Best Metamorphosis Poems
"50 Words for Poe: Metamorphosis"
Intricate souls,
Complex needs
interconnected
Light energy
binds them
2 hearts
2 minds
Become
1 heart
1 mind
it’s all in the
timing
the complexities
of a trick
Reciprocity
with a kiss
intuitive
apport
the exchange
of a key,
The Gift
MAGIC
Metamorphosis
The answer to this
trick
begins with the binding
of his wrists
(LadyLabrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/0FMtQrsKM8c
How to Be Invisible/Bush
“I am a great admirer of mystery and magic. Look at this life - all mystery and magic.” Harry Houdini
https://youtu.be/0ar7vovnH5I
Wow/Bush
The secret message Houdini said he’d reveal, in a séance, to his wife so that she could determine the legitimacy of a spiritualist:
“BELIEVE”
1.
https://www.thegreatharryhoudini.com/metamorphosis.html
2.
https://newrepublic.com/article/119015/edmund-wilson-houdini
3.
https://www.thegreatharryhoudini.com/occult.html
4.
https://youtu.be/IczEq22-rPU
Final Seance (Full Audio)/Bess, Houdini
5.
Houdini's widow, Bess, died of a heart attack on February 11, 1943, aged 67, in Needles, California while on a train en route from Los Angeles to New York City. She had expressed a wish to be buried next to her husband, but instead was interred 35 miles due north at the Gate of Heaven Cemetery in Westchester County, New York, as her Catholic family refused to allow her to be buried in a Jewish cemetery.
6. https://youtu.be/0YbbsSgIBdk
Huff Paranormal (1)
7.https://youtu.be/WHVx8TfbRiY
Huff Paranormal (2)
Spring's mystical womb
Delivers new bloom
Each year
With bud and perfume
She flees Winter's tomb
With cheer,
And heeding the call
To be Summer's thrall
She leaps
To spread her green shawl
In emerald sprawl
Then creeps,
Inside Autumn's gown
With burnished gold crown
And reigns
In orange-red-brown.
But soon tumbling down
She wanes,
As Winter winds blow
To end her grand show
And hide
Her last bit of glow
Beneath pall of snow—
Spring sighed...
Then laughed from below
"Oh, new embryo—
Abide."
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Your Choice - Seasons, Festivals
Sponsored: Brian Strand
Judged: 07/01/2019
~4th Place~
Contest: Million Dollar Poem #1
Sponsor: Skat A
Judged: 06/12/2015
First Published in Easter 'Ideals Magazine' – February 1982
A prestigious magazine then, and a collector's item now.
Your transition is a miracle
A Divine orchestrated Oracle
Like the ever-changing caterpillar
Metamorphosed into a butterfly
Graceful and Beautiful
Bright and Colourful
Gracefully transforming its body
Spinning itself like a silky cocoon
For a season, it goes through pain
To renew the old nature again
Digesting and releasing enzymes
To dissolve all of its old tissues
It learns to creep and crawl
Then it learns to stand tall
Fashioned to fly and to soar
To kiss the beauty of a flower
He's made us priest and kings
And He's given you these wings
Spread these wings every day
And fly just like the butterfly
Metamorphosis
from white light of death human souls emerge transformed and they fly back home
Sandra M. Haight
~NA~
Contest: In one line (monoku #8) write what you SEE or FEEL
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A
(What I See)
Judged:03/12/2016
Line of inquiry:
blessings from above
transformed lust to love
delusion to illumination
earth-heaven bilocation
When darkness consumes my lost mind,
I turn to blessings from the blind.
To escape ego's flame of lust,
tones of zen my soul yearns to find.
Before my heart fades into rust,
I turn to spirits I can trust.
Fake guides try to lead me astray,
but I burn their words into dust.
In my delusions, demons play,
begging for me to let them stay.
I close my eyes and seek the light.
Angels appear to show the way.
In serene peace my soul takes flight,
entranced, my mind now feels delight.
Spanning spheres of stars and the moon,
astral visions kindle so bright.
As my breaths begin to fine tune,
heart sparkles like twilight at noon.
Sacred sighs sway from the wreckage,
in rebirth, I leave this cocoon.
Like chrysalises or cocoons,
Each day we grow plumper,
not as insects feeding on leaves,
but as humans
consuming the totality
of lessons learned from our life experiences,
for life is our chrysalises stage
in which we glean interests -
those things which feed
our soul.
From both the good and the bad,
we learn and we then choose
what our attitude will be
regarding all that we have absorbed.
Death is not an ending,
and though it may seem outwardly
that we wither away like wilted roses,
our souls are preparing
for an emergence!
We grow sick from aging
and feel sometimes like we
are hanging upside down.
Then comes that magical moment
of metamorphosis.
Our souls break free
from the flesh to which they've been tethered.
Our loved ones cannot see it happening,
but we begin to turn into beings
of light.
Butterflies, brightly illuminated,
we will fly to the home
which for a brief time on this earth
had been concealed from us.
At last the veil will fall
from our eyes.
Oh, open your spiritual eyes,
sweet butterfly,
and know with all your senses
(even those senses you’d forgotten
that you had previously possessed)
you are home,
and home is a glowing place of
all-encompassing
love.
chrysalis shaking
agape-ing
butterfly making
MagiCicada13
Clouds coat the dreary night sky
A cleansing rain befalls me , as if to bring forth a new era
A cure to that which has plagued me, has all but swallowed me entirely
A wretched soul crying out for mercy, for an end
For a beginning
The cool clean mist rips every sin from my body, only to be flushed into the earth
Soaking in re-creation, the cold cannot reach me
Nor can the damage I feared irreversible
The dark my punishment
The rainfall my atonement
And the sun my freedom, my new life
A tadpole's journey, humble and small,
In still waters, it begins to crawl,
With gills that breathe beneath the surface,
It longs for metamorphosis, a destined purpose.
The tadpole morphs, with limbs that sprout,
A froglet now, to the water’s edge about,
The final form, a frog so green and grand,
Hops on lily pads, roams the land.
Blessings from above, a gentle hand,
Transformes lust to love, like grains of sand.
Delusion fades, illumination bright,
Earth and heaven blend, in purest light.
In shadows deep, where doubt once grew,
A spark of grace, and hearts renew.
From earthly chains to wings of light,
We rise, we soar, to celestial height.
Dual realms converge, in sacred dance,
A timeless, boundless, soul romance.
Metamorphosis, a divine decree,
Unveils the truth, sets spirits free.
this poem written for Bite Size Contest no119 Poetry Contest, Line Gauthier, sponsor July 28, 2025
METAMORPHOSIS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
caterpillar, clad in emerald armor,
pauses at the fence, a splintered barrier.
it inches forward, a tiny architect of hope,
navigating the spaces between
the known and the unknown,
as if the journey itself is a metamorphosis.
This life is full of challenges and tests ~
It's mere preparation for what's to follow
when our souls transcend into the butterflies
that they are meant to become in afterlife.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The caterpillar completes its cocoon and starts dissolving, quietly awaiting metamorphosis. That transformation must be such an odd experience when seen from the inside, a sort of confusing birth until it emerges with some biological comprehension of what it has become. At one time all it could do was crawl. Then suddenly it flies on gossamer wings.
cocoon's gentle grasp
softly wraps the soul within
transformation's sleep
silken threads unwind
emerging new life takes shape
unfurl sequined wings
wings of butterfly
dancing, soaring, free, and light
unencumbered soul
The southern slope kept a secret—
a slight tear where a shadow learns to grow.
I felt the pulse that pulled me in,
past where the daylight breaks,
down to where the cold, clear water flows.
The entrance wore a veil of living lace,
stretched tight across the limestone seams.
My hand caught the web—snap.
A sound like a severed nerve,
a frantic flight of silk in the dark.
A thousand eyes of jet* looked back at me,
skittish guardians shifting in the bend.
They sensed the weight I carried,
the heavy, hollow ache of winter’s end,
and pulled away into the rock’s silence.
I moved the stone, one by one,
shimmying into the throat of the hill.
Leaving the world of coffee and schedules,
of letters never sent and cold, still rooms,
to trade the sun for the smell of wet flint.
The air grew thick—a history held in breath.
The mountain drank the noise of my life,
the schedules, the fears, the static of days,
until the gravity beneath my feet shifted,
as if the earth were re-calibrating its mantle.
Deep inside, it was not empty.
It breathed in a bioluminescent hum—
walls bleeding a spectral, bruised blue.
A path snaked away, a vein of light
offered by a world that had forgotten me.
The cavern opened—a limestone cathedral.
There, glyphs bled from the stone,
a language of weight, of tectonic patience,
etched by hands that knew the cooling of the crust.
The "Litany of Compression"—the agony of eons.
The "Silent Watchers" warned of the breathers,
the map of veins reaching toward the mantle.
I knelt in the dirt, finding the charcoal
the ancients left for the next ghost to arrive.
I did not write a name, or a date, or a prayer.
I traced the suture of my own breath
into the wall, a frantic, uneven line.
My body began to chime with the cave.
Limbs turning to cold, heavy mineral;
skin thickening, pores sealed with dust.
I was lifted to the ceiling, a slow drift,
tethered to a sister-spire of quartz,
the two of us holding up the dark,
holding up the sky of the hill.
Outside, the spiders return to their work.
They knit the entrance shut with elastic silk,
weaving the wound of my entry back into stone,
hiding the secret from the reach of the sun.
The hill holds its peace.
And I, finally, have found my own.
* Jet black eyes of 125 spiders
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First, the hunger~
a blade splitting every leaf,
a mouth with no bottom.
I am all appetite,
a green comma
curled in the wet dark.
Then the ache:
my skin stitches itself too tight.
I spit nails, spin a rumor
of wings~
a shroud of gold and spit,
a hearse made of silk.
Inside, I dissolve.
No prayer, no bone,
just a thick syrup of becoming,
a body unmaking itself
in the blind cathedral
of my own ribs.
One morning, the light
pries me open~
not with kindness,
but like a burglar
kicking down a door.
And I, new and clumsy,
will stumble into the air,
still drunk on the miracle
of my own undoing.
Inevitable Transformation
Despite human lust to remain human in all
aspects and norms
Timelessness will desiccate primeval bones
then alter sentient forms...
Penned: 05/05/2022
6:51 p.m.
Lake Worth
Florida USA