Best Transmuting Poems
Floating fluttering fleurs
are jewels in fuchsia and magenta
transmuting into taffy hue
with the kiss of dappled sunlight
like her cheeks that blush in pink
with his wondering wink.
The willows are stalactites
seducing newly bloomed nympheas
slumbering in Egyptian blue water
like her shaggy windswept hair
teasing her beloved's face
beneath the dancing moonlight.
Oh, Monet,
your 'en plein air' emphyrean elegance
awakens my sacrosanct senses
as I envisage a Filbert brush
glazing each pearly petal
highlighting sun's luster
on emerald to lime leaves,
on cyan to admiral water,
reflecting cerulean sky
in consummate chiaroscuro.
7 April 2022
A Briand Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
8th place
Notes:
In 1893, Monet, a passionate horticulturist, purchased land with a pond near his property in Giverny, intending to build something "for the pleasure of the eye and also for motifs to paint." The Water Lilies is a 1919 painting by impressionist Claude Monet, one of his Water Lilies series. The painting, the left hand panel of a large pair, depicts a scene in Monet's French pond showing light reflecting off the water with water lilies on the surface.
(www.metmuseum.org)
*plein-air painting, in its strictest sense, the practice of painting landscape pictures out-of-doors; more loosely, the achievement of an intense impression of the open air (French: plein air) in a landscape painting(www.britannica.com).
How fickle are the humors of the heart,
capricious and of alternating hue.
a masked chameleon of cunning art;
transmuting colours often hid from view.
Now sunk in sombre thoughts of deep regret
now tinged with envy's veil of deepest green,
rose-coloured when by love's suffusion met
or cleansed as white as snow and pristine clean.
Just like the changing seasons, hearts endure
bright sunshine, louring skies or sudden storms,
and when the heavy heart is overcast
it looks not upwards as a rainbow forms.
Kaleidoscopic heart, at journey's end
which hues will shape the palette's final blend?
entered 13.02.21
My Foolish Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
03/12/18
Holder of the flame of bliss awareness
Cognised by presence, in tranquil stillness
Each hue new, although generic code same
God is love; we may give Him any name
Filling voids within, with joy in fullness
Deluded is thought of separateness
Empathy births interconnectedness
We all are one, this life play but a game
Holder of the flame
God in-dwells all forms, as the That oneness
Love, light and power, endless blissfulness
Steady resolve, with God-connect our aim
Set aside ego urge, which is to blame
Transmuting to luminous Godliness
Holder of the flame
17-November-2021
We are spoon-fed by touch divine,
transmuting body-mind,
orchestrated by God’s design,
for those with love aligned.
As such, without excuse,
it’s up to us to choose,
the flavour of our muse.
By bliss beats led ~
We are spoon-fed
Celebrating innate aliveness
Uninhibitedly, as breath flows
Blissful rapture grips our soul
Vibrant innocence yet seeks
The three fold flame of Christ
Aglow in the cave of our heart
~ as God’s grace so in-pours
Consumed by soul’s yearning
Love in love with love blooms
Enlivened by the blissful elixir
Magnetic heat pervades form
Cleansing erst ego borne sin
Transmuting us as living light
~ as God’s grace so in-pours
To attain unity consciousness
Beyond opposites, singularity
The pulse of life renews vitality
Orbiting the voids in our heart
In timeless time, we disappear
Becoming the bliss flame itself
~ as God’s grace so in-pours
19-May-2022
PS Resident Revenant ...
"I shall embrace it," he sighed, transmuting -
Blood, no stain, he thought,
Not even frost on the pane ...
Missed ... he'd not ever be.
** This is the one-thousandth (1,000) poem I have written and posted since joining Poetry Soup a couple of years ago, (12.6.16), at which time I had no intention of making poetry a "serious" thing, lol ... you just never know, do you? It was meant as a farewell piece, but a friend changed my mind ...
Despite the motivations behind that, I want to thank you all for the incredible kindness and encouragement you have shown me over these many months, as I was but an ignorant newbie when I showed up on this doorstep, having written TWO poems in my entire life previous to joining ...
I can't express sufficiently how much poetry now means to me - what a huge part of my questionable existence it has become - but it was the sweet and thoughtful comments from all of you that made it so, proving again that a website, much as anything, is only as good as its people.
Sincerest blessings and deepest appreciation to you all ... I can never repay the debt. ** <3
Mystifying indeed it is
The twelve petaled lotus bliss fizz
Beneath which hidden, petals eight
Spake Master Djwal Kul, truth is this
Esoteric truths lie in wait
To garner full depth, make heart chaste
Inner sanctum, our master’s home
In void of our heart, He does wait
Threefold Christ flame, within heart dome
Therein resounds, cosmic gong Ohm
Prismatic light bright, bliss vibrant
Transmuting then thus, our genome
We vaporise in the current
Pristine white light, luminescent
Cave of heart, garden of Eden
Thousand suns glow effervescent
Conscience speaks, we do as bidden
Love’s fragrance, remains not hidden
From head to toe, we’re bliss replete
As above, so below - Heaven
17-March-2022
Light
of truth
dawns gently,
when we admit
divine bliss current
to fill all voids within.
As past conditioning ebbs,
veils of ignorance are removed,
enabling thus Gods love to fill us
transmuting mind body as living light.
We cannot garner these truths using force,
for by connecting, not by grasping,
may we cognise the life current
pulsating ceaselessly here,
now, within our being,
known if we listen,
silencing thought,
as our heart
imbibes
love.
22-May-2021
“Not all souls are willing to burn to learn,
transmuting as light in mind-body urn.”
~ quote by poet
Krama, step by step energisation,
simply stated, is kundalini rise,
gripping us in all time meditation,
each rapture tremor embraced in surprise.
Awakening occurs in slow motion,
in a manner that leaves no room for doubt,
where presence sipping love’s magic potion,
from the world of ego, opts to walk out.
The prerequisite of course is a pure heart,
without which we cannot board God’s bliss bus,
growing in love, deeming no soul apart,
breath by breath we ascend without a fuss.
This path leads to God realisation,
wherein mood and mode is celebration.
The lingering cumulus clouds
imperceptibly changed their shapes
while I sat below discerning
these metamorphosed spectacles.
My imagination went wild
as they drifted across the sky.
It seemingly was like my mind
was orchestrating their transmuting.
I glanced at one that took the shape
of the poet Walt Whitman’s head;
another like Sylvia Plath;
and yet another looked like Poe.
I glanced back at the Whitman cloud
but it changed into Erato.
I took my pad from my pocket
and began to write this poem.
Thirsting to touch the Spirit of Ages
Rediscover that which I did misplace
A sparrow that fell out of time and space
This gilded door, travelers courageous
Glorious songs, birds escaping cages
How strange to meet your mind and not your face
Deep, yet anonymous touch of this “place”
Open, free hearts pour out on these pages
Welcoming home this orphan of my mind
Setting free the songbird from key and lock
Lava released from under miles of rock
Tight soul knots within begin to unwind
Old jail, black chains, they finally unbind
No longer to drink the spirit’s hemlock
4/8/16
Set down the rocks that have burdened me so
See them transmuting as if by magic
Into verse sublime, from burden tragic
This purgation, alchemy, afterglow
On warm, lofting currents, mingling souls know
Of realms uncharted from depths pelagic
Vibrant celestial breeze, energetic
Key to the gilded door, your hearts bestow
Awaken to the world of light, colors
To touch the transcendent truth beyond time
Rhythm of being, in image and rhyme
Once, heart’s eyes had been buried in squalor
Now kaleidoscopic multicolor
To giddy, broad vistas, this soul’s new climb
4/9/16
abbaabbacddccd (x2)
Straight rows of soft chairs, larval eyes stare blank
Absorbed by glowing colors on the wall
Their jaws slack, fetid whiff, unwashed and dank
Arrested minds the blue screen does enthrall
Their horticulture, growing docile strains
Indulge the twisted whims our lords conceive
The whores to culture, placid in their chains
Reclining prostrate, ready to believe
Our nation’s spirit sinking to expire
Omniscient demigods behind the screen
Transmuting our light to synthetic ire
Red, white, and blue bows to red, blue and green
Unconscious fulcrum, force you can’t deny
Black keys in gray hands of the puppet priest
Subliminal, no chance to wonder why
Clandestine reins pulled taut, they lead the beast
Imbue the symbol with gilt qualities
Admire how they conspire, our life rewired
Such dazzling tricks to blind the polity
In breaded, cheap amusements, we are mired
Our brave new virtual reality
With hidden craft, untruth is overlayed
Eclipsed sun darkens to totality
Beneath benighted noon we walk as day
Predicted, instinct’s base reaction known
To tidal waves of violence and sex
Minds titillated by distraction’s bone
From our Media-Government Complex
Our internecine hatreds stoked, inflamed
Creating and enhancing the divide
True culprits are protected, victims blamed
Incessant war, the great rift yawning wide
Unseemly freedoms have been made taboo
Renouncing power, most don’t even grieve
Relieved to give up guns and money too
Behind red tape and laws lurk skulking thieves
Resounding echoes, our once great New World
Through wavelengths, diodes, context redefined
Cold software guiding social plots unfurled
Far colder people fine-tune the hive mind
Inheritors of might presume the role
Unburdened by the ballast of remorse
Their dark ascent to power and control
Soul-searing wind as you climb to the source
Some zealots hold that this is Satan’s world
Each object of desire imbued with blight
Much clearer when the plan becomes unfurled
So glaring it becomes they have the right
This morbid monolith, our freedom’s bane
Temptation steals your breath, you’d best beware
Choose reason in a world that’s gone insane
Reclaim your only soul and say a prayer
© Thomas W. Quigley
7/17/16
Mostly Iambic Pentameter
Heartbeat ringing in my ears
Wondering why I am here
Eldritch quest of many years
Farewell, love to you always, my dear
To the alabaster summit I longingly stare
Somehow certain I will find the answer there
Fervent question that drives my every care
New ridges on my neck and wide eyes that stare
The expedition is going slowly awry
Silently, yet reflected in their eyes
Though I would not drive them to die
Not whether or not, but I must know the why
A little of me drains into each dark crevasse
Air grows ever thinner as the miles pass
Further up, I find they’ve left me en masse
Black mouth I find at the trail’s impasse.
Down a tunnel I find the answers I have wished
City filled with my cousins, the man-fish!
An ancient design, my transmuting flesh
It is the home for which I have always wished!
Ia! Ia! Chtulhu Fhthagn!
5/20/16
© by the Author
For contest: At the Mountains of Madness
Sponsor: Timothy Hicks
Cycloidal forms transmuting to the involute
obduration under duress a malleable direction
coming to nothing just the gearing of time
Spartan gates left open to a millennium of thought
three legged animals given there a soft palfrey canter
air floating fish seen and their no need water
still the rusting coulter rusts and rusts
the power such lasciviousness constant thought
why would a simple man under go such agglomeration
deracinate weak seeming silly there the confederations
let us all sharpen so freeing all thought
fools are fools concomitant if you will keep with it
monsters lovely chimeras and beauty
entering the world of Hieronymus Bosch
let us not be reduced to the witch of Buchenwald
interweaving ourselves into their existence
On strange days
like these
baking cookies
is an arcane art.
For it is winter outside
how we transform
the inside
into mystic summer.
For i know the golden ratio.
i have surrounded
myself with graduated cylinders
that recall the lore
of cups and ounces.
Retorts of pots and pans
where i can observe
the powers of this world
returning and combining
into simmer.
Such smells
waft from the oven
as ginger swirls
and cinnamon sworls
like molten mountains jumble.
As the elements combine
eggs and butter
await their transformation.
Some believe that
transmuting baser metals
into gold somehow proves their worth
but they have never
crafted cookies.
At my round
small wooden table
my imaginary children enjoy
the coming holiday of doughy
spell-making.
They beam at me
with their gumdrop eyes
and jelly bean smiles
and write Latin script
with licorice and raisins
on their raiment.
As the homunculus
i have constructed
out of hen’s teeth
and oatmeal.
with a retro fish tank.
skips like calendar with
an extra leap year.
hiccupping time.
Mice in the wainscot
squeak as Saturn
rises auspicious
in their whiskers.
As my roller
impresses and passes
i fill the silver trays
the cuckoo clock strikes thirteen.
While i in a black forest script
write of spells
of life and death
and of the perfect
distillation of a sugar cookie
in baker notation
Sprinkles on the flour
that has spilled upon my table
from the shifter….