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#morphing
i bathe with insects, young brittle, black, brown. the beetle’s wing shimmers in the soviet fluorescent light. the dragon sits on my left earlobe, a light flower, a couple of words. an exchange of human pollen. as it rests on my body, it doesn’t forget that the light exists. but it seems to question it. why do you need that light, when you can bathe your body in the darkness, when your eyes are already blind in today’s farming. you don’t know it yet, institutions hate insects more than you. the lizard rehearses gravity, skating on the grey plastic door. it sticks its tongue out. its tail is cut off. it will grow again. we won’t. the housefly is an acrobat. it balances itself on my shoulders as the cold water polishes my skin. oasis to a desert. first the drops tiptoe, and then gravity plays the instrument. then clarity. they hide in the walls. the walls have porous holes. like cicadas in Leicester. water drizzles across my bones, skin and organs. the gecko stares at the hair on my chest and then flops to my right shoulder. the water glides past its ochre body. is it elastic? like our morals. keep sticking to the same thing and the thing becomes ethical. the water doesn’t affect it at all. you can never truly undress yourself. like atoms, like conscience. like water. the insects do not leave. they stay hidden. the gecko and i share a moment of understanding, a brief nod. a moment of freedom. its body glides on water and my retina loses sight of the lights. a brief nod, another splash of water. a room of 20 square feet and a thousand organisms. they do not suffocate you. a world of about eight billion humans. where does life draw the line? they come out of their holes and lick the lights. they have entered their prison. i have entered mine. we are all being farmed but there are no fruits.
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Mar 2
Mar 2, 2026 at 9:37 AM UTC
humans, insects. prisons.
i bathe with insects, young brittle, black, brown. the beetle’s wing shimmers in the soviet fluorescent light. the dragon sits on my left earlobe, a light flower, a couple of words. an exchange of human pollen. as it rests on my body, it doesn’t forget that the light exists. but it seems to question it. why do you need that light, when you can bathe your body in the darkness, when your eyes are already blind in today’s farming. you don’t know it yet, institutions hate insects more than you. the lizard rehearses gravity, skating on the grey plastic door. it sticks its tongue out. its tail is cut off. it will grow again. we won’t. the housefly is an acrobat. it balances itself on my shoulders as the cold water polishes my skin. oasis to a desert. first the drops tiptoe, and then gravity plays the instrument. then clarity. they hide in the walls. the walls have porous holes. like cicadas in Leicester. water drizzles across my bones, skin and organs. the gecko stares at the hair on my chest and then flops to my right shoulder. the water glides past its ochre body. is it elastic? like our morals. keep sticking to the same thing and the thing becomes ethical. the water doesn’t affect it at all. you can never truly undress yourself. like atoms, like conscience. like water. the insects do not leave. they stay hidden. the gecko and i share a moment of understanding, a brief nod. a moment of freedom. its body glides on water and my retina loses sight of the lights. a brief nod, another splash of water. a room of 20 square feet and a thousand organisms. they do not suffocate you. a world of about eight billion humans. where does life draw the line? they come out of their holes and lick the lights. they have entered their prison. i have entered mine. we are all being farmed but there are no fruits.
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3
GOLD AND BLOOD 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 ©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song 2018
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Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 11:36 PM UTC
Gold and Blood
It is not somewhere over the Rainbow Beyond Mother's breath or In the devices of ancient Or modern hands bereft We touch it in our pathos And empathy from Time to time Through a shallow fading Gravel bed Filtering a bitter water table perhaps Whilst the tender leaf of spring Feels it In the autumn of unconditional Acceptance of the inevitable Morning frost Cold relentless rains And colourful leaves falling to their death In beauty So far removed from our bipedal Posturing And upright positioning at the Computer Desk knowing there is no mystery here No wild cry in the night Only electronic and organic Bleeps and drones and Aw! there… I heard it again A lost chord A missing link That the wild Creatures understand Of what we sometimes feel nearer in our shared limbic Brain seldom penetrated through Our domineering eyes planted Firmly in front Of the gray dross from an eternal Fire We spend our given time on This planet trying to douse when The rest Of creation knows the need for Its Purification and leaps willingly Into its All-consuming heart as we Live in fear of the unknown And of fear itself Keeping us estranged from the Cosmic mysterium which Provokes us to awaken To the wondrous eternal Which will Alter our deluded consciousness To see what has been seen Through the Unknown eons to help us take to The fire We only catch a whiff of in the Twilight Of our hopes and selfless dreams So we will rise through the Dry brown leaves of our once Tender Green vision of an ever-changing Universe Which whispers louder and Louder in our darkness Until we cease our chatter and Learn to listen to the serene Silence Of an eternal vibration Heightening Morphing Less organic much more Ethereal spiritual Crawling further and further From the pulse of the earth As we shed thickened skin which Once replaced thin soft Unprotected flesh Needing protection from Extraneous Sources to cover what should Have been Eternally naked bare to the Elements Not limited to a frail carcass Which Will ultimately be left behind as We Transform into our individual Eternal temples to Join in worship with the rest of Creation To be the living offering At the foot of the Eternal voice ineffable Not waiting to be obeyed In mass procession but As individual as one spark Igniting A plot of trees newly released as Mystery Revealed ever so slightly in the Wake of The burial of earthbound mind Steeped in Temporal ancient tradition Fermented in Oak casks which were made to Remain And grow in their ****** state As we hear distant yet distinct Whispers of The origin of our human calling Above and beyond Thoreau's distant drummer’s Near silent tremors of the Most ancient rhythms Now mostly echoes as we March to And follow our own drummer Leading the way back home As we at times seem to distinctly Hear original rhythm's calling As we try so earnestly to Respond like a dying sea Longing to once again sway To the beckoning moon Often keeping in step With our Own inner drummer who Is always trying to keep Time by asking "Are we prepared to give Into what we will Inevitably meet in the end?"
0
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 8:24 AM UTC
Beyond Mother's Breath
It is not somewhere over the Rainbow Beyond Mother's breath or In the devices of ancient Or modern hands bereft We touch it in our pathos And empathy from Time to time Through a shallow fading Gravel bed Filtering a bitter water table perhaps Whilst the tender leaf of spring Feels it In the autumn of unconditional Acceptance of the inevitable Morning frost Cold relentless rains And colourful leaves falling to their death In beauty So far removed from our bipedal Posturing And upright positioning at the Computer Desk knowing there is no mystery here No wild cry in the night Only electronic and organic Bleeps and drones and Aw! there… I heard it again A lost chord A missing link That the wild Creatures understand Of what we sometimes feel nearer in our shared limbic Brain seldom penetrated through Our domineering eyes planted Firmly in front Of the gray dross from an eternal Fire We spend our given time on This planet trying to douse when The rest Of creation knows the need for Its Purification and leaps willingly Into its All-consuming heart as we Live in fear of the unknown And of fear itself Keeping us estranged from the Cosmic mysterium which Provokes us to awaken To the wondrous eternal Which will Alter our deluded consciousness To see what has been seen Through the Unknown eons to help us take to The fire We only catch a whiff of in the Twilight Of our hopes and selfless dreams So we will rise through the Dry brown leaves of our once Tender Green vision of an ever-changing Universe Which whispers louder and Louder in our darkness Until we cease our chatter and Learn to listen to the serene Silence Of an eternal vibration Heightening Morphing Less organic much more Ethereal spiritual Crawling further and further From the pulse of the earth As we shed thickened skin which Once replaced thin soft Unprotected flesh Needing protection from Extraneous Sources to cover what should Have been Eternally naked bare to the Elements Not limited to a frail carcass Which Will ultimately be left behind as We Transform into our individual Eternal temples to Join in worship with the rest of Creation To be the living offering At the foot of the Eternal voice ineffable Not waiting to be obeyed In mass procession but As individual as one spark Igniting A plot of trees newly released as Mystery Revealed ever so slightly in the Wake of The burial of earthbound mind Steeped in Temporal ancient tradition Fermented in Oak casks which were made to Remain And grow in their ****** state As we hear distant yet distinct Whispers of The origin of our human calling Above and beyond Thoreau's distant drummer’s Near silent tremors of the Most ancient rhythms Now mostly echoes as we March to And follow our own drummer Leading the way back home As we at times seem to distinctly Hear original rhythm's calling As we try so earnestly to Respond like a dying sea Longing to once again sway To the beckoning moon Often keeping in step With our Own inner drummer who Is always trying to keep Time by asking "Are we prepared to give Into what we will Inevitably meet in the end?"
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104
Its been a long time We haven't seen each other you and me the one inside that fills my soul the one who only knows my role you are I and I am you striving thinking and praying what should we do you're married now, who knew that that man in the mirror was looking at you you combed his hair you let him near you listened to his goals and his fears all in all keeping a distance to keep him near you married him and thats all you know how to love is a great mystery and we know thats why we are here to learn to be taught to feed our souls for that one thought of what to do being loved, by me to you I said who knew you thats who.
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Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
Been a long time
Melting flesh falling into place. Calling out different words. Two minds, two different eyes. I see you differently. How you changed your heart towards my soul. How you changed your attitude towards this seemingly always happy home. You were worried and you kept your mouth shut. You pat my back gently and asked me if I was okay. When I was okay, you shot bullets at me. Are you scared of caring? Scared of showing the soft kind heart within? I know it because when you morphed, your heart shone through the tissues of your body....I saw it. It was beautiful...
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Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 8:35 AM UTC
Morphing
After decades and decades of distance I've found you The sluggish, torturous moments of the laps have finally passed. Time has bruised me, pounded me, bled me to the core. Hours spent as a pack of wolves, howling for a soul. I've hunted, starving in my travels. Searching for you. Me, a pack of hunting dogs not just stalking quietly through still woods.... but bolting with snarling furled lips.... exposing razor sharp fangs to sink deep within the throat of the love I long for. Hold tight until the struggling gazelle gasps its last. The hunt is over, the heart full from the gorging. Purring in each others company. While resting tranquilly on the aromatic clover. Riffles unable to focus, our stripes blending, as our bodies merge. The great cats we are, no predator to fear. We slumber and bask in our regal glory. Our cat eyes fixed on each other! © Crystal Erickson 12/14/07
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Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 3:49 PM UTC
Regal Glory