"metamorphic" poems
I want to be your abacus baby,Oh you can count on me.
I wont say that i love you, or i heart you, I less than 3 you.
Your molecules must be moving fast,girl. Cause your really hot.
Are you igneous sedimentary or metamorphic? All i know is baby you rock.
And if god existed I'd thank him for you, but I'm rational and read a lot of Sam Harris.
Your beautiful like the font garamad,but i want to see you sandarac, take your pants off.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,
And i observe your quirks oscillating, and I'm formulating, a g-string theory..
Like an archeologist,I'm gonna try and compute your age. cause i really want to date you.
You make me feel like a male giraffe. I want to nudge your **** and make you urinate,and mate you.
Scientific fact,thats what they do.
The value of my love for you cannot be expressed exactly. More rational then Pi.
Hey **** is a legitimate word in scrabble, just FYI
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
You can **** me into your super massive black hole, the center of your galaxy. Im talkin ******
I may not be the strongest or the prettiest, but my knowledge of grammar shines.
I know how to use the words further and farther..correctly. Every fricken time.
Example:farther indicates physical distance
and further a depth or degree
example: the moon is getting farther from the earth
about 4 centimeters annually. Fun factoid,take it home with ya.
You just keep getting further into my heart.
You just keep getting farther into my heart.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me,and if the situation is ambiguous, further and farther can be used interchangeably. Just a fun factoid.
I want to be your abacus baby, you can count on me.
Baby i less than 3 you.
So please take off your pants.
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 7:14 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
feathered shadows
ripple like the water
in the wind
on which they're cast
miniscule
molten metal
droplet beetles
dive beneath
the shimmering water
bathed in
metamorphic waves
of bending light
inobservably tiny legs
quickening
in a graceful fury
sliding through the world
like slow-motion lightning
or a brilliant spark
unnoticeably extricated
from its source
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC
Deranged rocks, spread in albeit magnetic threads
rattle the sky's mirror with impatience.
Lay her feet on the ground, the young girl did.
The touch of her soft, dampened scarf
kindled the metamorphic calm.
My veritas found its unwanted shrine--
The dreadful peace that let it dine,
upon the well-being of its host nest its swine.
The ****** amalgam in her eyes
led its produce down her wavy brown vines.
They hid her cheeks, and brought down traited drops
of long-withheld tangy crust
towards the lavender ascot.
She grabbed onto her feet,
warm and wrapped with white cotton and wool heat...
she caressed the ornamental fabric,
swerved her fingers along its threaded magic.
Their lacy innocence familiarized her and made her smile,
whence the memory of her veritas triggered in her mouth's isle.
She lay her hopeful eyes on the silver-nitrate clad scarf,
covering the now-calming rocks' quaff.
Of my reflection her face saw only loss,
for her recognition seemed forever trapped in virtuality,
in moss.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 11:39 AM UTC
Thou metamorphic god!
Who mak'st the straight Olympus thy abode,
Hermes to subtle laughter moving,
Apollo with serener loving,
Thou demi-god also!
Who dost all the powers of healing know;
Thou hero who dost wield
The golden sword and shield,--
Shield of a comprehensive mind,
And sword to wound the foes of human kind;
Thou man of noble mould!
Whose metal grows not cold
Beneath the hammer of the hurrying years;
A fiery breath doth blow
Across its fervid glow,
And still its resonance delights our ears;
Loved of thy brilliant mates,
Relinquished to the fates,
Whose spirit music used to chime with thine,
Transfigured in our sight,
Not quenched in death's dark night,
They hold thee in companionship divine.
O autocratic muse!
Soul-rainbow of all hues,
Packed full of service are thy bygone years;
Thy winged steed doth fly
Across the starry sky,
Bearing the lowly burthens of thy tears.
I try this little leap,
Wishing that from the deep,
I might some pearl of song adventurous bring.
Despairing, here I stop,
And my poor offering drop,--
Why stammer I when thou art here to sing?
2.8k
**Earth Day, April 22, 2017 "give back to Earth",
as an "offering" for all the planet gives us.**
For Global Earth Day information visit: http://www.earthday.org/
Her ominous shadow
shown a path
far beyond the miles high
a majestic mountain stood
Silently climbing down
million year old
steep canyon walls
at dawn,
each step chosen carefully
coursing with purpose
Finding a way forward
was the only way
to look back up
river carved ravines
where higher ground
once stood
Instincts drawn downward
gravity feed towards
the faint murmurs
deep echoes tracery
down sheer basalt cliffs
Artesian waters'
resounding gurgles ―
bubble up to quench
a lost soul’s incurably
intrinsic parching thirst;
to find an unfolding
metamorphic peace
in the trove of igneous
fountain veins of earth
There’s not need to wait
on sunrise pathways lit ―
there is no fear of gravity’s
downward silent weight
nor burden to be borne
Listening beyond dark silence .
igneous bedrock roots
beckon deeper expanse ;
spirit realms of ancient souls
whisperer like thunder
to the soul of man ―
Awakening ruptured lifelines
deep below earthen crust ,
creations hidden essence
eternally remembered
by the light above ...
April 2017 © harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
Everyday you are different
Though inherently similar
You show me something each day
That is completely new.
Whether it is as simple
As the way the light reflects
In your ever-changing eyes,
As subtle as a change
In your alluring smile,
As creative as a new thought
That bursts from your mind.
You keep me on my toes,
My pen scratching at the page,
And my adoration stronger
Than the day before
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 6:00 PM UTC
The individual drops of sweat
each represent a small piece
of your former self.
How much longer
before you are the person
you promised to be?
Your muscles tremble,
under the weight of change,
have you forgotten?
I know it has been so long
since you were a child
but growth has always
demanded pain
and it is time you pay.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 11:24 AM UTC
Her red roses have thorns
Her black demons surreptitiously lie
It's like witnessing good flora be dissolved
By potassium hydroxide
The only trouble with her is this:
All the while she is looking inside
With a magnifying glass
For each and anything amiss
I'm viewing her with a kaleidoscope
Yet I magnify the intensity of her colors
While she resides within
Her fractured self-image
But she's metamorphic
Beneath that stress and pressure
These tests cause duress
And weigh heavy burdens
Upon her chest
Yet instead of diamonds
She produces a blue sapphire
Something a little brighter
To which she can hold on tighter
I hope the load feels a little lighter
As I throw my rope in
And climb down there with her
Picture us collecting leaves
With hearts on sleeves
Forming jewels, relief swelling our heads
Instead of the familiar usual ache
Of wondering fools
Let's weave and wind our own designs
And leave the threaded webs
Of past mistakes behind
To the point in time
Where pressing rewind isn't so lonely
Stones can be cold, or shine like silver
Because we both know that gold
Is cheap and phony
But not the heart of the ocean
Deep with devotion
A jewel of eternal love
With Blue Sapphire eyes
I will light up your dark skies
And reveal to you the stars above
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 8:34 AM UTC
I'm a captured tooth nerve
amalgam appeased
restrained in containment
by my keeper
then I can be a prisoner
escaping the jail
my warder has lost
the keys of control
on dark days
my fathoms swirl
in murky mass
infused with blinding kelp
on good days
my porthole shows
clearness of eye
the glass reflects well
just to confuse
my ores composition
is misunderstood
the translation
metamorphic
changing
minute by minute
hour by hour
these ones are buggers
my microscope
isn't good with definition
will I or wont I
who knows
my borders are contested
being diplomatic
I make pacts and treaties
no monicker is required
the tried and tested
gentleman's agreement
that will do
my margins
can be thick or thin
comments fit in
usually they range
between
insult and praise
depending on the mood
I oft go to open cut mines
to find common minerals
which are useful on a daily basis
real effort is called for
when I delve into deep shafts
sometimes gems are quarried
precious ones to behold
well enough said
a letter is to be written
dear meditative home
we're returning soon
if we're delayed
after hours
p.s. leave the porch light on
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 5:52 AM UTC
See, the smile on the stone face
of the mountain, once so cold, stoic
it drives home the meaning of change
brought about by erosion of ages past,
molten paste slowly sediments,
decides to be various kind of rocks
on it's path being metamorphic
is just one of it's pranks,
volcanoes in ******** frenzy erupt,
display the pyrotechnics of creation
in it's ****** urge a deep sea stream
breaks tectonic plates,makes new continents
mountains that hold their heads high,
are brought down by landslides, floods
avalanches or sudden cloudbursts
stars script secret messages across galaxies
the meanings will never be deciphered
in spite of the astonishing research
astrophysics can put together and
the thirst for knowledge of mankind
Beauty, my muse, lovely concert I adore,
I see you in animals, birds and fish
that undergo mutation and become different,
ocean currents, seasons,shower of stardust,
most of all in music, that activates the hidden signals,
that come beyond birth and death,embedded within oneself
Can you cite one reason for writing biography
of any one, whoever it may be, in this planet?
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
They were shattered pieces of glass,
In a jar I had kept away,
I thought I'd use them,
To create an artefact some day,
You found the jar in my closet,
I told you with this jar don't play,
You said you could make something beautiful,
With my shattered glass and your clay,
Then you made a masterpiece,
Your art had a metamorphic way
And although you broke your own creation,
Thank you, is all I could say
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 6:59 AM UTC
from the void
the mountain speaks
the beat goes on
in these desolate peaks
moss covered stacks
of sea floor and mantle
embrace and fold
in metamorphic tangle
stunted fir clings
graying roots exposed
a rocky, barren life
is all this sapling knows
snowcapped elderberry
scale the crevice
where bear and wind
make raucous passage
avalanche chutes
gracefully recline
in verdant shades
to the waterline
lie in the meadow
to calm the chatter
make still the noise
to blunt the clatter
upon the coming
of soft night
undress this silence
angel mine
*I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop the machine of 'thinking' and 'enjoying' what they call 'living,' I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.
-Jack Kerouac*
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
I notice it, I notice it's flaws. I see its texture, I witness the shapes and metamorphic coherency's. It's all aligned in a wild pattern. Like walking in a catastrophic maze and never finding the ending.
But to really observe profusely, the maze has its own pattern, agenda.
Screaming to myself, aloud, I express myself grandiosely.
It all makes perfect sense
The missing piece is not missing, it never was, it was merely detaching.
Detaching from all life forms itself, like a cell that does not belong to another.
The maze was juxtaposed in its own creation.
People were too simple to understand it.
The jagged puzzle doesn't need another piece, it just needs a new formula, a new path, a new perspective, it needs to stay jagged in order to create more purposeful moments and inventions.
Complexities reach a higher peak than ever before, if you try to straighten the puzzle and find a piece to fit in it, you destroying its true and only purpose.
You cannot mold or fix something, you cannot sand it down.
You just need to let it be.
It's shapeless, it doesn't need a form, or a label.
It just is what it is to be.
And that is the secret. The contradiction needs to stay as the contradiction in order to invent the expedition.
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 3:34 PM UTC
Rain drop ruins my melancholy
Rain drop brushes my border collie;
his tail wags across my shin,
breaking my ever-building reverie.
“Smash that”, says the rock to its falling neighbor,
letting it go without attempt at a rumbling tremor.
“Smash your metamorphic protolith,
sedimentary is your bona fide nature”.
The quartzite stone has no room to reject but yield,
but so behold: I catch it with my awakened shield.
Lays in my hand the metamorphic stone,
Ecstatic to be shiny and free.
Broken from my reverie is where I sometimes wish to be,
for there I meet my life’s expenditure,
my loved reality.
There the marks of my imprint awaken; there I become me.
Fall then rain! Do so duly... for I vow to be
the rightful branch of your sprouting tree.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 1:38 AM UTC
Dawn stretches and yawns
in yellow, poking fingers
through vertical blind slats;
into my horizontal eyes.
Startling
like an ice cube slipping down spine,
painful and exhilarating
at the same time and maybe
I’m not ready to shove myself out.
Let me be metamorphic for awhile,
lie back in this brightness
and soak it in; let me radiate
warm throughout the morning,
cheerfully light at noon
and erode to dust in the night
so that it all may cycle again
like moon chasing sun,
serpent slurping tail
or a dog whirling circles in the dirt.
I want to swirl, right here
in comfortable cotton, nighttime
peace and the wreath that early Dawn
weaves into me. Let me be centered
in the centrifuge: the stone in the storm.
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 2:36 AM UTC
In the caste of what the fir trees denoted what should be or what should not be,
I clasped the fig twigs and watched them split as if to say that all must come to an end.
And in the end, who can the charred leaves blame if there should be tire rods and hubcaps strewn
across the forest's floor?
After totaling the costs of what should not be,
the last mast of yesterday's trade boat could skiff along the shore,
with flag flailing like the playground children's hands.
Irrationality piquing: birds dip and dive like a boxer's fists made of shadow
from one powerline to the next.
Training for the changing, biting winds, watching the unconscious cars staring.
And the skiff oozing through the unmentionables littered in the creek : what will
become of him?
Lodged in stale, fossil bones -- floundered between the swingset and the droning, dusty traffic at 3 a.m.
Metamorphic scarabs stolen from the gusts and pants of too much play.
Basketballs stained with carrion, precarious gusto in the wake of money suckling and ripping alongside
the skiff.
Cross here with two pennies.
Goaded by the solitary abandonment of the 1930's, the used condom's mouth gaping open like hungry carp, dusty trails of light from the past lamplight hanging in the air
Birds measured up along the powerlines, moving mindlessly along with the flock
Bird drones, feathery spines
Birds perched along the playground.
Bird play so far as to say
does this not look familiar?
Bobbing, weaving, slathered in cadence and involuntary muscle jerks.
First we were here
Then we were not.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
In the historical state of winners
only the losers look like villains
never do you hear of Nero being a good actor
even a true advocate of the arts
They say even ****** loved his dog
just did not love Germany like a German
and when his wicked empire fell
he wanted all his kin to go to hell
But not all losers are losers
some rise again in vengeance
to right the wrongs
but come to bitter ends
Some of the good will always be hidden
so smart in metamorphic states
they know the art of transition
an art from our place
Never take history as what is said
for half will be full of untruths and lies
never believe a dragon
if it has a forked tongue and snakes eyes
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
.
Meet me for a pint after work.
Take me through the days, weeks, or months
We've neglected ourselves -
Overworked and inebriated respectively.
You've never been without a job -
But don't neglect a word.
Take utmost care through the moments
That define your time: The trials, troubles,
And metamorphic events which reframe
Your view of the world, or your relationship with it.
Tell me about the ones who make it easy.
We'll allow time for the detail.
Your moments constitute a vicarious roadmap;
A means to improve my world.
In return I can offer up a Dublin dinner:
The best advice I've never followed,
My sincere admiration,
And a proper pint of Guinness.
.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analysis' dimensional delineation. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy swastica swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
In the shadows of the walls
where laughter once reverberated
as a symphony of gleeful bliss,
intonational inclines arise in the dark
as dancing phantoms haunt
the smirking silence which dissipates
from the splotched, upended floorboards,
while midnight footprints breathlessly creak,
cradling the demonizing affirmations whispered,
the very ones I knew would never become true.
We stood by, powerlessly spectating
as the love we once shared
gasped for air, red in the face,
its gushing carotid bulging in desperation,
four lungs incinerating themselves
with imminent anticipation
of the death gleaming
just over the horizon,
its violet hues juxtaposing
with the glimmering night skies
of faded constellations comprising the celestial
as moonlit silhouettes waltzed across the water,
a bright cerulean rippling in our presence,
the genesis of a journey unforeseen.
Brutal acceptance rains from my eyes,
a rumbling river that reigns supreme
over the rounded stones stacked high
as a towering dam of branches and rubble,
leftover waste long forgotten and forlorn;
hometown fantasies of childhood memories
linger longer than our lost loyalty,
liberating me from the rusted chains
you'd stapled into my brittle bones,
a leash tied tightly around my throat
to **** me from my courageous caution
back into the splintered wheel
dictating our selfish agendas,
empty promises of dilapidated affirmations
now turned weary and worn
with this newfound sense of reflection,
a dichotomy depicting time's own passage,
the consequence of a metamorphic resolution
of open wounds blossoming into eroded scars.
Futuristic visions of lesions now mended
seamlessly fuse with renewed self-reception,
your broken promises stitched with the threads
ripped from the capillaries comprising my core,
blood-stained carpet of scarlet and crimson
fading into an aged and weathered maroon,
never truly waning in its acquainted pigment
yet blossoming into a stained fabric
portraying the promises of the past,
of decayed ruins now industriously erected
into a radiant utopia of gallant, rubious valor,
the final product of an unyielding resolve
to have our story rewritten, our own steadfast evolution.
Jan 6, 2024
Jan 6, 2024 at 6:24 PM UTC
As great as they were,
I am too.
You are. We are.
Realisation of truth.
Fore-fathers and great-mothers,
Lives infinite in pages,
parting for us their conquests,
from all historic ages.
Battles of brute, battles of soul.
Stories of warmth and stories of cold.
I see them now,
coming from the corners of every earthly crevesse,
they come in their millions,
where human life is bound perfectly
like the threads of a dress.
He who has devoted, he who has fought.
She who has mothered, she who has taught.
He who had not a roof, not an apple, not a home,
he sang music.
She who had comfort, had books, had health,
she rode horses.
They, who have left us their stories in billions,
their unimaginable challenges to their greatest triumphs,
I can feel them now.
As I meditate through clouds
of metamorphic memories of distant
and current lives alike,
I start to envisage an ocean of quests indicipherable in quantity.
So many things happen,
so many an absurdity.
But that which is the beauty of 'the absurd' ,
is also its curse.
Defining the roads of our lives,
as it plays with our fate.
The notion 'absurd' depicting the occurance of anything can happen to anyone,
at anytime,
regardless of what is on your plate.
Man, woman, adult, child, good, evil, all similar.
Breathing the same air,
Living under the same atmospheric roof,
Even after we are gone,
We are one.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
///
Look! My friend
It is true that
my existence will be graved after death-
you forget me,
as speed squander particle existence--
earth could not remember--
either it will be deformed
or dissolved---
Memory decays as rolling stone-
forget and fade
twinkle childhood,
as daffodils wither at evening---
Today's child
the father of tomorrow
Aye reminisces the past and decide the future,
today's peppy stream with its chime,
tomorrow's buried river-
only articulate history
Civilization, culture and fashion,
those are transfigured by time-
I see, truth has grown as a lie
as the sun rises in the west,
men have made the conversion to lie-
as politics become poly tricks-
Igneous to metamorphic rock,
by the process of nature with time-
the ultimate truth
From summer to winter,
winter to spring -
pouring--
Sweet sweat-
snowflakes-
cuckoo sings
season changeover and being--
But aftermath
my friend,
two things are still ******
untouched,
my love--
my soul--
the power of God----
///
@Musfiq us shaleheen
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
i know
a soul
that has a poem
writing inside her.
among other things,
it has written me down, there,
on the backside of her third rib.
i, consumed
by a certain peculiar meanderlust,
curl up
along its
metamorphic edge:
riding those finishing strokes
that forever code your own typeface as such.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC