Best Rearranging Poems
-rearranging the stars-
How could we agree to separation?
If you were destined to be my soulmate,
Why would we allow the stars to change our fate?
They've written in a fresh verse
Sewing in a new song, soon to be sung
The Stars are not to blame
The fault lies deep within our hearts
Like earthquakes wondering through the years
separating silicone valley of tears.
Sweeping sweet dreams far away
What has become of my day?
Today the sun sets holding on to old hope
Tears fall down a sudden slope
Now my dreams are drowning down another road
Tonight I sit under the aspen cold
Alone, no longer in search of gold
Naming nights you whispered words of love to my soul
Your love no longer speaks
Without warning, the Midas touch slowly fades
In my chest - I find fault
The sound of heartache echoes every day
Rejuvenating every crack from display
In plain sight, I search for thee
The sun -The moon -The madness -The Salton Sea
My heart no longer speaks
Everything I dream of sinks like the night
Stuck in quicksand -- the aftermath
Healing scars the aftershock left behind
Finding ways to fill the gloom
Alas bridal curtains sit silently in my room
Setting boundaries between Earth's poetic plates
Like an earthquake passing through my heart
You left like the moon, moving mountains apart
IS THERE SOMETHING YOU forgot TO TELL Me, dear
Suddenly, San Andreas Fault looks tragic from here
Until then I will hold my breath
In hopes, our Plates will meet again
By: PD
6/29/15
Chameleons
Chameleons we must be
In a world forever changing
For the sequel to tranquility
Is impending rearranging
The news of sudden tragedy
A husband leaves his wife
Before night stars can twinkle
Chaos rules your life
Maybe life has lost its luster
Stagnation’s dulled the sheen
The mind’s become too idle
Wreaking damage unforeseen
Hence the chameleon emerges
Commencing transformation
Altering its persona
To command the situation
Like the chameleon in nature
We employ our disguise
Our mechanism of defense
‘Til a plan we can devise
“This is love: to fly toward a secret Sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life.
Finally, to take a step without feet.” ~ Rumi
Life can be a pilgrimage through rainless moors
and solemn seascapes draped
in mists of soundless mayhem,
where bleeding butterflies reflect
the fading stars etched with broken promises~
that time has abandoned.
I am a corpse of a firefly suspended
in a maroon mirage,
chained with petunias and pearls,
while my heart seeks a celestial chorus
to recite a harmonious hymn.
I yearn to write a compassionate chord,
ricocheting with empathetic embers,
silencing the fiendish
drumbeats of the devious leeches,
searing the fragile curves
of my cinnamon skin,
as I’ve long been a victim
of the vindictive voices of Satan
and his spellbound followers.
Yet nestled between temptation and torment,
a garden of miracles blooms
with lavender lakeshores,
its sweet scents of honey-rose petals
infusing the aching air,
unveiling a sky adorned with lily wings
and sapphire serenity.
O how I long to be the
silhouette of moon fairies
revising and rearranging
kismet melodies shaped in sorcery~
for I draw salt-kissed sunsets
in acrylic eloquence,
to eliminate black magic violations
still running beneath my trembling toes.
I will dance to the alliterative rhythm of
adjectives and assonance,
flowing in sync with the viking violin
within my soul.
So listen to the unlocked
tunes of restricted rhymes;
you’ll hear my name unchained from
the maleficent mantras~
weaving metaphors
screaming between resilient lines of
highlighted healing,
rephrasing the art of letting go
tattooed in raven jewels,
flipping porcelain pages of hope,
flowing within
the anthology of sprouting orchids.
The world comes knocking on your door.
And changes nothing from before.
For who we are is from within.
When we learn that, that's when we win.
There's always some who think they're right.
They just disturb the peace in night.
They only see their own disdain.
With no regard for causing pain.
The world keeps moving right along.
Rearranging right and wrong.
Fundamentally refraining.
The truth of what some find so straining.
They look to find peace in their view.
But some, just rhetoric they spew.
Today's world that lives on the net.
Can make us wish we could forget.
There are many walking 'round.
Who live in silence, don't make a sound.
They're hoping for their lives to change.
But live in between just feeling strange.
Note: I'll leave it here for those who know me to interpret. The rest of you, I wish you peace.
A peacock presents its colors to see
Dazzling patterns, beautiful views,
As pink cherry blossoms adorn the tree,
Brushstrokes of nature offer colorful hues
Birds sweetly sing to color the dawn
As sunlight glistens in pearls of dew,
Lilacs and lilies such beauty they spawn
As the sky takes on a golden hue
The pallette of nature is constantly changing
Reds and golds of autumn, and spring dressed in green,
From season to season they keep rearranging
As the brushstrokes of nature color the scene
-------------------------------
“Chameleons”
Chameleons
many shades
of blue
pretty beautiful
things given time
change their colours
not so
delphinium
belladonna blue
Blue sky
hypnotises
blooms
face to the sun
smiling to
wave Apollo in
subtle fragrance
the wanting need
to get closer
around their
feet, circling geckos
5 toes like man
leave their
love-drugged marks
their tales moving
words written
marks retreating
in Time’s sands
chameleons
pretty beautiful
things given time
change their colours
Blue sky
hypnotises
blooms
even the sky
comes
with conditions
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Halloween approaches....
“I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.”
(Anne Sexton/Her Kind).
I was telling a friend the world will someday be a better place
He said, "You're out of your mind. Get out of my face.
The rich man sings while the poor man screams.
A better place? Maybe, in your dreams.
I said, "You're right. Maybe in my dreams.
Because in my dreams, I see it changing
I see the world rearranging
In my dreams we will hate no more
In my dreams there will be no war
In my dreams there is a world of love
With blessings showered from heaven above.
There are lakes and rivers and clear mountain streams
I can see it all in my dreams.
The bitterness you feel will all be gone
There will be a brotherhood to carry on
There will be charity and faith and hope
And a caring heart to help us cope.
There will be an end to human fears
We will no longer see a mother's tears
We will stand proud, we will stand tall
In my dreams I can see it all.
In my dreams we will know our worth
In my dreams there will be peace on earth
So, in a way, you're right it seems
I can see it happening in my dreams."
Living in a masquerade
Hiding our truths in the shade
Veiled Behind electronic devices
The Physical world Minimises
Concealed behind a blue and white light
No melatonin released at night
Our brains don’t accept it’s time to sleep
And every day we’re on repeat
A vicious cycle ceases to stop
When hid behind our phones and lap top
Wanting to be something we’re not
Living life through a mobile robot
Pupils straining , brains rearranging
Photograph your food , words misconstrued
We used to wear watches and read paper maps
Took photos with cameras , had real contact
We spent Summer days out in the fresh air , riding our bikes with the wind in our hair
Simulation , stimulation lost inside a lie
Isolation, modification , apps that beautify
Lacking essential social skills
Online Casino gives you thrills
Book shops closing , hackers disclosing
Filters , snaps of zombies posing
Selfie sticks and brains decomposing
Judging ourselves With an air of self loathing
Expectations of Instant gratification
Vulnerable souls face Victimisation
Predators and bullies target their prey
Illicit pictures on display
Conversations overthrown
Surrounded by people
Yet still quite alone
With one selfish text lives become wrecked
Took your eyes off the road just for a sec
Sirens arriving , little chance of surviving
All because of your self-absorbed driving
We hold it dearer than humanity
Ignorant and lost at sea
We need to find our way back to land
And release these crutches from our hands
the whole world is happening at the same time
every conversation, every bird call, every lion roar
every everything bunched up to oneness in my head
I carry the white noise of distance wherever I go
I am an out of tune radio coursing through debris
and tin whistle high notes playing one key in harmony
that is my head, that is my thunderstorm in stereo
imagine a life having to speak over an orchestra
but there is a beauty and stability to hearing
all the insects of the world crawling along
simultaneously with every wave and fish fuzz in water
wait, I think I can hear the flowers growing
the leaves falling, the sand rearranging on every beach
though if it can happen a little less loudly
so it doesn’t fill my every second, that would be ok
now, and it has taken sleeplessness,
I am privy to galactic secrets, the gods are chattering
all at once so I’m none the wiser for the cacophony
just full of loud
Like life,
The seasons smile
Upon the soul
Who is willing to listen
To the gentle breath
Winsome winds,
Tender rains falling,
Soothing the spirit with
Calm that caresses
The deepest feelings,
Intimate, like a whisper
Like life,
Indeed there is strife,
But the soul smiles
With the caress of moonbeams,
Starlight sprinkling joy
Through the atmosphere,
Rearranging the moments
In silent wishes,
Embracing the colors
In hues of vibrant healing,
Miracles blessing
Imagine the wonderful
Abiding in the setting
Spring, summer, fall – winter
Even the snow awakens
Music in the spirit
Who knows what it means
To be lost in the stillness
Serenity, expressions of beauty
All around the recurring
Meanings, the whimsical,
The dreams overflowing in
Radiant, brilliant, flames of believing
Like life,
Seasons come and go,
Bringing joy, serenity, hope
Leaving gifts of light,
Rays of truth piercing the night,
Erasing the darkness
With a rustling of quiet,
A serenity falling – lost in the
Lulling of lightness,
Fiercely pouring out peace
Through the moments,
Leaving only the sigh, the groaning
Bleeding from the heart
Who knows that even the seasons,
Who come and go
Without commemoration,
They create their own festivity,
There own carnival of blessing,
Beautiful in the intelligence
Season’s grace abiding in the soul,
Inviting the music, inspiring
The life to go on – lying in the sun,
Who falls on the morning
Just as the moon pours out its easy
Caress on the night, the evening
Who knows the seasonal bliss
Like life,
This is the dance
Between hope and peace,
Faith and belief,
The day and the night,
The life – love brought to life
By the cries of a joy, pure delight!
I've searched nearby hillocks and sand.
They've gone missing sooner than late:
no wildflowers to perk barren land,
gypsy flowers by garden gate.
Where are those tiny violets
that snuggled closely to the ground;
yellows that smiled to all they met,
iris-hued daisies always found?
Blossoms dipped in a sunset's peach
once caressed my garden's rock wall.
And, tangled beside, in their reach
trumpet vines, crimson-red and tall.
Drought escorted seasons' changing,
yet we missed blossoms' frantic call.
This summer passed rearranging
joy with no wildflowers at all.
August 10, 2022
Wind can be a bit pushy
at times
Though I would be first
to admit
of needing nudges in different
directions
inclined to linger too long
under shady canopy
or at the seashore
gazing off into dreamy
horizon
my mind inclined toward
repainting sunsets
rearranging stars into
unique constellations
or writing poetry
strictly for sojourners
each poem a gateway
to ports further unknown
i wander these winter beaches
where autumn's storms
have removed the footfalls of summer
believing in spring
here i am alone listening
to the waves mellifluously remind
yet never recalling
floating the river Lethe
alone where the frigates soar above
pelicans traversing the waves
the terns work the receding water
i am the intruder
waves erasing my past
placing before me rearranging sands
paths never worn
only the belief in spring
with each step forward
i wonder if the gulls see
my past being removed, the future
dependent upon some wave
fortune or contretemps
i wonder if the gulls feel
this surreal gull glides, turns, drift
upon grateful wings
grateful to those who long ago
gave freedom to thought from hunger
the plight of thought
the flight of thought
freeing this surreal gull to wander in wonder
i wander here keeping the dream alive
faith it will evolve into more
some empyreal dictate
some Newtonian machine
there is a numen to winter beaches
here i can laugh with humanity, smile
the hubris belief this can be destroyed
changed yes, but so may volcanoes, asteroids
none of which has a brain
here i can believe that dreams
will be given to reason, logic
and end to war and peace on earth
that there is nothing fatal
even science cannot deny
these rearranging sands and time
will produce another poet wandering, wondering
i wander these winter beaches
where autumn's storms
have removed the footfalls of summer
knowing sunrise, sunset, and spring returns
i am alone, yet far from alone
i am home
where dreams glide, turn, drift
soaring in the thermals of thought
the flight of belief
terminus ad quem
terminus a quo
Playa Del Rey 91 The Patient Stones
is this then my fate
watching the scurrying crabs
rearranging sands, counting the waves
the wary eyes of the magnificent frigates above
your eyes were to me
exotic birds of aquamarine
whose free flight
stole my thoughts
my breath
my heart
now i have a horizon
where the world disappears
the universe begins
azure is more than a color
how ironic
how often said
love is blue
herein are only remembrances
of shared happiness
a gentleman never tastes bitterness
in what was not meant to be
i had a professor once, well more than once
who explained that we needed
to reach into the depth of being
to write poetry
that sentiment was to be avoided
as some shunned member of society
a useless masked whore
this poem is my gift to you
not to impress a world i could care less about
but to validate the point
sentiment is the foundation of poetry
innate to the heart's wings in the quill
that fills the dreams within
or walks in mourning upon the beach
Fergus Falls 2000
on Youtube:
Tom Waits - "The One That Got Away"
Inspiration.
Inspiration is indisputably unexpected like scattered showers on scorching days
From ants raging war within the logs crevice, or the mysterious sea’s zephyrs after dark
Spontaneously leaping into perpetual thought, desire stealthily follows
Carefully selecting beloved thoughts within the brains exotic continuum
Forming the poem
Spontaneously choosing a companion to create your Picasso of words
Swiftly and slowly decomposing memories to adjectives and verbs
Rearranging, changing, and emotions of satisfaction and frustration
The Poets post then accept comments for their creation