Best Transmuted Poems
I had an alien for two weeks before I realized how unusual she was.
I wish I could be a mouse in the corner, I had said, and I was.
My alien gave me a cracker, patted me on the head, and reminded me
Once again, how important it is to keep her earth-visit quiet from the masses.
I nibbled on the cracker nervously, wondering how long I would be stuck
Wearing this smelly fur suit, dragging this ugly super long tail?
Praying that Shark, my killer cat was out hunting somewhere else.
Poof! I was back in my normal body.
What other talents do you have? I asked my alien friend.
Not in words because aliens from the two-galaxies-over talk in thoughts.
I am a tripartite, she tele-pathed to me.
What’s that?
Her body immediately transmogrified into three separate, untouching-pieces.
Before I could close my shocked wide-open mouth, she had transmuted back into one complete alien.
Can you disappear? I asked her.
That was the last I ever saw of her.
Some days, however, I feel that she is here, invisible, watching me,
On those days, I wonder if I am going to find
Myself munching on a cracker.
Mantis eyes magnetised her sister’s heart
felt its imprisoned glint of gold
willed it to enlarge into a
lotus leaf upon a sea
It floats on a lake of blood before
dawn turning hot burning blue
heat of her own blood
gold of her own heat
‘Let her not drown in
bloodied gold of red
running thick and deep’
So she murmured, so they did
To a shore of soft sand
Heart sailed escorted by
obsidian lidded dragons
gloomy gold unshackling
Guts, throat, tongue
puddle, pond, lake of
blood transmuted to turquoise
gold and blood morphing
Cupids created decoupage dishes
with bloodied dollars gold
called for another stint
to alchemise pentacles cold
_________________
PUBLISHED: Edge of Humanity Magazine
September 26
"The Circe Effect" (Part 1)
Circe, Goddess of magic, nymph, witch, bold enchantress
daughter of Helios, Sun God, her father, can you imagine? ...
let me paint you further, the tree of this wacked-out family canvas -
daughter of Perse, her mother, wild Oceanid Nymph, spawned not on landmass,
but in the vast deep blue deep.
Aeetes, her brother hung tight to his Fleece
and Pasiphaë, her sister, given in marriage to King Minos of Crete,
had a fling with a monstrous White Bull,
a gift from Poseidon, ain't that so sweet?
she bore a bastard child, the Monataur with a ring in his nose,
horns and hoofed feet.
Now there was a family of total dysfunction
and Circe, poor dear, betrayed for remaining herself,
remaining non-function
was banished to Aeaea for murdering her husband
the Prince of Colchis.
There on Aeaea, as revenge, Circe drew out her magic wand - not a sword,
transmuted her enemies, all those who offended her into wild beasts,
where they were left to circle her mansion and roam to eat swill as their feast.
Docile not dangerous, drugged and delerious,
these beasts never gored -
they were fawned on by all newcomers, who were simply just curious,
never bored.
These entranced beasts lured newcomers to our girl Circe
with a woof and purr.
Enter Circe, quite disturbed, in a logical kind of way.
“More pets for me!”, she thought, “they will never stray”.
These lonely, adventurous vagabonds who ventured into her lair,
well, she showered them with all her incantations, but they never heard
her words of Love ever there –
Circe would finally reveal who she truly was,
for you see by now all that pain, all that hurt
had converted our dear old Circe into a siren
otherworldly, deadly lethal, mysterious, re-birthed;
all that ventured into her Kingdom now were
captivated by her spells and
then promptly, with a wave of her wand,
transfigured forevermore
as creatures,
of her Elysian Fields interred.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
In human form I was born. In human frame I will stay,
but for some other species, life doesn't transpire that way.
A wiggly caterpillar transmutes into a wondrous creature
when it emerges with beautiful wings as its best feature.
I can't begin to imagine myself in an altered physical form
and have my atoms rearranged, deviated from the norm.
I wonder... if I entered another realm, in the spiritual sense,
would I cast shadows or auras of light in bright effulgence?
For the transfigured mind of my heart to be in mutual accord,
first it must surrender the resident ego to receive its reward.
Once I perceived answers to the bounty of questions asked,
could I be transmuted again, or would my future be masked?
Is it likely that my state of 'being' will be something to resist
and query in what physiological sentience could I feasibly exist?
I seek clarification about what happens in life as a transmutation.
Is it even something I could fathom, given a plausible explanation?
I don't wish to become a frog from tadpole, and egg hatched,
because to my human body, I have become rather attached.
First, I'd inquire if there is a reversion process after mutation
that would rescind metamorphosis through a surgical ablation.
I am the Garden
in me all things live
in me nothing is forgotten
here we enter
after being done with the Serpent
flamed or in darkness
when the Cross enters from below
we die, never to be reborn
Over naked breasts and belly
shadows dissolve in milk and manna
transmuted to rainbows of gold
in the body of the Magdalena
droplets dance fiery ice
where Power is gained through
entry into the Garden of the Heart
another way then becomes the forgotten
Nothing more entices, no fleshly desire lingers
wisdom is my key to the
Gate of Chrysanthemum Purity
where Patience is enthroned at the
fulcrum of two spheres
after we’ve climbed ladders of courage
listened to mournful entreaties, tolling gongs
shook hands with Keepers of Freedom
Our giving becomes our taking
Separation, the Union
the going, a returning
returning, our resting where the
Centre of Silvery Strands is Stillness
born of angels and white doves
as Truth cloaks, after paying
in sweat and tight purple silences
Few know how the Garden imbues
or how matrix minds dissolved or
what a tiny imprint is hidden in the
Palm of God-Goddess where the
Palm of Blood and Thorns
washed us from the shores of
ancient lands into the
moistness of I N F I N I T Y
it has finally come to this
moment to moment, drenched in bliss
form transmuted before our eyes
awestruck beholding rapture rise
the energy loop now complete
makes us at all times love replete
effervescence of magnetism
ignites this here mind-body prism
soma nectar pierces each cell
signalling to us all is well
River minnows
One of life’s sunshine days
A pleasant walk down to the river
Scene of all basking in high summer sun
Sheep graze roaming enamoured of the warm grass
The river flowing passing on its ancient meandering way
A self carved path by an enticement no choice drawn to the sea
And over the river and water meadows comfy white cottages seen
The bright garden colours given now a soft focus by haze and distance
Onto the river bridge the weight an impetus of water a few feet down below
Grey stone ancient buttress shaped by old artifice granting water a gentle pass
Auric and glistening the strong suns noonday blazing light beams down
Lit the riverbed of soft golden sands transmuted a bronze by depth
Flanking green reeds softly sway the gentle current persuades
Shadows shapes seen moving contrary and counter way
Lovely minnow’s dark tops sides a silver hidden
Viewed unseen but in this summer light
Serendipity favour a glance a view
Perhaps a little peep
Of heaven
To be, or not to be: that is the question.
O’, to be unseen by the hands of the greater good!
Fettered with ignorance, a bliss more wanton than the love
Of a willing beauty; higher than the unknown
Depths of stars on a black hole journey; richer than
Humus long unturned by the spade of time – to be
Unmarked and bare - unknowing of what is, truly, is
The forethought of a hindsight never claimed.
Yet, to be known and to know, is the means of
The seeker, the listener, and the master of blood!
To be is within and without, the stars and the earth,
The state of no mind, and the keeper of no time;
The light in the darkest dark – unbound is this
Striving, from a heart meant to endure! But alas,
A torment follows the lit up singular, the gold
Amongst flesh, for all the world wishes to possess
Its worth; to know it intimately – to siphon its essence
From its stock piled earned, and spit each transmuted
Cell into the dust of a desperate house;
To dust beneath the feet, of unwavering laws.
To be is death - a dying into blindness, reborn
Without a stage; unseen by hands that widdle away
Their time on precarious planks, not knowing
A thing about those who see their folly,
Nor the consequence of their unending ignorance.
To be, or not to be: there is no question.
The first line here is from the Grand Master, Shakespeare's Hamlet, act 3, scene 1...To be or
not to be:that is the question....best line ever.
One of lifes sunshine days
A pleasant walk down to the river
Scene of all basking in high summer sun
Sheep graze roaming enamoured of the warm grass
The river flowing passing on its ancient meandering way
A self carved path by an enticement no choice drawn to the sea
And over the river and water meadows comfy white cottages seen
The bright garden colours given now a soft focus by haze and distance
Onto the river bridge the weight an impetus of water a few feet down below
Grey stone ancient buttress shaped by old artifice granting water a gentle pass
Auric and glistening the strong suns noonday blazing light beams down
Lit the riverbed of soft golden sands transmuted a bronze by depth
Flanking green reeds softly sway the gentle current persuades
Shadows shapes seen moving contrary and counter way
Lovely minnow’s dark tops sides a silver hidden
Viewed unseen but in this summer light
Serendipity favour a glance a view
Perhaps a little peep
Of heaven
The Iroko has transmuted
Chinua Achebe
Unending teacher
Fast and furious energy
Spinning into my orb’s flatness
A rotating funnel
It whirls and spirals
Rearranging what was
Mind reflected
In its menacing eye
Force fields emerge
Pressing together
Two lives
Fires once banked
Flame anew
Mindless of what should be
What is emerges
Love’s tensile strength transmuted
KDK
Granted a star
Gold transmuted a dull yellow
A computers power
I walked knowingly into the trap
as a boat sails over Charybdis.
Afraid of showing tell-tale marks
up and down my arms.
I gave in to the lesser evil,
went astray, searching indiscriminately for an escape.
My search lead me to a certain type of website.
Taking refuge in my libido,
I removed my clothes, alone.
My body laid bare, for the asking.
My hands requesting to obediently serve,
on anonymous screens, no compensation required.
A grave and pendulous weight dragging between my legs.
The cucumbersome weight of my cathartic defilement.
A diseased organ between my ears.
Caught in that black hole,
my soul’s spaghettification.
Time wore on, the unseen eyes multiplying.
Demands getting out of hand,
stretching even the limits of my self-destruction.
“It’s 1:30 pm, gimme some lunch.”
“It’s 7:30 pm, I’ve got a sweet tooth.”
“It’s 11:30 pm, show me a story?”
“It’s 3:15 am, help me get some sleep?”
Even my pain drained away from me,
as my insides had, without count.
My soul, also ejecting away from me in fragments.
The catharsis transmuted into self-hate,
and so the coil twisted tighter,
I’d mistaken that numbness for catharsis.
Piece by piece becoming a useful, well used vessel.
A brush with death saved my life.
Seizing my mind and body
in every sense I could illustrate.
A convalescence began, seeding love.
My once desolate heart, fallowed, now fertile.
Love now sustains me. Though I’m a vessel still,
but now for healing, knowing shame intimately, without terror.
I bring it into the light, letting compassion overflow.
Cycling forward to completeness once more, finally whole again.
for Prithwin
first
left downstroke
start from the top
plane out
let the long anchor tip roof-line curve sharply upwards
at the stern down-end
pile it in stuffed in the centre
leave the bottom open
that’s where the studded boot rightly fits
Over billowing transmuted waters
the haze lifts now and then
winds amber green waft and skim
with the late light caught shimmering
no albatross circles the mast
guilt is pure guilt without wanton arrows
there are no signs of land
but the proffered hand
the wanderer knows no words of his own
Reach - disgorge with your nails
Walls that concuss entrails
Can he yet placate asylum
echo the cluck of a poaching North American coot
nestling amidst Eurasian breeding reeds
taut bunching yarrow rushes
an embattled haven
against majestic swan ships
sleek velvety rich drake
peacockish barnacle goose
come in early from the cold
Let the dards of Orion spell syllables of ease
through the congested smudge of yore
contorted fantizi ideograms
cursory calligraphic long dripping brush strokes
pale to pinyin
Simplified
the exile gasps for instant phonemic breath
under choppy waves of stuttering tongues
racy blades
extirpate langue crucify parole
mix meaning into heady synaesthesiac brew
loss of face is a loss of noodles
develop equals hair
Could René Char’s Zeit Geist
have diagnosed the myna’s Kâla-Purusha
Reach – disgorge with your nails
Walls that concuss entrails
Resources
1. This poem has to do with a Bengali translator’s first encounter with René Char at his residence The French poet questioned his translator on the meaning of “le dard d’Orion” in
his poem: “Jeu muet”. The translator interpreted the phrase as having to do with
astronomy and thus rendered it as “kâla Purusha” (Zeit Geist or literally as in
Hindu mythology: the Primal Being at the beginning of time). René Char then
picked a certain variety of the cactus flower in his garden and said that the
French “phrase” applied to that particular flower.
2. The imagery in the poem also relates to the simplification of classical Chinese
characters (fantizi) by the Peoples Republic of China in the early fifties and the
alphabetisation of Chinese characters, known as “pinyin” as opposed to the Wade and Yale systems. The simplified characters produced certain semantic anomalies.
©T. Wignesan, Paris – May 3, 2009
I Call My Ten-Year Old
I call my ten-year old
Hidden and secluded
Alive in death’s grasp
Unseen yet hovering
Unconscious, subterranean
Felt but not heard
Needles prick chin’s pincushion
Screams echo through
Heart’s tormented chambers
Images flash
Blood red, avatar blue
Not on film’s cellophane
But in cones and rods
Fear in technicolor
My ten-year old answers
Amygdala-like screams erupt
Bubbling through blood and bone
Are lava-like projectiles
Tooth-some daggers that
Pierce night’s skin
Fear’s heavy drapes part
Secrets, once knots, in cavern’s pits
No longer fed by silence and fear
No longer guarded by anger’s blade
Arise transmuted, transformed
Hush, my child
What was no longer is
Shed the snake’s skin
Feel the warm underbelly
Of love and acceptance
Neath its cold cloak
Is the peace you seek