Best Transfers Poems
Your reflection is a liar
It makes no confessions
The image reaches within
Cold fingers claw at your mind
A mirrored smile
Taunts you
Haunts you
No words spoken
Yet you hear screaming in your head
You reach out your hands
Palms joined on glass
No warmth transfers as you touch
You stare at the illusionary you
Looking back from his backward land
A place without air
Yet it is you who cannot breath
Together you bang on the glass
Cracks appear
You cut your right hand
Blood trickles down his left wrist
As he licks it off you taste it on your lips
There it is again
That smile
Perhaps it's a smirk
What does he know
Fear rises from within
You turn to walk away
Hair rises on your neck
The sound of shattered glass
As the pieces of you fall
You were never here
All these people you used to be
Shards of glass upon the floor
Nathan's Mirror Contest
Kind of freaky it matches one of your pictures, I wrote this a while ago.
When walking barefoot trough the grass you will feel a tantilizing tingle.
Connecting your soul to the earth is advised permitting your toes and grass to mingle.
The earth transfers energy through the body and cleanes free radical through the soul.
Enhancing your health by walking barefoot connecting to mother earth for fifteen or more minutes a day should be a daily goal.
1) MENTAL STORMS
I am not a poet
I have never claim to be
I only write down my feelings
Because it helps me mentally
It was kept a secret for years
never for others to see
A personal world
Where I keep my memory's
Focusing so hard
It's like I'm eating them on TV
dealing with the loss of a love one
Can come in all shapes and all forms
I just personally found writing to be
The way
That helps tackle my personal mental storms
You see when the storm peaks full force
it's has no remorse
It transfers lightning bolts of pain shattering strain electrifying the vains as it travels besides the bloods course
Then the pain inflames the brain
as it test the human frame
to see if you can regain
the inner strength to remain
strong enough to maintain
as you cope with the constant strain of handling one of life's cruelest games
So I don't care if my English is not the correct grammar
That really isn't my concern
The fact is I'm actually thick as when it comes to understanding all the proper punctuational terms
I don't write down my feeling for anyone to grade
I don't write them down for attention or praise
I don't care for the spelling mistakes or the ink stained tears that phase the page
Cause when I'm writing
half the time my hand barley keeps up pace
Often the tears flow blocking my vision as I scribble down words like an emotional race
But like any storm
They always pass through
Some are worse then others
But eventually the sky returns blue
As the sun comes out from behind its covers
So as the wind howls hard
the rain beaut down
It's a case of if you want to survive the mental storm
Or admit defeat and drown in your frown
William light
I sip compliance from a cardboard cup. Tight fine steel lines, hoist five lifelike life sized paper mache white swans. The birds seem to wing from sunlit atrium up and over an oak railing to the mezzanine. Dazzling beneath skylights, they depict ascent, flap, glide, brake and then descent towards wrought iron tables. They mimic our trek from mall entry up the escalator to feast at the food court. I sit alone at the railing, gliding swan overhead, and pretend to eye my phone. Today I secretly study humans. Food court stuffed with youthful staff, bargain hunters, transit transfers, mobility scooters, mothers, babies, bags, phones, the braggadocio of men meeting, gaunt faces of the needy. Bodies milling, streaming, yearning. The bubbling cocktail of pop rock, chit chat galore, languages, slanguages, giggles, and that one guy yelling. The carnal essence of commercial cookery. Unspoken competition for tables, at times nearly a blood sport. Each of us tiptoeing through our daily hopscotch. Only children wonder at the swans. Do mall swans search for lost wetlands, or do they strain to join us? Mythology has it that swans shift between human and avian form. The enchantment of Tchaikovsky’s swan, princess by night pirouettes into swan by day. In the wild, sudden bright white, raucous landing, huge bold birds calling, splashing power and grace. I wish we each burst into swan. But flight feathers do not anchor to my bones, nor contour feathers pierce my skin. I vow to visit the wild ones, and leave.
published in "Unbroken" 2025
Color outside the lines
Coloring outside the lines
Not at my school
Nuns frowned on that;
Skirts above the knee
No way
Not at my school;
No gum, no pens,
No make-up
Not allowed-uh-uh
Not at Saint George School;
Memorize your verses
Three a night
Don'miss a word
Mistakes not allowed;
Practice cursive
Letter after letter after letter
Fingers hurting
Pain allowed;
Piano lessons once a week
Pay your dollar
Sister so-and-so
Smacks fingers with ruler
You missed a note
Abuse allowed;
Forgot your homework
Stay after school
Clean chalkboards
Sweep the floor
Empty wastebaskets
Write 300 times
Do not forget homework
Rebellion stirs;
Mass every morning
Kneel, stand, sit
Be quiet more rules;
Cover your hair
Genuflect, repeat Latin
Over and over
What did I say?
God loves you
Unless he's angry
You stuck out your tongue
A bolt of lightening
Strikes, you shiver;
Not the first time you shiver;
Hell is your destiny
Unless you are perfect
Pure, holy, say ten hail Mary's
Five our father's;
Maybe you'll be lucky
End up in purgatory;
Then someone can light candles
For a price and pray you out
Really.
Now if you r a survivor
Of Catholicism
You know only Jesus
Was perfect, only Jesus
Died, rose again, sits at
The right hand of his father
Opening heaven for us
Imperfect people
Or you are an atheist
Or you believe Jesus was a good man,
A prophet; or you believe
Nothing at all;
Priests--saddest of all
Children robbed
Of innocence--cover ups,
Lies, transfers--more abuse;
Are there Catholics who believe
What they believe, sure;
Is there a pope, sure;
Will Catholicism survive?
Here we are, at the edge of the universe.
Let us praise that we are alive.
Through the maze of this mausoleum,
Pass the gaze of the singular coliseum; I’m amazed that we survived.
The stars have come and gone, even their memory has faded away.
All that stands is the emptiness and hollowness that was foreshadowed by this pre-destined day.
As I stand here I turn around for one last look to the porous past.
I see the shedding of what I thought was everything, down to the last image of what use to be, going by ever so fast.
I see the losses,
I see the pain
I see the hallucinations of happiness so vivid.
As they collapse into a dimension that is too small for my mind to save.
I see the heroes,
I see the villains,
I see the ink that gave them life.
I see the future, dancing with the past amidst the darkening of the last remaining starlight.
Here we are, at the edge of the universe.
Let us praise that we are alive.
The last sunrays are fleeing,
Soon we won’t be able to see,
So how will I know if you survived?
Let us remember the taste of the tears of all we have lost and all we have won.
Let us remember, and face the fear as something turns to nothing, and the nothing takes the place of the sun.
I will try to remember what it’s like to love while I’m still awake.
I promise you,
I will try to remember the spark of energy you embedded in me, before it transfers to an unknown space.
Here we are, at the edge of the universe.
Let us praise that we are alive.
The floor was just a projection of protons that have already died.
Before the path is covered that lead us here to this beautiful place.
Take with you my last shimmering atom; you’ll need the light to make your final escape.
Now it’s time for one of us to take the plunge.
It’s only fair that I go first.
What ever happens, I know you’ll hold on to my atom
That’s all it takes to make another universe.
1.
On the bank of oblivion’s river
A soul hastily arrives
Wishing to cross on the other side
Where eternity resides
2.
Has been preparing for the crossing
Since the first day of her birth
But now that the moment is so near
She is afraid of her death
3.
More few moments she is begging
For much better to prepare
Before the Charon with his boat
Her, to perpetuity transfers
4.
Death however is adamant
Since to delay he can not
So he is reminding the soul
That it is her mortal lot
5.
With dread, she is now boarding
For the trip of no return
But surprised she is to find
That this is of no concern
6.
As the crossing is completed
And the soul disembarks
On the land of sanctified
This is now what remarks
7.
All worries and all burdens
That she carried all along
When imprisoned in the body
In that place don’t belong
8.
For the first time, she is sensing
Real freedom in her being
Such an amount of love and beauty
This world has never seen
9.
At an instance, she turns holy
And with angels, she soars
To the heavens of the blessed
Where her creator adores!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 OCTOBER 2013
*Reposted poem – in honor of our loving PoetrySoup friend and a personal friend, Lucilla Charillo, who died on 27th September 2014! Lucilla, we miss you already! You with God now! Rest In Peace!
Here is Lucilla’s comment on “ THE CROSSING”
Lucilla Carrillo
Date: 10/16/2013 8:28:00 AM
My friend Demetrios; I have been sad for the past few days, but this really made me cry. This is very heartfelt and touching to the soul. A - 7 and I loved this poem. Thank you so much and God bless you always.... Lucilla
Digital beauty encoded in space
Densely packaged with binary relays
A hybrid of English et en Français
Dreaming out loungey soft beats and delays
Super 45’s and magnetic tape
Transfers of energy through vintage keys
Trading the lead to entrance and escape
Analog phases alighting the breeze
Delicate spires of open finesse
Hushed drones that mingle in the subsonic
Limitless visions in limited press
Mixing it down into Duophonic
Sensual ribbons of Marxist ideals
Consciously rolling Motorik appeal
The sky seems to be on fire,
Almost supernatural,
Burning magnesium bright.
Almost as if Armageddon is coming;
As if it's already here.
It transfers its brillance to the mountains
Turning the rock into pillars of flame,
Makinf them seem even more immovable,
Even more untouchable,
Grander, and more breathtakingly terrifying
Than ocean waves at night.
And if the scholars are right
And my time here is limited,
Almost to the point of being negligible
In the view of the mountains, the sea, and the sky;
If this could be that fabled 'any moment'
Then I am sure that I'll be fine.
This one perfect sunrise;
That one immaculate night on the beach;
Those Holy days, that come every summer;
There is nothing more or less
Than any one of these.
And as the sky starts to lose its color,
As the day starts fading gently into night,
I'll hold on to this one perfect moment;
This one second of blazing clarity,
When the world itself seemed more alive.
It’s a fine line we walk in life,
but a finer line the lineman
holds on to. There’s something
about holding 24,000 volts in your
hand, close enough to kiss it.
Close enough to feel the tingle on
his lips, sending the slightest
shiver down his spine. He’ll
tell you, there’ something about
watching that blue light dancing
up his arm while working in
the rain. As people sleep he
works swiftly to allow others
to live, teetering on the edge
every day. Dealing with hot lines,
pot heads, transfers and more
volts than most people
encounter in their entire lives,
these men risk their lives for
the love of the live wire.
There’s something about being
outside, 60 feet above the
ground, in 110-degree weather, -10 degree
weather, or pouring rain. There’s
something they can’t explain to
you, something you won’t
understand unless you also
fall in love with the live wire.
He’s content to know he’s
done his job, all too often
without recognition. He sleeps
nights, knowing his friends
are out their risking their
lives, and he may be called
at any time, to help them,
to help you. As the children play,
as the neighbors sleep, the
lineman climbs his poles
and brings you back to the light.
Swirling like an exhale from a cigarette that burns
Watching from a distance as the world mundanely turns
Everyday the same routine, a joyless empty place
You wonder when you look at her why indifference paints her face
A memory is hollow like a bitter broken heart
Nothing matters anymore as it all falls apart
Another indie song circles ‘round on repeat
A solemn understanding transfers though the beat
Melancholy strings plucked on acoustic guitars
How does the world feel so small but leave you so far
Out upon the edges where sanity knows its bounds
Would you plummet off the edge if nobody was around?
Without reciprocation we float lifeless in this world
Nothing feels; nothing bleeds from this lachrymose girl
Another day, another chance to see that things set right
One more minute, one more hour until the close of night
Lying awake in bed with eyes tightly closed
When the demons of sleep depart, she’ll never know
Kaleidoscope images and soundless words
Twist and wind into silent thoughts she’s heard
Dreams consume from head to toe
Encapsulate subconscious things she doesn’t know
Vivid nightmares, ghoulish scenes create within the walls
Like Alice in her Wonderland, too much time to fall
But with a sudden jaunt this girl will come to rise
She will stare at her reflection and see nothing in her eyes
No one will ever notice the things they’ll never see
Hidden, caged and bound her secrets to captivity
No pain, no sorrow, not a trace of fear
Not anger or regret could be found here
Each reinforcement, skillfully adjusted every morn
Straightened at the corners and sutured to the norm
“This is your life,” she says, “It owes you not a thing.
Too bad perfection isn’t as perfect as it seems.”
THE EYE of I
What is life? What is love?
The eye of I took it in…
The material rolling sweeps highs and lows--valleys cuts, grooves, gullies and gorges eye engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit-- living matter,
infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
the sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under
What is the breathing open petal life… radiating respiring
One throttle to quell that respiration, bright lightening beauty gently fusing into glow?
Brightening as I faster
Turbine-whistle I your master
beating, spewing, thrusting, ignition transference… body grue and stifles?… Gone
She stiffens the radiance of the face pale, milky, alabaster, clammy pore-less beams the lips and cheeks rubescent now. Smoothes, and transition into deep hues of blues, violent violets, ebony black. Hardens, stiffens stone then softens? as alabaster
Deterioration, matter, entropy all so naturally
Squall has past--the quondam respiring takes long respite..
The eye of I took it in…The material rolling sweeps highs and lows, valleys, cuts, grooves, gully and gorge I engorge crevices of porphyry
heat flies from the ravines folded as petals from
places the eye cannot see but the soul can visit
of living matter, infused with tissue thoughts generated externally electrified internally
The sweat that beaded on the brow drips and spatters, absorbs the entity under lies the breathing open petal life… radiating, respiring?
The fingers trace and fall in place the Etowah infused with breath
The sweat sinks in, absorption energy transfers electricity thoughts
Cabachon crescendos!
All the while the living, beating, breathing, entity flutters, shutters, smiles.
Years ago He put a spark in Her eyes, the Sweetheart ----- LINDA- MARIE
She “LOVED” him then , as she “LOVES” him now the --- POETESS
With Her pen and paper , She writes Poetic Artistry So ---- EXTRAORDINAIRE
The LOVE in Her eyes, transfers to the ink; She winks my-- SWEETHEART
Any form, any style You read, know what She is thinking--- Of
Her eyes sparkle now , YOU can see the LOVE in Her ----- POETRY
A flavorful combination of words like a tasty Mulligatawny-- SOUP
your silent beau, you my “Soul Sweetheart” always you and-- I
I light 60 candles upon my birthday cake for you I make a -- WISH
Everlasting LOVE as shines in the mirror of Your Eyes for --- YOU and RON
The Happiness of a long awaited LOVE an Entwinement of --- ETERNAL
Togetherness FOREVER to ALWAYS be a LOVE of Heavenly -- BLISS
I LOVE YOU
Dedicated to the Sweetheart of Poetry Soup ( and Me )
Linda-Marie and Her Long Awaited LOVE, RON
the passage of rights
have turned to wrongs
the depth of love
have turned to hate
funny how
everything changes
and stays the same....
the love and the hate
merely transfers
to someone new
janetta
written in 1975
This mental scene came over me while finishing my abnormal psych final:
A pack of about 12 guys all wearing
Sweat pants and no undergarments
**** stars
No white dwarfs here...
They are headed into the strip club for a little fun.
I can visualize the suprise of the bouncers,
the patrons all have a look of protest,
but what are they really going to do?
The wads of cash in hand almost match their...
Oh, you get where I am going with this.
The next sequence for these guys is to chase some viagra
With a few tumblers of jagermeister.
Some of the strippers are going to have more fun
Than they've had since the Harlem Globetrotters were in town.
But poor Lil' Bunny;
It's her first night up there on the swirling stage,
And it's moving like an event horizon.
Her legs are stiff and they're not the only turgid things in this
Flesh arena.
The guys sense her freshness like Crocuta crocuta to the recent kill.
Earlier in the day,
The other dancers told ol' Lil' to really grind on the costumer's lap
In order to keep the money flowing-
"It clicks off the nerves in their brain and transfers all thought
South of the equator."
Yay!
Well, now she is has 12 overzealous guys waiting in queue
With big suprises for her,
And thin veils of cotton covering their junk.
...
I lightly chuckle in class, and then realize
I only have 20 minutes to finish this wonderful test.