"alteration" poems
Seeing my glass reflection
Everything goes into retrospect
And the day goes black with haze
As the weight of my thoughts sink
Everything disappears
Goes up ablaze
As brain alteration happens in a blink
While watching it burn with infatuation
It's like I'm stuck here
In this odd imagination
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
Lost, locked in a whirlwind,
Trying to pull myself out,
I'll grab anything but your hand,
The road less traveled by,
Was the familiar route.
Lost in the quicksand of your eyes,
A beautiful pool of mud,
Rung my heart out to dry.
Forced whispers inside my head,
"Try! Try!" They all said.
How do you cherish, shield, and protect
property that isn't nestled on your deck?
How do you love, care, and cradle
Something thats not on the table?
If you think I wrote this about you,
Then it's most definitely true,
That adoration, affection affected
By endless alteration in the depths of my heart
Leave me with no other choice
Then to ask, "Where do I start?"
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
Letting go can be tough
Perhaps the harshest measure
Many times we will face
Changes that last forever
"What if I'd done this?"
"What if I'd done that?"
Questions to go unanswered
And irrelevant to the fact
The adoption of acceptance
Is your only quest
The only option to be alloted
Now swallow to digest
Observe the tremble in your hands
Your eyes begin glistening
Your heart is in your ears
But who's the one listening?
As it courses through your veins
Something celebrates in your heart
Every storm runs out of rain
The Truth in you prevails
As you begin to emerge
Once again to raise the sails
You've let it run it's course
You've stopped the irradic spinning
Focusing on the Now
Every breath a new begining
The only stake it has claimed
Is to your education
Simply a reminder
Of life's continuing alteration
To err is only human
And Forgiveness is Divine
You, they, deserving or not
Just turn the coin to see the shine
Yes, we have a choice
To see the brighter side
We don't have to dwell
In the illusion of The Lie
Just as it came
Let it go with an ease
Accepting what it WAS
Join your Self and thaw the freeze
It will come again
Your Knowing, now a weapon
It has lost the ferocity
Sanity no longer threatened
You can call it thick skinned
Or unwavering balance
You can call it indifferent
I will call it an Allowance.
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:53 AM UTC
I'm barefoot in 46 degrees and I must remember that my perception of things must not encapsulate how I truly perceive. Soldered commentary is bleak but is all I've left, all my years have given me and my years have been few.
To be constantly bombarded with the question, "what is it that I really want?" is fervently exhausting and consistently hypocritical and I'm a hack. The conclusion is always that I'm a hack without a win to present or a failure to fall back upon. As a hack, I've left myself with very few plans to alter or hungry mindsets to feed.
After glistening the only thing that remains is to burn out and the thought of extinguishing so prematurely provokes a physical falter and frequent respiratory failure.
Ask your brother if he lingers at times. Ask your sister if sometimes, she means what she says and she should always say no. Ask your friends why you should be anyone's friend and whether or not the chance to swing into hyperbolic criticism ever affects how they make their choices, hoof their steps.
Their answer should always be no and their input should always be invaluable.
Ask yourself if brain power should always be set to alter mind power and ask yourself is alteration is ever even possible. The answer should always be no.
The conclusion to draw should always be his. The choices you make, always expert and ground out by consistent respiratory failure. Ask yourself if you'll always be an animal and when will that stop. Ask yourself if time will determine whether or not this "thing" is worth doing or this "thing" is worth composing. Ask yourself why you're not the young girl who sings soul on the street, whose tremble sets off car alarms and inner requisitioning. The answer will never be the same.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
5k
I thought I might be a musician
Mom couldn’t afford my lessons
My eyesight wasn’t great
I couldn’t read notes fast enough
Practicing annoyed the family
I only managed last chair, 2nd violins
But still
I got to play in High School concerts
In shiny dresses with glitter in my hair
However
I haven’t held a violin in years
I loaned mine to a Bluegrass band
The leader died - and it was gone
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought I might become a dancer
But my fingers can not touch the floor
I couldn’t kick much higher than my waist
Choreography was hard for me to learn
I had the stamina if not the skill
My partner wanted someone else
But still
I danced on stage in a college play
And Morris Danced at the Old Globe Theatre
However
I’ve forgotten how to keep the beat
And all the dance floor moves I made
I’m too self conscious now to try
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I fancied I could be a singer
I knew the words to all the songs
And I could keep the melody in tune
But I had a voice with no vibrato
And the quality was thin
My range was very limited
But still
I sang Blueberry Hill at a talent show
In a black lame’ dress and surprised a few
However
I couldn’t get the hang of harmony
And found I fit best in a choir
My family wouldn’t hear my solos
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I thought that I was born an actress
I practically got that one right
I had a lead in an Ibsen play
And toured the state with Macbeth
But Hollywood was one big casting couch
And I could see no way around it
But still
I got to be on TV shows
Winning games and merchandise
However
I sold the Firebird Convertible I won
I needed rent money more than a car
And rules allow you only three shows in a lifetime
≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
I always thought I was a poet
I started young and never stopped
But family ignored and scoffed
Then I got trapped inside my mirror
And only wrote when all was beak
Somebody said my stuff was dreary
But still
I stumbled on the HP website
And found a group who like the words I write
However
When I read the others’ writes
I realize how limited my skills
And fight the need to run away and hide.
∞
It seems I dabbled in all the arts
Looking for the one that fit me
And finding they all needed alteration
And I never had the proper needle
∞
Still, a moment in the sun
Is better than a lifetime in the shade
I had a taste of everything
Though the banquet was not mine.
ljm
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 12:24 PM UTC
Metamorphosis is life's basic oxygen,
mind needs to learn the art of alteration, everyday is a process of transformation and evolution.
Metamorphosis brings in a win,win situation,
teaching life's strongest lesson,
bringing forth a clear foundation for every situational validation.
Reformaton is the best way to express and impress.
metamorphosis is the symbiosis to
a positive progress.
Change is the only constant,
the only solution to life's solvent.
Master the art sooner than later,
metamorphosis is always for the better.
© Mrunalini .D. Nimbalkar
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 11:57 AM UTC
a virtual network is the perfect place
for an alien intelligence to infiltrate;
passing as any number of avatars &
spreading an anti-human philosophy
in the war between robots & aliens
w/ humanity no longer a factor, the
robots freely the pummel the aliens
w/ devastating laser precision; the
aliens retaliating w/ hot magnets to
heat the polymer machines to the
melting point; the aliens unaware of
the earth's default nuclear arsenal;
triggered to explode as a last resort;
mankind & machine joined as one &
as the aliens land their ground forces
a slight tremor becomes a supernova
& the entire alien fleet is blown out
of spacetime w/ such fiery havoc, the
never seen & long extinct mankind
becomes legendary for its viciousness
hav·oc/ˈhavək/noun
noun: havoc
1. widespread destruction. "the hurricane ripped through Florida,
causing havoc"
synonyms: devastation, destruction, damage,
desolation, ruination, ruin; disaster, catastrophe
"the hurricane caused havoc"
great confusion or disorder.
"schoolchildren wreaking havoc in the classroom"
synonyms: disorder, chaos, disruption,
mayhem, bedlam, pandemonium, turmoil,
tumult, uproar; commotion, furor, a three-ring circus; informal:
hullabaloo
"hyperactive children create havoc"
verb: archaic: havoc; 3rd person present: havocs;
past tense: havocked; past participle:
havocked; gerund or present participle:
havocking [ ]. ( )
1. lay waste to; devastate.
late Middle English: from Anglo-Norman
French havok, alteration of Old French
havot, of unknown origin; the word was
originally used in the phrase ‘cry havoc’;
(Old French crier havot ) ‘to give an army the order - havoc,’
the signal for plundering
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 8:04 PM UTC
*Elemental Metamorphosis & Transcendental Milestones,
Sempiternal Origamis Of Her Temperamental Clones,
Spiraling Perpetuities & Her Sacrosanct Fortitude,
Procreating Tipsy Ruptures In Her Permeating Solitude,
Perplexed Momentum & Her Outlandish Constellations,
Nuclear Decay Of Her Masked Radiations,
Verbal Shadows & Her Tranquil Ascendance,
Encasing Her Tears In Liquefied Transcendence,
Yearning Oddities & Entropic Oceans,
Vitalizing Inexorable Emotions Into Phosphorescent Potions,
An Hourglass Existence Of Her Fabricated Virility,
Dwelling In Quantum Ascents Of Ardent Agility,
Silver Ghosts Of Her Prismatic Abyss,
Convicting Glass Houses In Her Ecstatic Bliss,
Telepathic Shades & Hollow Palisades,
Detrimental Novelists On Uncharted Crusades,
Pernicious Scars In Her Profound Gaze,
Erupting Genesis Inside Her Dimensional Maze,
Perplexed Periphery & Digital Fictions,
Annexed By Her Hourglass Depictions,
Breakdown Sanity & Her Concealed Screams,
Lifelike Dewdrops In Her Visionary Dreams,
Satellite Searchlights & Love//Less Progenic Mutation,
Paralyzed Sunlight Sparking Genetic Alteration,
Monochromatic Streams & Cinematic Realms,
Static Screams Of Her Toxic Schemes.
- 05:43 AM -*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
I have a habit
of hypnotizing myself
I like to put on my veil
a shroud of alteration
marry myself to the haze
again & again
I baptize everyday before I
light the world on fire
lose myself in the afterglow
live in the confusion
I love the girl who is
the sister of Leila, Ophelia, Astrid
o, Sweet Mother Mary
pray for me, stuck in melancholy
& losing ground
unity in Heaven's Rose
you are euphoria
mostly because I have
arranged my wills
to center & propel
those wills of yours
think for me
show me I can't live without you
can't
do for myself what you do for me
let's swim in the river
where I forget everything for a little while
enrapture me
all day every day all ways
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
peach cobbler, that's what you remind of
the sweet, southern staple that everyone loves
but when the pom-poms fell from your hands
you told the girls in the van on the way to fun mountain
"I can't do those stunts anymore."
I still laugh at myself for my inappropriate and abrupt,
"WHAT!?!?"
but your collected calmness collected me
until i saw in the back of your eyes the collected fear
and realized the daunting fact,
that even though you were nearly 9 months my younger
in 9 months
you were going to have to be years older than me
we were raised to plan
but planning doesn't determine how life occurs
cause you never really plan to fall down
i know there were those who showed you love
but i'm sure being named "pastor's daughter" and labeled "cliche"
didn't do you any favors in the judgement days
and i'm sorry i only made you a dress to hide the bump
when you deserved a cape
to soar over that injustice
that no one has the right to serve
what its like to inhabit a body that is growing beauty
i don't know, but watching you
i have seen it can be ... a change
which, i'm sure, that doesn't even remotely explain ... does it?
no it's ... a Life Alteration of Volcanic Proportions
cause I'm sure, at times, you feel as if standing in the wake of an explosion
and sometimes the earth spews fiery filth at you
but i believe mothers are fire proof
cause they know they have beauty that grew inside
and when you look at that doe eyed, preschooler son
remember that love strengthens you
heaven is powerful
and you are both beautiful
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
when I say the wind blows
you already know
but how do the leaves portend
emerald on the end
or grasping to the limb?
If the Love is Lost, when?
feelings were ample
yet, when unplugged they limp lame
sentiment in lieu of visceral slanguage;
Who needs a Heart when a record can be Broken?
i think therefor iThoughts
Depress into cracked lead
and bled red into inkwell;
gun shots have more potent stocks
tragically hip to be so square ingots
what gracious melodies and languid lives
battered idioms with only one just is to bear
how Sad their flirtatious Ness affair
with Pain must fin' ish and putrefy,
those believers in Death will die
hail a Hashtag worthy of
Octothorp
for phoenixes are found everyday
prostrate your Poetry for posthumous
consumption
apply the alembic of alteration
and
Heal our Hashtag heathen history
or
**** It
Hate the Hashtag
that's Life!
#love #life #sad #pain #depression #thoughts #death #sadness #heartbreak #lost
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
Routine is a maze.
Tracing a rigid line,
Landing at it’s precise destination.
Confined to its habitual course,
Without alteration,
The path unchanging; dull.
I become uninterested.
Blasé towards existence,
A lack of verve and vigor
Burns inside me.
Hungry by the urge to flee,
It fuels the desire within me.
I cannot endure a life of mediocrity.
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 8:37 AM UTC
He had a bag.
The books he packed in the sack on his back
Gave substantial sustenance to open his eyes to the sequins
To him this was indispensible.
More and more he stuffed into the sack on his back
Wiser was he but heavier his baggage became.
The clothes he packed in the sack on his back
Kept him secure and safe, like superman under his cape.
The more he brought the better he felt
The more he had the better he felt
Comfortable was he but heavier his baggage became.
The liquor he packed in the sack on his back
Helped with the pain of perseverance
And the acknowledgement of self-alteration
As slowly as he was transformed by the rucksack on his back
Began a man now a creature, a lost cause with no features.
Sorrow hidden and demons remained as heavier his baggage became.
But as he strained to stay standing with the bag on his back
His view of the stunning sequins distorted,
Disappearing in the storm was the beauty of it all
The struggle with the unnecessary weight was the squall
That ultimately ruined whatever beauty he believed in.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Absence, hear thou my protestation
Against thy strength,
Distance and length:
Do what thou canst for alteration,
For hearts of truest mettle
Absence doth join and Time doth settle.
Who loves a mistress of such quality,
His mind hath found
Affection’s ground
Beyond time, place, and all mortality.
To hearts that cannot vary
Absence is present, Time doth tarry.
My senses want their outward motion
Which now within
Reason doth win,
Redoubled by her secret notion:
Like rich men that take pleasure
In hiding more than handling treasure.
By Absence this good means I gain,
That I can catch her
Where none can watch her,
In some close corner of my brain:
There I embrace and kiss her,
And so enjoy her and none miss her.
1.7k
“I’m still in awe of words” (in life, as in poetry, timing is everything)
objects, humans, surprise and interrupt our
daily modalities, knocking us, yo! to the ground,
we, pounding it, for the word void appears,
the frustration of incapacity incarcerating,
accompanied by the loudest silenced scream,
of no poetry available, try again later!
in life, as in poetry, timing is everything
we walkabout, thinking of the scheduled eventualities, or
the dates calendar-circled, though some questioned marked,
in pencil inserted, will I be a mother, find me a husband,
a human grander grandee, fit to be with me a noble progenitor
of more than our generation, watching the sidewalk cracks for an
inkling of when, on or about such and such an alteration,
a seam undone,
a stumbling, seeing a realization as we fall, hands extending,
a notice of arrival,
all needing reconnoitering, commemorating, a poem prepared,
but none to no avail
in life, as in poetry, timing is everything
so we are in awe of words, so necessary, everybody knows,
the awe in awesome, a description for the pixels encapsulates
in I-phone photos,
the where and the why of when, I was grinning like a stupid fool,
the inability to deliver precisely when required the covering of
an appropriate description, your words, use your words, will
fail you spectacularly and so we remain awed, realizing
in life, as in poetry, timing is everything
but awesomely awesome word worlds, near and dear, held forever
in scrapbooks, the literary overlay of the treasures of everyday life,
are the still life of our longevity contextual, the celebratory,
the unexpected losses, largest to smallest, in size order,
kept fresh when you flip through those poems in dusty binders,
in oversized sewing boxes, yellowing in concert with our eyes,
graying with follicles of past pluperfect,
recalling not just the when’s, but the more important, now, the
wherefore and whereupon, the words marking the conjunctions,
recoding the recorded synapses firing sequentially, brain to fingers, the ah so of the poetry of lifetimes
“I’m still in awe of words” (in life, as in poetry, timing is everything)
<>
Saturday
September
21st
2019
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
I realize now how hard it is to see through the dark stains that have tainted the past.
How difficult it is to remember how lifted I felt,
how utterly blissful,
how completely cared for.
The delicate words flowing from your fingertips soothed my soul.
Your light filled every crack in my body.
You made my glow.
You made every daunting task,
every mountain I knew I had to climb,
seem as easy as lifting a finger.
With you, I could've changed the sky.
Now, there is dark red pouring over every memory until they've been
completely, and unrecognizably distorted.
Now, they match my own alteration.
I wish I could've kept them the same:
unsaturated, and untouched.
Before, you kept me safe, warm and loved.
Then, you changed. You judged, hurt and broke.
Now, you do nothing.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
million dollar moment
plastic happiness ensues
fantastic spectacle
show for the ages
sage burns raging
cage expands, elastic
free bird sings brightly
feathers flip
gaging currents
torrential downpour
damages pages
sad eyes look at the scope of alteration
alienated, they seek dissuasion
turning from this scene
seeing clean green
thoughts race at the sight
imagination in pre-flight warm-up
launches
raunchy visions flash
as past ***** attempt to crash
the brain plane flying over strange plains
grain fields sway, plainly
painfully I pine
deranged
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 12:11 PM UTC
1
O' sprite full Maia, come attire our lands with your boundless prize-
Of joyful swelling by the nature's pleasing bloom,and green surprise,
To sprout a floral bedding,round the yards and shades for worthy dales;
And birds will spin their adorned bowers over the dewy boughs and vales.
2
Hail! to you goddess, deck the forest’s lingering beauty, thus come:
Let streams to flow across the thick and- bushy meadows over your prime,
For hawthorn white and lilies to bud, and converse fragrance in air,
To wind down our minds with breezes- blow,groovy lifts cool us lighter.
3
Mid mate of months, come and show your
primeval splendor and glee,
While south is praising vintager’s autumn,
North's propitious spring does fly,
And make the country lush with garden- fruits,the sweetest scents they spray,
To fill each rose with flavors long,
for all the ardent grooms they pray!
Come Glitter, glitter ***** rays-,
and sun is warm in moderate mood;
Behold! the coming of her-,
bees gathered among the newly buds
Nithin Purple from 'Halcyon Wings.'
REFERENCE:
*Maia— Greek goddess of May month
*Hawthorn—A spring-flowering shrub or small tree of the genus Crataegus.
*Vintager—A person who harvests grapes for making wine.
***** rays—Attraction of sunlight towards flowers, showing a dependency.
*Sprite—Middle English: alteration of sprit, a contraction of spirit.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
I am so worried about this nation
nation of fear and damnation
damnation with no salvation
salvation from annihilation
annihilation is our own creation
creation for our own sensation
sensation for our own elation
elation in our own ovation
ovation of our own temptation
temptation leads to our fixation
fixation of our own formation
formation led to accusation
accusation of our own predation
predation on our conservation
conservation wasted by alteration
alteration of our ideation
ideation that had no complication
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel like a puzzle piece
Looking for the perfect spot
But actually finding a connection
Is harder than I would have thought
Sometimes I find a section
That looks exactly like my hue
But our edges just won't match up
And I have to begin my search anew
I recently thought I found my place
Where everything seemed to fit
Together we'd be a work of art
I thought this was finally it
But once we started to get closer
I noticed that something was wrong
Our pieces wouldn't fit together
And I once again would not belong
I didn't want to search anymore
After the years of frustration
So I came to the conclusion
It was time for an alteration
There were pieces of myself
I thought I could afford to lose
So I began hacking at my edges
And changing some of my views
Even with the changes though
We could never be a match
I couldn't become the proper shape
For us to be able to attach
But as I turned to leave
It occurred to me what I'd done
I'd altered myself forever
And might not ever fit anyone
My once perfectly smooth edges
Were now ugly and uneven
And so I left it all behind
Thinking I had nothing to believe in
While I wandered around the world
Feeling helpless and alone
I soon discovered a brand new place
Called the crooked puzzle zone
It was a city full of misfits
Who thought they'd never find their place
They were all so friendly and welcoming
Of my broken, tattered face
Together we still make beautiful art
It's just a little more abstract
And though we don't have our "perfect pairs"
We can still happily interact.
So whenever you're feeling down
And life has made you weary
Remember the world is full of puzzles
And every piece is necessary
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC
Square roots,
had troubled me since childhood
Until I learned how
to derive the square root of
a poem.
You place the poem
firmly between the planes of
logic and imagination
running parallel - each to the other
and grasp each multiple of thought
that you catch swimming in your heart
and then simplify
one by one - the shreds of words
off the poet's diary
and you must repeat
until you discover
the ultimate joy
manifest as non-divisibility
of a zero.
What remains in your basket
is the square root of the poem
Hear, as it speaks to you,
tugging at the flesh enclosed
within your chest,
listen as it conveys
the myriad of emotions-
hesitations, ecstasy, impulse, shame and rage.
Each alteration hidden beneath
neat metres, rhyme schemes and free verses
Born of an unseen, unknown
infinite mutlitude of thoughts.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
I would like to meet you in person
Reminiscent of technology assembled inside human organisms
You seem like you would be fun
The impression resembling you would bestow gratification
If it works out
Qualification facility comatose
I’d like to grow old with you
Credentials in the vein of cultivating long forgotten enhancements of you
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 8:56 AM UTC
Let thine mind not hinder the heart,
nor the heart stutter to pollute the mind,
Admit obstructions though they be never vast,
for true love hinders nether the first nor the latter of last,
may we never falter when it alteration finds,
nor sway as the reeds wildly upon the wind in time,
never! No! shall we betray the truest of friends,
gaze now upon the world in all its vanity oh how it bends,
be never shaken or weaved upon its web of instabilities,
be it as it may the light for one wandering in the dark searching out tranquility,
follow me away now for the hell hounds hear them bark,
for only the foolish of heart wanders out to prowl lost in the dark,
let us not be lured into such things as such running afoul,
lead my heart as my compass with your love as it's light,
guide me always clearly through even the darkest of night,
Love fails not standing firm trapped in a timeless moment in a lifetime of endless moments,
bleeding always for that required component,
though not desire, wanton or lust,
but weaved together one as true love must.
~J.P.K. 04-04-2013
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC