and bled by symptoms of naked hours
and loneliness.
I shivered with
a strange dread,
not of predator or prey
but the threat
of being siphoned too deeply,
into a predictable, mass identity.
I found myself swathed
in an impatient void
where sepia changelings
twisted against wind
in contempt of order
and the chronological sequences
of life and death
and I listened
to the rebellious gossip
of familiar moon-light Chimeras
edged with infant shadows.
I was enchanted
by the chaplains of the night
and the deacons of depression
that taught me a kinship
with black sheep
and the dead.
Perhaps I should have obeyed
the wisdom of the herd,
and worshiped
the pathogenic scriptures
of text-book institutions...
focused my eyes ahead,
my mind on predetermined points
my thoughts on the packaged values
of dead heros.
The world would have loved me
if I had fed into its perception
of human perfection
instead of showing it
its potential for failure...
there are no heroes
without the herd.
I could have left the insanity
of my adolescence behind
instead of clinging to
ashes and an ember
of left-over youth
tucked into a heavy envelope
and sealed with the promise
of an inferno.
Across from this municipality by the bay
I silently stand here
Looking deeply upon the open waters
Currents that make there way
Beyond the moon reflecting tide
The colourful lights....
Stillness drowns, the sounds all around
What a pretty montage, the skyline seems
Before my searching eyes, these images....
Turning inward, toward the depths of my mind
This quietness of floating, through time
With these metal laced wings
Weighing my spirit, to this place!
Caught within a world that I have never belonged....
But oh how it looks so lovely
Such portraits upon the wall
Except for these ones here
In black pearl frames; blank....
Center stage; as they stare back at me
Fireflies with fangs, swarming above the waves
On their way atop the jangled, turbid turquoise sea
Towards the glitter and the dreams
In the nighttime....You stand there?
Until one day you finally find
Reality....
Is but an illusion
Played amid varied and disappearing shells
This flicker of light; this vapor of sight
Beautiful chords of enticing pastel shades
Vanishing behind, a fog shroud mist....
These turning currents; which sweep towards the dissertings despair
With invisible brush strokes; charcoal
Splashed upon this absorbing canvas
The crimson crawl; changelings, like a disease
Clinging shawls....
Turning bright to bitter red
While the concerto plays on, its joyous song
And metal laced wings, fall from me
Beyond the skydome, of tangible tides
As poison basted water lilies....
Beckoned beneath the solidago; smiling
Pointing to all their pretty pictures
Before the fireflies with sharpened fangs
Hung their veils....
Upon the black pearl frames; blank
Chanting their songs, alluringly, to them all
As the dashed of fallen things, fell; set my soul free
A new tune to compose, that shall never fade, away
While looking across the panthered purple waves, towards the city
Tides turning from arcane blue, unto another hue; Now rising....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Rabbit!?
From Birth to Hearse
‘Tis said that we are sinners - all
before we ever rise - we fall.
Is there no way to beat the curse
that follows us - from birth - to hearse?
For we are bathed in living’s dreams
darkened halls with violet themes,
the orange maw of changelings hue
transfiguring through greens – to blue,
windblown brushstroke-fashioned clouds
move about in eerie shrouds
opalescent shifting reds
glistening through tartan threads.
Witness, as in the timeless nest,
the crimson golds of sunrise – set,
cling to horizon’s blue-edged lie
that colors – separate - the sky.
Distorted by the muted browns
the shifting dunes of opal gowns
flowing in chimeral white
across the darkened stage - of sight.
‘Tis said we are and will be dust
colors changed by living’s touch,
beauty that reversed the curse
that follows us - from birth – to hearse.
8/1/2014
For Charlotte Puddifoot
Vibrant Verse 2 poetry contest
A mom tucked in her child one night
In bliss he fell asleep
Her horror grew at day’s first light
She could not help but weep
A changeling lay in her son’s place
With wings, large hooves and tail
She scorned the babe who sought embrace
“Lord, curse the troll,” she wailed
For in the night a being crept
Through her New Jersey home
A fiend was left as she had slept
A gift from Satan’s gnome
Her handsome son, such envy sparked
Now resting in a troll’s domain
The changeling’s face by Satan marked
And love she could not feign
This curse she felt was envy pure
She could not bear its sight
A hateful child she’d not endure
Such scorn did he ignite
To Mother Leeds this thirteenth child
Became a castaway
It flew into the pines reviled
And to this day seeks prey
*Based on the legend of the New Jersey Devil.
Changelings are infants that are replaced overnight
by devilish imps from trolls or elves according to Irish legend.
Entry for the “Creepy Irish Creatures” contest.
Across from this municipality by the bay
I silently stand here
Looking deeply upon the open waters
Currents that make there way
Beyond the moon reflecting tide
The colourful lights....
Stillness drowns, the sounds all around
What a pretty montage, the skyline seems
Before my searching eyes, these images....
Turning inward, toward the depths of my mind
This quietness of floating, through time
With these metal laced wings
Weighing my spirit, to this place!
Caught within a world that I have never belonged....
But oh how it looks so lovely
Such portraits upon the wall
Except for these ones here
In black pearl frames; blank....
Center stage; as they stare back at me
Fireflies with fangs, swarming above the waves
On their way atop the jangled, turbid turquoise sea
Towards the glitter and the dreams
In the nighttime....You stand there?
Until one day you finally find
Reality....
Is but an illusion
Played amid varied and disappearing shells
This flicker of light; this vapor of sight
Beautiful chords of enticing pastel shades
Vanishing behind, a fog shroud mist....
These turning currents; which sweep towards the dissertings despair
With invisible brush strokes; charcoal
Splashed upon this absorbing canvas
The crimson crawl; changelings, like a disease
Clinging shawls....
Turning bright to bitter red
While the concerto plays on, its joyous song
And metal laced wings, fall from me
Beyond the skydome, of tangible tides
As poison basted water lilies....
Beckoned beneath the solidago; smiling
Pointing to all their pretty pictures
Before the fireflies with sharpened fangs
Hung their veils....
Upon the black pearl frames; blank
Chanting their songs, alluringly, to them all
As the dashed of fallen things, fell; set my soul free
A new tune to compose, that shall never fade, away
While looking across the panthered purple waves, towards the city
Tides turning from arcane blue, unto another hue; Now rising....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Red Rabbit!?
opaque simplicities
genesis forever lagoons
time honored changelings
I met November;
with its calico seals of Samhain
slain in a fair death
and bled by symptoms of naked hours
and loneliness.
I shivered with
the Strange dread,
not of predator
or prey
but the threat
of being siphoned too deeply,
into phone -cord spirals;
into the greedy sponge of Midnight veils
that wave amidst alabaster winds.
I found myself swathed in a patient void
where
sepia changelings in breezes
brushed desperate hands
and manipulated
a restless heart.
I was so long compromising,
imagining
warmth from stagnant shadows
and seasons circled in windswept dances,
where the choreography seemed to
alleviate me of reality.
But now,
the Autumn frolics
whisper of winter,
spreading a carpet of gossip
scrawled on tablet sheaves
the prose of windswept vows
that leave empty souls as they pass on,
gust to gust,
heart to heart
and stroke the conscious mind
and castrate the thread
that welds Love and Dream together.
Until,
the white ash of burnt love
tucks small flaming shards of hope
into a heavy envelope
and seals it with hushed lullabies
and promises
of a Spring.
"In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous." Aristole
Clouds,
Drifting
Gossamer,
Amorphously
Cumulonimbus
Botryoidal changelings
Bulbous body-building boils
Robustly rising with swelled heads
Bragging with bursts of thunderous joy
Eager to display lightning anvil crowns
A madness of marigolds
cascading light
the garden gate,
a painting to protect
one from the savages of truth
an obsession
with brush strokes
irises laden
with weeping desire
changelings in poppies
granite jawed
from a hunger moaning
with the all forgiving night
come into the gloom
spare not thy pen
nor still
the rustle of skirts
along the garden path
a masquerade
begins
behind the golden
masques
flattering gazes
skin aglow with uncommon
beauty
oh sweet wayward child
princess of the tower
sing out loud at midnight
thy coil of grief
unfurling
in the sacred arms
of time.
Exist in heaven, or the spirit realm,
Which is a level of existence
Higher than the physical universe. ...
God created the angels through Jesus,
“The firstborn of all creation.”.
Are they real, how do you feel???
O’ Lo yon -spiritual being,
Whose ever so real Seraphim.
One of the many arch angels as well as Cherubim.
O’ Lo yonder, Thrones.
Dominions or Lordships.
Virtues and or Strongholds.
Mystical creature
Gatherings Powers or Authorities.
Principalities or Rulers.
All those for mentions spawn Archangels.
Dance and dream wit me yon twilight skies
In deeming spirituality feminine energy
My childhood and beauty shapes
Fixing broken withered plants
Cousins unto the angels photo kinesis project and control nature and light
Changelings
Little, little people Brownies, Pixies, Leprechauns
Dwarves, Elves, Kobolds
Nature Fairies
O’ Lo yonder, Thrones.
Dominions or Lordships.
Virtues and or Strongholds.
These are just some more of those…
Mystical creature
11/21/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
(2 Peter 2:11)
Written for class November 19, 2019 assignment (WIPS)
North Omaha Writers Group (NOW)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh1m3vCCGdA
Black Princess of the night chin strapped to her violin
she plays the notes from her memorable heart of blue
while the moon in her sorrow spills light upon the Quin,
she plays on, a Stradivarius interlude of thin soulful Adieu;
Arrivederci (goodbye)
Donna (woman)
Ingannato (deceived)
even the stars weep under her spell as her raven changelings
scatter like black ashes to the wind
Five seasons of partings five degrees of loss, still no light
bursts forth from a soot sky of ebon black
lamentations and moans
heaven groans
from the weight of her sorrow comes the eye of the storm
as she plays her last note of deep unrest .