Best Metamorphic Poems
Ten Thousand White Butterflies
Soft walls undulate like liquid steel
Metamorphic pulsations
Iridescent glow
Spiritual guides
Ushering departed souls
Rippling contractions
From cocoon-like womb
Bringing forth new breath
Replenishing blown out candles
Eyes scrunched
Painful cry
Drowned out by the rustling
One thousand butterflies taking flight
Soaring
Luminescent
Snowflake-like beings
Spreading their light
Within the night
Eternity is born
A baby raises his tiny fists
Mother's tears turn to joy
Floating heavenward on delicate wings
Announcing
Beating
Singing
A child is born
Written with Monterey Sirak.
Thankyou for letting me join you in flight!
There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte, struggling within his confines,
Actions that do excite, impugnable inhibition when he signs.
Master of the satirical sad, a foreordained flounder of many,
Like a narcotized nomad, wandering wills a penniless plenty…
A calamitous circus in mind, his heart exposed in the limelight,
Dolorous detentions unkind, amidst filling his formidable finite.
A bombarding bombast, with words falling to the desolate deep,
Sailing with a maudlin mast, wearing a facetious frown as to weep…
Layered with lecherous lashes, upon wounding the sacrificial soul,
His anguish turns to ashes, within continuation of his dramatic role.
A buffoon protected by providence, metamorphic minstrel of laugh,
Lacking in canopied confidence, recklessly writing his eternal epitaph…
As he mimes until the morrows, living amongst a false fading reality,
With a smolder to his sorrows, court jesting as a nilpotent nobody.
Feb.28.2020
Repost From May 23, 2019
Clown at the Abyss
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Placed 7'th...Thank You
Lost in a wistful arbor, where malaise blooms,
Mists flower in hypnotic bleak violet dusks
Shades of brooding melancholy
Bruise my treasured bouquets of dreams
And plod through ponderous mists
In metamorphic doldrums
Cold inertia spirals into lamentations,
Midnights drugged with stupor
Lean heavy on my homeless hermit heart
In withering labyrinths of tangled voices,
Atonal buds of plaintive paeans,
When pensive lethargy pierces dawn.
My rose, in apathy, sees no reason to bloom
As shades of gloom birth shadow seasons
And pale fretting’s unbroken gaze dulls dawn’s hues
Clouds of sighs ravish new shoots
Born in sweet trances of possibility -
Each breath a tedious indecision wrapped in enigma.
Dullness shrouds each new growth in greyness
A slow march into inertia’s bower of cathexis.
M Angel call L
When God calls little
children to dwell with
Him above,
We mortals sometime
question the wisdom of
His love.
No heartache compare with
the death of a small child
They make this world so
wonderful with Just a laugh
and their smile
All grieving words to Heaven
will tell all the loved ones
in his fold
The Dreams, Hopes & Wishes
for a child that won't
grow old
Close eyes, Clasp hands & Speak
words bespeak your belief
Then a metamorphic change
within you will deepen your
Faith and Belief
God knows how much we need them,
He takes but a few
To strengthen belief in the
Heaven that one day we
all will view
Believing this is difficult yet
somehow all of us must try,
The saddest word spoke on
this earth will always be
" Goodbye "
When a little child departs,
this earth, to those who
get left behind
Know God loves all the
children, but
" Little Angels "
are hard to find.
Shadowbrook Poet
In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
A million million life forms. And silence in the library.
Dr. Who: Episode - Silence in the Library
THE SILENCE S.O.S.
the rasp of a metamorphic voice.
is boredom in chase? the stillness a shape?
does genius inhabit this dark room?
the click of cobblestone echoes in the chamber,
narrow and narrower, restriction —
is this where a poet sprouts?
the fine doctor hears the silence,
doesn’t ever remember
how the dark shoots off its words.
a-musing, the silence, the silver bell
that cock-a-doodle-doos until noon.
in Central Park, his arms around my shoulder,
the silence feeling colder than my heart,
the guitar a-beating — the plunder of a crowd,
the splash falls gently from the inkwells.
there’s a space between us,
yet we grip each other’s hands —
the planets hug
in the universal silence.
fifty years later, the thumbing
of a cell,
people disappear on silent screens.
7/24/2019
The Sound of Silence Poetry Contest
John Hamilton
Poem Title would not let me use dots between SOS
If slavery was a choice, as some have agreed, then what are we?
If watching your father and mother endure rape or murder was a choice,
Then why do we sit on idle hands, while Trump eradicates our posterity’s opportunities,
As if they were written in sand?
If not being able to read was a choice,
Then why do you go to the PlayStation in a rush
while your library card collects dust?
Even a Ward educates themselves,
Even the eunuch Greyjoy developed the courage to stand against evil.
In the midst of upheaval, one mustn’t look through a straw while planning the future.
The sagacious knows fighting must be eschewed when only death is in thy terms.
Allah heard their suffering, but sometimes the way out is through.
They didn’t endure out of docility or obsequiousness,
But out of discernment and sagacity.
The desolate doesn’t become prosperous by exclaiming tumultuous absurdities,
But by embodying opulent minds.
Go back to the mother, which is the way, and endure the storm,
While being metamorphic in form.
You see, my Kings and Queens,
The only choice they made was to give their posterity a fighting chance,
To gather strength while the usurpers wane and start to underestimate.
We must pick up the quill and write our own fates,
No more brooding or carping about what Donny Thrump is doing.
One man’s decisions determine another man’s life,
As much as a drought challenges the land.
Yet, life, like the Way, will always find a path to flourish,
Forevermore permeating even the harshest conditions.
We must stop talking about what great leaders and men should be,
And become Great Men and Assiduous Leaders.
We were the first great civilization and shall act as such.
Lead with grace,
Strike with prudence,
Read great books that enrich the mind,
Treat each other with unyielding reverence,
Because we each carry a piece of the divine.
I am that I am, and I am my brother's keeper.
Abstract images to the debris of micro fibers.
Down to the Haitian survivors praying for Red Cross donations rather than meaningless
conversations and commotions,
Across tech tonic structures islands break off, continents sides of earthquakes, sizzling
millions of years with a side of ketchup as condiment
Natural bloodshed delicate as a cracked vanilla wafer moving and subduing natural
disasters with a waiver
1st born protected on the doorstep with lamb’s blood, a sanctified remnant of raiment
Oceans swallowing nations in containment.
Countries bruise, ail, and swell.
Broken, body bones, normal day vertical swing parallel.
High land separating bodies of water and 3 sides of the peninsula .
Drowns, in the brown decay of metamorphic rock and hardened clay.
Day after the tomorrow, tirades un-tranquil in sorrow.
Statures of broken individuals in full robust
Feed the struggling souls
On the television reveals reflections of us
Sedimentary and metamorphic rock
From earths mantle or crust
Host of tungsten granites and diorites
Intrusive extrusive and hypabyssal
Of batholths sills and dikes
Eruptions of subaerial volcanoes
Continental crust
A pacific ring of fire
4030 million years old
A descending virgin makes his final sigh
As crystalline flesh bleeds on sinful hands
Innocent blood flowing through marble veins
Impurities haunt Mary’s character again
As Crystalline flesh bleeds on sinful hands
The spirit of sacrifice entombed in a metamorphic cocoon
Impurities haunt Mary’s character again
Michelangelo abandons her righteous heart
The spirit of sacrifice entombed in a metamorphic cocoon
Everlasting life living in white parian stone
Michelangelo abandons her righteous heart
And Nicodemus showers her son with calcitic tears
Everlasting life living in white parian stone
Innocent blood flowing through marble veins
And Nicodemus showers her son with calcitic tears
A descending virgin makes his final sigh
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Inspired by Raul's contest " the Deposition"
Petrology, geology, call it what you may
Minerals of many are around us every day
Igneous, sedimentary, metamorphic are the main
Their seams grace our planet, they are her veins
The next time you walk your streets, take a look around
For many rocks and stones, are everywhere to be found
Where would we be without them, many structures would never be here
If it wasn't for many millions of years, and this beautiful earthly sphere
Republican fountain flows black
on blue seas metamorphic rock,
draining the earth’s core dry.
Greed streams while oceans cry.
The sea is sick but I’m shell shocked.
“What are we when we are not...?”
MAN: A malevolent master making mountains of a mindless mass...
A meaningless magician motionlessly manipulating many minds...
A mating monster majestically magnifying materialistic manoeuvres...
A Machiavellian macho muscular merciless mentor...
A mutilating medieval malicious menacing Minotaur...
A mesmerizing metamorphic methodical maniac...
Woman: A whimsical weeping wacky wasted wanderer...
A whiny weaponed weathered wedded wife...
A wicked whiskey wasteful wiggly wench...
A wintry whiplash winded wrathful wroth...
A worried weary wishful wispy wild wire...
A wretched wormy woeful wounding wolf...
March.01.2016 ^WW^ Nothing personal...lol
A Chemical Compound
in an orderly manner.
They're found on the ground,
classified by a scanner.
An outcrop in Costa-Rica -
many of these contain Silica.
Some are even Volcanic-
explosions are quite manic.
Its just like Me and You!
Special, Unique and some blue.
Igneous, Sedimentary, Metamorphic too-
I've heard that before, like de-ja vu!
It is Sharp or Smooth,
It is like a Bone,
It can be found in a Booth,
But what really is STONE?
originally written ~ 13/2/17
the animal called man is the hope
Of the undying world perfected with goodness
Constituted drive to recreate metamorphic beings
Bound profoundly to unmasked the universe of its beauty
Yet with hearts so devilish behind the mask
The animal called man is the noun of the world
With pronoun of change in the home and abroad
Land of hope they feel within the sky clapping
Their smiles a full moon of enduring mercy
yet with hearts as red as the furnace hell
Journey in the beauty of their kind
World crying on their mouth of deeds
No man, no universe but atmosphere
Combating with the cloud and roses
Yet they constitute the nuisance of the world
The man called man is the food
Of the earth when another phase opens
The grasses, insects and feeble ants rejoice
When a six fit is dung to welcome him home
Yet evil dwells mostly in their hearts of gold
The man called man is a special being
With the high spirit of creation with the marker
The world changes form in their dancing hands
second God creators of the beauty of the world
Yet their beauty creations damage their beauties.
Sometimes I don’t know if you feel the same
You got me so tied up in this lover’s game
Or are you in a state of complete shock
Your kisses are as a warm as a metamorphic rock
I gasp for air, I gasp to care why you never talk
When I’m to whisper alone now a dying squawk
At times you frustrate me beyond compare
With relaxed attitude and charming flair
What’s forbidden to be seen on this hour?
We coast through the wakes with relentless power
The peaks are high the peaks go low
At times I’m so cold I don’t even know
And wrestling thoughts within my brain
I wipe these blushing marks and watch the rain
His childlike heart murmurs while counting sheep
He forgets himself and sighs tender in his sleep
While the secret wonder of romance has left its trace
I breathe with my lips upon his face
While touching his forehead I utter low
Helplessly in love I worship and woe