Mutate Poems | Examples

Felix Culpa

Do you regret, when you make a mistake?
While I surely understand your concern,
do you know that you'll get an even shake,
a priceless education in return?
So, go ahead, and give yourself a break,
for it is life's fumbles that make us learn.
So say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
there is no need for self-assault.

Tragically hurt, no longer content,
you find life comes without a guarantee.
All harmful things, you can never prevent.
Maybe, it is helpful for you to see
that each and ev'ry good and bad event
is the divine branching of your life's tree.
So, say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
blest departures from the path of default.

When genes do not properly replicate,
It's not a problem, but a solution.
You might things it's a dirty word, "mutate",
but it's nature's brilliant contribution.
As the epochs and eons pass, just wait,
and you'll see glorious evolution.
So, say, "felix culpa" or "happy fault" -
without them, life on earth comes to a halt.

Sky of fireflies

Why does the swirly train of dancing spirits speak to me, 
on nights when my voice grows weary?
Where does the pain of breathing lay?

I, the fever that holds strength and weakness in one bone,
shadow and light carving chaos onto hidden stones.
Tonight, I watch the swelling spirit speak,
in foreign neon lights possessing my need for sleep,
grasping onto this pair of lungs and rewriting heavenly dreams.

What does my blood know of the sky of fireflies,
glazed in colors of green,
when all the blues I’ve bled were left in a cerulean sea?
I’ve watched living pieces wilt on thriving trees,
yet the moon weeps for a thread of water
to fall on a silvery breeze.

Would you wonder where the earth would kiss me first,
soon after I rest six feet under its warm embrace?
When the limbs of the sun can no longer crawl
their way up my winding waist,
will your fire mutate through the silent soils?

Do the sins on your skin ache to speak of my heart,
while healing was never my piece of art?
So do as you must—if the clouds aren’t what the stars desire,
the waves will weave the clutter you conspire.

Words that squirm

Sometimes words are magnets stuck to your heart
in melody, prophesy, promise:
true or false. 

Sometimes words are puff-balls on weedy-stalks:
whispering things that blow away
on a breath.

Sometimes words make points that hurt:
bitter rusty knives that jab
and scar.

Words behave like viruses – mutate, transform, disguise.
Sometimes they mean the opposite of what they meant
before.

And sometimes 
these eels, these words that squirm with life
come leaping from your mouth
in love.

Everything seems fine to me

Splattering dried soil upon my face 
Lying on that bed for a space 
Space for stars, rainbows, and the moon I plunged my eyes; the sky took me into a room
 An inch of fumes and smoke filled my lungs 
Drown in how they pierced their fangs 
Space by space, acre by acre—work as a trade 
My skin, eyes, and hair were cascading. 
Treasures like golden quicksand, 
Provider at most, even in their  command 
Midst of the haze, everything seems fine to me 
Died at most, thou poorest tree 
Let them cultivate their land and squeeze out my skin
Everything looks fine to me; I have no kin 
Let them pulp my eyes and scorch my feet 
Does not matter when I live in a threat 
The gift of their deeds is the scaly land 
Uncage the air and mutate the hand. 
Living in hell or living in a raging tie 
Raging storms, zapping lightning, polluted realm, and it looks fine to thine eyes 
Stood a strong soldier with all those mishaps
 Hiding my scar and fertilizing all my stuff 
When you are all broke and I’m here to embrace you 
Complaining is not my cup of tea

Ambient Architectural

A single note
Just starting with a single note. 
Drawn to the vibration 
Then another, ally, companion. 
These two becoming firm friends
As others come to join the fray. 
Repeating and finding new meaning,
Never quite knowing their course
Yet their purpose so sure. 
Allowing the sound to penetrate
Lighting the fire in the belly
As another note is plucked
From obscurity
In another’s train of thought. 
Together yet apart. 
Volume and intent mutate
Organically growing to finally, 
Eventually and climatically 
The air thick filled with fever. 
Harmony between the entities
As a hive mind yet each as one. 
From single note to final melody grown,
Raw, unrehearsed crescendo 
Capturing a moment in time never duplicated.

Prison of Freedom

The world, a place dreamt perfect, orderly and friendly
Graced and paced, hospitable to both brave and cowardly
The timid forced turgid, the brave at times feeble and shake
At the forces from the four poles, leaving their lives at stake

The tell tale of the noble as the only capable to cope forces all
To quickly mutate into beings that can conquer and hell in stroll
You and I, apostles stemmed on great doctrine that constitutes
Making the world better and better, indorsing the ancient platitudes

We`re awed and perplexed by perspective of the world depending 
On the side that we fall, the pessimist or unrelenting
With every rise of the sun, a chance to choreography
And perfect authentic living, whether it ends in tidings or catastrophe

As the light dims every day, conscience deems us gutless or valiant
Therefore with every breathe, comes an effort for a man to prove gallant

Hint of Change

When leaves in whispers say goodbye
With a hint of autumn’s sun rise
Once of vibrant life to mutate
In combat with the chilling eve.

Soon to waltz within heartless breath
When leaves in whispers say goodbye
From mighty mother trees shaking
In fall’s perpetual cycle. 

No more gathering of morns dew
Within the mist that spoils the view
When leaves in whispers say goodbye
Dressed in colours of red and gold.

Another seasonal imprint
Scurrying along woodland’s chase
Driven by swirling artful winds
When leaves in whispers say goodbye.

 © Harry J Horsman 2022

Circumbobulation

Eractive verses
dissolve in
circumvented
waves of
irreal words
& surreal swords
(mill for the grist)

Versating ellisions
mutate in
discombobulated
wordclouds of
maloverted lords
& diverted hordes
     
Egestive extremism
emerges from
specious endgames
& epic sadism
   
Mismusing holists
grope for hope
within mischievous holes
& eternal sloth

Blobified circumstances
cavort with
aversive erasures
ensuring elusive endings
& erosive circumbobulation
(grist for the thrill)

Late

i hate
to fixate
but i resonate
need water must hydrate
here is the debate
did a creator create
or from fish did we mutate
so is their one who dictates
knows all fate
hears all our communicate
sees us being inappropriate
but does not decimate
i could not dedicate
just a deviate
unable to imitate
or reciprocate
I think life is delicate
desolate
desperate
all our needs to accumulate
if their is a god he seems to be unaffectionate
probably understandable look at the state
his beautiful planet on which we urinate and defecate
If their is a god i think he is too...

While I Meander

I don’t mean to walk away, just to meander
That’s not to say I don’t enjoy your cander
But I refuse to hear your immoral pander 
When it starts to mutate into wily slander 
I just imagined something so much grander 
Of myself than this unobservant bystander
But since your descent down to philander
You are no officer nor my commander
Does she even know your allergen to dander
Or that you love to cook with coriander
I don’t know how you can even stand her
So I hope you enjoy being goose to her gander
I’ll be thinking of someone else, while I meander…..

The Words Begin To Dance

Read me,
As the words begin to dance, vacillating bewilderedly.
Without knowing who and where, or even when,
Foolishly stepped out, to meet a kind
The kind with bitter, chunderous, nature.

Kind, very kind without a doubt.
A warm, contrasting view of this being
4 limbs, 2 faces, steps out to greet me,
With its soft, frail hand, 
I pity the misunderstood, as rumours mutate
And transmogrify, smothering the barbarous reality
It smiled at me with one face

While the truth is
I set out to meet something different
Something much different, 
Something noxious, oppressive being entitled
To authoritarianism, ideology and power 


But it wasn’t here.
Or at least not yet

Alberta Texas Florida Covid

Anti-social behavior is a trait of intelligence in a world of conformists.
                                    ~Nikola Tesla

I've never been
To Alberta, Texas or Florida,
No, I haven't been
And I don't intend to go.

It's not Covid
That keeps me home
It seems that will be with us
Until Eternity comes.

It's a virus you know
And will mutate 
In dozens of ways,
Survival of the fittest...

I am an almost hermit,
I don't like most people
Except for Mom,
Of course.

I venture into town
Only when I have to,
Covid hasn't changed 
Me much at all!

Like Twain once said,
"The more I learn about people
The more I like my dog!"
In fact, all five of them,

And a couple of cats.


For: Alberta Texas Florida Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joe Maverick

Omicron

Omicron

He has arrived
to eat the ignorant

a few cells mutate
more intelligence

than the masses
who murder their neighbors

since when have truck drivers
become virologists?

Autumn Nostalgia

Rambling around, gardens greet us,
faint scents permeate the air.
Late sunflowers start to hang their heads,
crinkled celosia "cristata" adorn haughty patches,
while blue Agapanthus demand queen reign.
In wooded areas once green, all color mutate:
ash turns to yellow, maple delights in red,
while dogwood almost precious pink.
 Nature in Fall gives us her best.

Ugliness

The ugliness
becomes most
ugly because
we despise it,
we don't pay it
attention...
if we offer a little
 affection, if we pass
a little love,
we will sight that with time
the ugliness will mutate color....

Ugliness is nothing else
 than impression of
first sight...
if it shows
its inside
beauty,
we will observe 
the nature
lavish as it is ...
With time
 It will be transformed ,
 it  will
display as
a beauty
flower...!

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