Best Metamorphosing Poems
There are different levels of truth
I climb
Staircases
That
Go
Far
Beyond
Comprehension
Reality is made of thoughts
Spiraling and humming
Like they are something
But in the end
They are all just ideas
Driving to nowhere except
Waiting to be found and
Put into motion
Heights of control
Shift to third and go above
Everyone is an enigma
I fall in affection
constantly
With myself
Metamorphosing
Who am I to ask of perfection?
I is always capitalized
but what if
i is i and we are we, and he, we together
make something different, completely?
Manufacturing lines put together
Vehicles that take soul imprinted notions
on midnight drives by the avenue
Sell them to the Lord, to the Devil
'Tis all the same
For goodness sake, heaven is simply
What we make it
Written: February 27, 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dwindling diamond daub, an amber
glittering glow
diaphanous verism of glass
and yet…
wreathed in wisteria-washed linden
a glimpse of
moon-pearled butterflies
fluttering beyond
seventh sky
fine shone ivory organza
faintly floats
in flowy grey garment
because...
the mirror failed
to release her
Watch the whispering wind
of crestfallen Luna
serenade sonatas to
the saffron sun,
elegance bewilders as a spell
whilst imbued in
Tuscan fuchsia flowers
plated in opalescent enamel
healing in her
sanguine sanctuary
& silvery smooth skin
she is the spirit of Aphrodite
soaked in ivory color
her tears metamorphosing
of...
ogdoads
daffodils.
Venus waltzing with Earth
zeal of unbreakable bond,
floral fragrance felicity
an ageless love tale
sweet lullaby tweets
billets-doux
texts spanning the world
bien sûr we love
extravagance in empathy
exulansis excluded eternally
hunting for heavenly harmony
swirl in seraphic space
as Dahlia sighs reach
esoteric eyes of lotus Luna
breathing silence
virtuoso ululation
for...
a friendship circle.
caterpillar
green, young
crawling, metamorphosing, molting
larva, silkworm, vertebrae, gossamer
flittering, flapping, perching
winged, iridescent
butterfly
Date written: 11/06/2022
In this story the leaves are digressing,
In another, perhaps I shall too
With warm feelings and autumn shades tinting my view
We go along the path at a crisp clip
High heels and rubber soles
Trench coats and scarves fluttering
Scandalously in our rush to understand
The literature hidden between the flesh and the spirit
Soul on soul, deciphering in motion
Picturesque and ugly
Please Smile for me when the camera blinks
When that moment is gone and this photograph is all I have
Along with dangerous conversations of how we shall eventually Fall
Life Kafka, like Vonnegut, Marquez,
Slaughtering ourselves 5 over 5 times,
Armageddon in Retrospect
Metamorphosing within
100 years of Solitude
Loving in times of Cholera,
And we plummet beyond the help of our seasoned knowledge of devotion
Past the neurotic winters of Kerouac
Beyond the springs of Plath
Over and gone the summers of Margaret Mitchell and ironclad romance
To Fall
To the Inferno of the ground below
Through nine different hells
To end up where they started from
Dust begets dust
Dante in Love
All Muted in translation
In death, empty words shattering like
The Crimson leaf
Silenced in the psyche of la fabrication d'amour
Skeletons of desire
Lynched in the closets
The bedrooms,
Dusty and leather-bound
Black on ébène
Starved and lonely
The sound of Autumn on Leaves
I Wish I Could Tell You
By: Sarah McFadden
Grade 9
I wish I could tell you
How anxiety holds me in its chains,
Grasping me in its iron clutches,
How the shackles of hopeless, never ending fear
Dig into my ankles.
How sometimes it feels like there is rope wrapped around my chest
Growing tighter and tighter
Until I am choking on my own strangled screams,
Raising a white flag to my demons that won’t cease war with me
I wish I could tell you about
The black hole sitting at the pit of my stomach,
Draining me of my happiness,
Yet somehow leaving me as a shell of my former self,
As if everything that made me able to smile or laugh
Had been scraped out with a knife,
Leaving me with a sadness that burns like
Flames licking at the walls of my chest
How I haven’t cried for real in a long time,
But every time I shed a tear it burns my face like acid,
Bubbling, sizzling
How any spark of joy is evanescent,
Quickly metamorphosing into the deep despair
That I have come to know very well
I wish I could tell you that I’m okay,
That I am not broken beyond repair,
That I can ponder upon the world and see
Chances, opportunities, and reasons to be happy,
That I can think about the beauty of life
And not so much about the beauty of death,
But I made a promise that no matter
How many times I lie to myself,
I would never lie to you.
Spare a thought
For buffaloes, bulls and bears groaning, mourning, starving
Under your collar don’t blow hot
Making rivers and rodents sad, carving
Space and time you don’t own
Encroaching on privileges animals and plants possess
In their comfort and discomfort zone
You dare to distress and stress
Best to minimize the plight
Reptiles and rabbits confront every morning and afternoon
With no morsels of grub in sight
As savannas and simians croon
Shambling in starvation style
Bulging bellies boast as labels of stables and fables of gluttony
For a convoy of jalopies cruising in single file
Pay last respect to Tony
Who’d passed on in pitiful poverty
Impecunious
Although in death no novelty
Comes through under the guise of ingenious
Crafting of manipulation
But you’d do well to sacrifice creature comforts to elevate the fate
Endured by long suffering trees and tigers whose daily nourishment ration
Ought to funnel a debate
On the injustice witnessed globally when a tiny few
Gorges on two thirds of world resources
With neither care nor clue
On the abuse fauna and flora sources
Suffer
Dwindle
Prefer
Decrease as the self satisfying spindle
Spins and spins
With little thought on air and water pollution
Pins
On environmental dissolution
Metamorphosing the Earth into a less habitable planet
Treated with disdain
Depleting the Earth’s net
Worth as polluters gain bargains again and again
Super profits
Turning a blind eye
To sarcasm skits, bludgeon bits and tendentious tweets
Lying inside a liberal lie
That all’s well
Environment concerns mean nothing
As imbalances and inhospitable elements swell
To spell doom unless you start caring for Mother Earth and her everything.
When we look at the mouth of a warrior
We think he never sucked his mother’s breast
The birds that rest on the Iroko
Does not know how the Iroko grew
The heart that persevered in pain
Is the heart that will rejoice with gain
Like the Hibernating hedge hog
Metamorphosing to life after winter
Whales and sharks are not found in shallow waters
The man who swims against the turbulent tides
Of deep shark and whale infested murky waters
Will get the whale oil, make a shark’s fin soup
Or wear a shark’s leather jacket
The resilient hand that never says die
Sculpts stumbling blocks into stepping stones
And squeezes water out of rock
Like a gold stone that passed through a furnace
And became the priceless gold ornament
Separating the men from the boys
The pot that wants cooked food
Must be scorched by the furious and ferocious fire
It is when the palms have been soiled by sand
That the mouth will be soiled by oil
The hand that is not soiled by sand
Makes the mouth to be soiled by sand
People like the mouth soiled by oil
Because it can also soil their mouth with oil
The mouth soiled by oil
Has many names, relatives and friends
But the mouth soiled by sand
Has few name, few relatives and few friends.
I can see the dream I'm dreaming
It's so beautiful, so alleviating
It's the alliteration of everything compelling
It's an epitome of petulant imaging
It's me metamorphosing into greatness
Bearing the trophy of poetry highness
I can feel the gaiety on my success
And the scenery of my upliftment
But it's only a dream, not reality
It's just a film in my head, not an actuality
It's the absolute notion of melancholy
The maestro of maudlin deformity
It's a prototype of an implicit onerous display
A melodrama that reclines on a fairy tale
The model of an unswerving galling replay
Like a pungent smell, unwanted but makes it's way
I can't triumph over over-lords of the pen
I can't defeat the dominating combatants of content
I can't outsmart the ten over tens
I just can't win this contest
But I CAN do one thing
Dream of my WIN
I'm making this a special affair, so soupers, chant my name.
This site is about to witness a poetic warfare, my favorite game!
My words will be like bombs over Baghdad, the couplets like an airstrike.
With this pen and pad, I'm metamorphosing into something godlike!
What? You can't comprehend? Don't understand what I plainly write?
I thought you were a genuine friend, but you're just a poetic parasite!
I'm gonna slam you till you leave the soup, so you need to "kick rocks."
I'm throwing you in a chicken coop, and manifesting into the poetic warlock!
So like 50 cents "I'll get the magic stick," so what you think about that?
How bout if I sex you like a lunatic, but first shave that hairy pussycat!
Better yet, you need to wax, because your hair gives you a helluva odor.
Never mind, I'll put anthrax on your tampax, and blow up your stinkin motor!
Damn someone throw in the towel, I have this poetess punch drunk!
She has this whole site smelling foul, so I need to kill this nasty skunk!
Have I embarrassed you yet? Are you tired of my poetic abuse?
I'm gonna bend you over and burn you with a cigarette right on your caboose!
Every souper knows I'm slam king, no one can touch my rhyming skills.
For a souvenir, I'm keeping your g-string - so run naked and head for the hills!
I better not see you posting, or I'll degrade each poem you write.
Your poems will be like marshmellows roasting, and I'll reach out to you via satelite!
*M. T. Now let me show you "God's among men with this pen!"
- Can I get a standing ovation for this slam?
I dripped into the night liquidating and metamorphosing.
Somehow managed to form a string of emotion tied with self deprecation, darkness and other forms of chaotic Structure.
Conceived into black and bathed in cold emotion.
A world of depression leaves me bound by persistent fear forever drowning me in despair.
Submerged in a liquid sense of isolation that shrouds the deep Ink abyss.
Defined yet undefined underwater sinking me further.
Will I ever emerge from the liquid that sinks my body.
Commenced
as a tiny
egg glued to foliage.
Maturing bondage in a shell
awaits
Larva.
Eating, growing,
full size caterpillar
outgrows its present confines.
Splitting
Again.
Reattaching
itself with liquid from
its spinneret . Creating a
button.
hanging
little pupa
dieting, motionless,
metamorphosing completely
anew
Cracking,
exposing head
and thorax first. Followed
by legs and golden wings of a
Monarch.
The Winter Season
My body is crying, Fall is leaving
The sensitive moon is screaming
The stars is losing their nocturnal fans
Their admiring nights is disappearing
My body is yelling, Winter is coming
The lakes are complaining for visitors
The beaches are sadly missed by their vibrators
I desire my forestry strolls with my birthday suit
Which's so magnetic for the sexuals admirators
Against the cold season, we need the advocators
My body is trembling, my tears are frozen
In the forest, woods are selected by dozen
To create a warming fire with marshmallows
Even though the sweaters act like good citizen
My skin is metamorphosing like a flower wizen
Another Day...Another Accursed Blank Screen
Ma wink'n and blink'n
mind nod yet awake,
nor insights keen,
asper ho hum usual, this
(day-glo bull leave
me you) after noon,
(October thirtieth
two thousand and eight teen),
mine myopic brown
marbled occipital orbs
fixate upon a
lone blinking cursor -
hooping such intense stare
will magically glean
a divine comedy,
or even mediocre
shaky spear writ tragedy, none
the less letting thoughts
glom (cess) pool like
into some elusive essence,
finding me madly chasing
(feebly, lamely, queerly
and ridiculously
likened to a teen
age paramour) intriguing,
nattering, and wordlessly
spellbinding notion
all the way to Abilene,
perhaps metamorphosing
into a topnotch
poem (ska lean),
swiftly tailored harried
style even out rivaling
the best newsy
Lake Woebegone fabulist
(formerly Nordic European)
scribes, that juiced might earn
me some crisp
legal tender green,
yet impetus to write,
NOT predicated on ram
ping up checking account,
which primary queen
tis essential money source
of mine to pay bills
appears extremely lean,
and thus apologize if
any hint of desperation
(PULL EASE pledge to
Matthew Scott Harris charity)
seeps extemporaneously typing
this poetic expression,
when financial resources
picked bone dry clean,
and me fanciful
thoughts cannot help
wishing for miraculous
intervention tub bring,
a raft of smiley faces
tomb eye gentle mien
such as receiving
an anonymous bajillion
dollars donated (tummy)
from tennis scene legend
(in her own mind)
aery Billy Jean
King, whose near
exhaustive earnings -
at least compared
to thy germane mein kampf
(accrued during - her mist
starry re:us horse sing around)
straw berry fields
forever hay day
with tangerine trees,
and marmalade skies
completing tennis
(tense) backdrop against
engendered match with
the late Bobby Riggs.
I trace my existence back to
Iye mwen N’ogie (My great Mother).
You see when I was but a foetus
In a womb of the *****sapien whom I will
Later call my mother.
I lay brooding, developing and
Metamorphosing in structures just as the
Creator had designed it.
Though she knew me not
She loved me with every fibre of her beign,
She protected and nourished me,
I felt her love in many ways I can not now expound.
Her very heart beat made sweet rythmical
Music with mine,in syncronyms and
Symphonies that I would love to hear again.
And when I came into this world of
Tragedy,turmoil and poverty,
She raised me as a child with prodigy,
Even when my voice was naive to this
New world I was yet to know,
Her love for her child sprung out
The very first word from my soul,
MAMA, I had said sub consciously.
In return she cuddled me and called me
Her own TATA,everything I had
She got me, including my very first BATA,
L’are ovbimwen,ohanvben gbue ah?
( Come my dear child,are you hungry)
She would ask me.
Even when there was nothing left.
She had sold off all her belongings
Until I was all she had left,
She provided all my needs, so I won’t
Go into theft, even before papa left …
She is my love,my friend,my all,
My alarm clock, she slept late and woke up
Early to go ‘look for what I’d eat’.
Iye n’ ma gio ohanvben gb’ Omo.
(The mother who never let her child starve)
If they were times I made her cry,
Now I regret it.
But her love for her child is unending.
The type of love God shewed the Israeli people …
As time pass, we had a certain visitor,
One,who humans never welcome in their
Dwelling place.
He came and changed
Every thing like a deadly hurricane …
Iye had no strength left in her to fight him off…
So she gave up the struggle,it was her time.
As she closed her eyes in death.
I could hear her voice saying,
‘Ovbimwen e ghi vie m’ha miegbe’.
(My child do not cry,we shall meet again).
??
B Praize
X
Pa Shakespeare (GHOPS)
Happy Birthday Prayze ?? ??
Your eyes are as enchanting as the deep, blue
sea in the Caribbean Coast. They tempt me
to see beyond your lips, arms, legs, and back.
They tempt me to smell your aura,
unlike your usual flowery Daisy scent.
Your soul, yes, it's a mystery I'm eager to unravel,
metamorphosing myself from ice to water,
seeping into your flesh, blood, DNA,
and right into your soul.
I want to feel what you feel;
I want to see what you see;
I want to hear the music you love;
I want to be in sync with you.....