"metamorphosing" poems
Echo and Narcissist
He stared into her life
It enveloped him, metamorphosing his reality
Sometimes we are changed until we dont remember
those quaint things that we pretend to adore
and lose ourselves in the Medusa’s gaze
of a life
trans-formative and different.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 2:26 PM UTC
The ogre that I am, I sit in my man-cave.
It’s bathed in light from my TV and laptop.
Each is a portal to our ugly world.
Regulated crystal-city skyscrapers
Form Giant’s Causeways.
Aircraft eagle overhead
Reminding me of vultures
And 9\11.
Cars beetling about the suburbs,
Some Beetles, Ha Ha.
River highways cascading cars.
Ants rush everywhere,
A seething nest.
So many an ant,
Holding a conch to the ear,
Or staring mesmerised at that tiny screen.
Yoda fingers his phone…
And me I sit here,
Metamorphosing metaphors
For a while
Before I visit Facebook Land
Once again.
Paul Butters
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:40 AM UTC
Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.
Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.
I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.
I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to
Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being ***** by a sea
pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and
loving.
I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my
hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my
people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.
My joy is like spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom in all
walks of life.
My pain is like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.
Thich Nhat Hanh
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
billboard's calligraph --
past the haze of Manila infested
by car sprawls and belching machines.
magnanimous treatise of tarpaulins,
people chin-up asking God
with askance
something like this
"o god make this bearable
like a mound of fresh fruits
from ****** labour."
maniacal sensurround:
earth-shattering frequency
of footsteps trampling the mouth
of monolith shadows - the peak
of this quake is our complete silence.
rain's catharsis in effect
sousing us in the blood of unreal light.
this diastolic shrinkage
jamming the beat of constricting vessels.
the adrenaline surges
within the dermis of this pretension.
a collective of tired beings heeding
the recherché of voice metamorphosing
into form, a dagger-butterfly
paring us skin to bone, cranial
to visceral, soul to nothing -
catapult of a trajectory spit
plummeting in eased-up pace
from Taft Avenue flyover
to a subjugated wagon of scraps
and empty wine bottles.
today's paper reads:
"Palace hits hiring
of **** dancers"
fancying to fall right in the
spanked curved of this
insatiate melodrama - something
prayer could not save from
this land's mutinous ignominy.
we resume to fulfill our madness,
hundreds of tack-headed people
rolling down the streets of Makati,
drenched with rain's trilling aftermath.
squinting to look at
no sun, only the grieving of skyscrape,
thumbing down unidentified objects
in the depth of loose pockets,
desperate for home.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
Clouds
drifting across the sky
in imaginary forms
Clouds
making imaginary images
that only the mind
can put together
Clouds
of varying shades
and shapes
Clouds
metamorphosing
Clouds
morphing
into the unknown
Clouds
metamorphosed
Clouds
floating
like the Goodyear blimp
off on the horizon
Clouds
lost
shapeless
meeting
and reforming
Clouds
like foam on the ocean
endless and everlasting
but empty in their
subtlety
Clouds
like cotton candy
pink then white
shifting shades
of gray
Clouds
filled with rain
or as
ephemeral
as infinity
ethereal
everlasting
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 7:58 AM UTC
I have little thought for these days
As the future evaporates
And the past grows fat and vivid
I amuse myself with games of flashback
Faces and places flickering
Across an empty mind
Dragging their stories behind them
Dead memories metamorphosing
Into living visceral dreams
Where the flowers of love and loss
Are intertwined so closely
That with the passing of time
They each rob the other
Of some pain and glory
As reality gives way
To a realisation of truth
By Phil Roberts
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 4:41 AM UTC
Feel a gaping hole,
Located center-fold.
Nothing seems out of place,
Except for our long-lost chaste.
Eden has come and gone,
Yet here we remain in throngs.
Confused by our own existence,
We look for God’s assistance.
Unknown emotions start stirring,
A transformation is occurring.
Metamorphosing into man-made monsters,
Dropping bombs onto unknowing youngsters.
Feel a gaping hole,
Located center-fold.
Nothing seems out of place,
Except for God’s long lost embrace.
Eden’s now a myth,
Telling of Man’s zenith.
Unsure of our own existence,
We turn to Pain’s assistance.
Catalytic events annihilate Man’s innocence,
GOD HELP US! We can’t find the cure to this pestilence.
Race against race,
Man against man,
Child against child,
The innocent cadavers are still being piled.
Feel a gaping hole,
Located center-fold.
Nothing seems out of place,
Except for our disintegrating face.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 4:45 AM UTC
-Love-
The quintessence of my being ails for the novel; the liberating; the metamorphosing elements of the terrene.
The philosophy of life has always been to search for the sacred truths with the passing of time; tempus.
The answers have been right in front of me.
The concept of finality has been an ailment of my mind; this malady had a paranoia inducing effect on me.
A surfeit of noxious thought can subdue one into nonexistence.
Never, no, rarely should one create a permanent state of tumult within their soul; one must look beyond what they first believe to be true.
-Love-
Without the absolute love, what is one?
The Divine has the Transcendental Power to heal all wounds…
-One must first ask-
The words have been lying here; stewing upon my tongue; awaiting a release for what has seemed to be an eternity.
In my mind the horizon has flashed before my eyes; a vivid vision of the world’s beauty has enraptured me.
Doves gliding off into the sunset; this must be a symbol of all the splendor that lies in store for me.
Enamorment; affinity; affection and all the virtuous elements of humanity have been consolidated in my midst.
They have been compounded before my eyes; a physical form has now been granted.
My heart now has a tangible source for the Elixir of World.
Blinded for but a moment, I departed into an alluring phantasy.
Unsure of where to search for a comrade, I looked to another plane of existence for solace.
There was an explosion of lust for what was once a forbidden dream of the kindest sort.
This dream, it was kind enough to grant me the strength to plow through all the turmoil of a scathing world.
I have given birth to a new feeling; a feeling of hope over the horizon.
How?
By allowing my deepest fears and latent intentions to be cast aside and to fade away into naught.
Earth is a constant melisma of unforeseen occurrence, pain, and heartache but it can also be a beacon for valor, gallant-heartedness, and altruism.
-Delirium is fading away from my consciousness-
My greatest fear has always been to grow and to exceed what I believed to be my true caliber.
Now the day has arrived for me to supersede all trepidation and to transcend the shackles of rigidity.
The storm clouds, they have departed.
The blossoms have begun to bud amongst the tightly packed soil of the terrene.
The sun has arisen from a nocturne of anticipation; this has effloresced into the genesis of a new dawn.
I have emerged from my cocoon and now the world seems so brand new to me.
I am prepared to soar high above the clouds.
I am a dove.
The horizon is mine for the taking.
I am a symbol of love.
From now, until the end of time,
Iridescently Efflorescent.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:35 PM UTC
"...WHEN THE EVENING IS SET OUT AGAINST THE SKY..."
She stood
as if the world
were a mere
bit of scenery
backdrop
a prop in a play
designed for the sole purpose
of making her
look good.
Gorgeous is
the word.
She a universe
unto her self.
She spoke in italic.
Her voice changing font
from word to word.
She had a strange up
and down CaPiTaL accent
that was slightly dis-
concerting.
A simple "How do you do?"
metamorphosing into
hOw Do YoU dO
and without a trace
of punctuation
her voice a melody
upon the air
like music set free
invisibly.
She spoke excellent
French deliciously
which one
understood completely
even though one
had only schoolboy French.
jE m ApPellE mAdAmE mOrT eT
mAiNtEnAnT aLlOns y
She held out a hand
the sun itself
a mere jewel
upon her finger.
The world had run out
of itself.
I followed Madame Mort
into the nothingness
that had suddenly
opened up.
"Qui...merci!"
the last thing I
ever heard
my self say.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
The deliverance of life echoed into that of pounding death
This frozen tower metamorphosing into a coffin sealed and fated
That gorgon’s gaze did I meet and uttered not a breath
Lost in those frightened eyes, thoughts left me sedated
“You stare so... Father, what is it?”
There I sat, day circling into night
By the dawn light through a reflection
I caught through their tragic sight
Left me gnawing at my hands, objection
“You put this wretched flesh upon us and now you may strip it off!”
Calmed my soul and silence we sat, another moon waxing
“Father, why don’t you help me?”
Left your lips while your languid soul seeps
Blind now with no words to offer
One by one perished but never did I weep
In the end
Hunger proved more powerful than grief.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
*Transitory Light & Supernova Streaks,
Her ****** Hues Blooming In Rhythmic Techniques,
As Her Elemental Vanity Circles The Clones,
She ***** My Sanity With Her Illuminated Tones,
Euphoric Comprehensions Etched In Her Holographic Moans,
In Seductive Dimensions She Reveals Her Pornographic Unknowns,
Serene Luminescence Of Her Prodigal Demise,
Procreating In Her Decays of Her Astral Guise,
Psychotropic Debris Caressing Her Reprise,
Stardust Petals Confessing Her Eyes,
Sulphur Promises In Her Trapped Desire
Vicious Bouquets Of Her Nocturnal Fire,
The Carnival Flirts In Her Melodic Choir,
Futile Rage Gracing In Her Satire,
Tranquil Stitches Glimmering In Saffire,
Encrypted In Cold And Catatonic Bonfires,
Illustrious Grandeur In Her Chimerical Verse,
Rudimentary Amour of her metaphysical universe,
Blows of Blues Metamorphosing In Floral Curse,
Entropic Cassettes & Blossoms In Her Cigarettes,
As The Process Resets & She Mutates Into Velvet.
- 06:24 AM*
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 9:08 PM UTC
What have you accomplished today?
If the answer eludes you,
perhaps you burn too much Life
without really going anywhere
with such precious fuel.
Seek that each and every day
you better your future Self
by shedding your Past Self
and metamorphosing.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
When I first began culturing my memes,
I found the soil was rocky, had poor drainage, and little organic material
But life is relentless and these first thought experiments rooted.
They weren't much to look at from above ground,
But those roots were doing important work
Every weak point in the bedrock of my mind was found and exaggerated.
This action created micro fissures
And as the seasons turned and those early plantings faded into oblivion,
Erosion took over the heavy lifting.
With the bedrock now permeable, and the rainy season upon us,
Those cracks filled with water which then turned to ice and,
As autumn turned to winter, the mechanical action of freezing and thawing,
Was responsible for metamorphosing those fissures into actual cracks.
And with spring came more rain,
Washing organic elements into the cracks,
Now my mind had a proto-soil and was much more robust.
However, my garden was always ready, I just didn't realize it.
Life always exists,
When we use the cyclic reminder of the seasons as analogue:
It's much easier to see.
I find it much easier to see when I close my eyes.
Bring those spring rains, bring the pollen, more seeds, spores.
The pollinators are waiting
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
He drags his ****** feet through the forest.
An apocalypse of peace, now consumed by flames.
All that is green becomes black as the mighty
Transformer inches closer to the edge.
Metamorphosing destruction at its finest.
He can only continue on as he is gently caressed.
By fire, death and the depths of the hell.
The morning sun takes its place in the heavens.
All that remains is darkened dust dancing in the wind.
May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
Perched high upon burl wood roost
dangling feet swing upon
mossy girthed heritage
maple tree
Her majestic gnarled scaffold
flinches not from my nebulous gravity,
nor the weight of her unraveling
golden autumn gown
Her lamentable achings
felt in the voice
of the ripening chill
within the campfire
scented breeze
For I have climbed so blindly high,
the clinging brilliant yellow leaves
metamorphosing like these fragile paper wings,
opening palms born to soar wild as the wind,
to just let go and fly free
Waiting here patiently,
wistfully as destiny,
for the final edifying moment
of fate’s unshacklement - - -;
the surrendering to,
the moment of love set free,
stolen by the wanton
gypsy breeze
wild is the wind
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
At the door again,
It begins as a quiet scratching
And then a thick, abrasive sliding-down
Like a heaviness upon the frame.
Then a barely perceived close-breathing
That seems to creep like dull lantern-light
Under the door,
And around the frame,
And through the keyhole.
And there is no talisman to protect him.
No bust of pallas above the door
He is no metamorphosing cockroach
Able to **** the gaps
With oily-black chitin feelers.
The darkness brings no tools but fear
Thick and impenetrable as the night
The ancient lizard-brain takes over
And leaves him waiting for the first rays
That will pierce the window like lances
And dissolve the oppressive world
That leans so heavy against his door.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
When I tell you,
I don't know what I would do without you,
I'm sorry, but I've lied to you.
I know exactly what I'd do.
There would be no more friend to tell anything to,
Or someone always seeing the positive and cracking the joke.
I would be a social butterfly metamorphosing in reverse!
I would be a passing glance In the hall,
A name whispered in the roar of the world.
If I was without you!
I would go home everyday,
Lock myself away!
No contact, no pain.
I would workout until my muscles refuse to move,
Just so my heart would do laps on my lungs like it did when I was around you.
So that when I passed you in hall, I would see you steal a glance, and know you miss me too.
I would do it so my brain could dance on something other than the thought of you.
So that my soul could feel something other than the pain,
of being without you.
I would go to school everyday
And work harder than anyone may.
I would wrestle daily so your image wouldn't drive me crazy.
I would do everything possible to make our dreams come true,
Even if I was without you!
I would suffer more pain the Leonids the Great.
Just so I could protect thee,
My princess of beauty!
I would battle day in and day out!
As to keep my heart safe.
I would think of you more than a dessert thinks of rain,
I would long for you more than the wolf yearns for the touch of the moon!
I would continue to love you!
Always loving you!
Even if I was without you!
So that one day...
One day,
I can say to you,
"I made our dream come true!"
To tell you that I live in a place,
In Oregon is this place.
Were for half the year it cry's, and half the year it shines!
To say to you I made it.
To the place we always hoped for.
A flower shop on Main Street,
So dainty and so cute,
With the door cracked open...
waiting for you!
Waiting to be with you!
I'll aways love you!
[K.D.P]
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
*This Is The Story Of Her, New-Fangled Eyes,
Filling Up In Valiant High,
A Sacramental Anticipation,
Victim Of Her Addiction,
Specter Amour Ensemble,
She Kisses So Gentle,
A New Found Glory,
Like What’s The Morning Story?
An Ark Of Optimism,
An Immortal Prism,
A Scope Of Life,
Enslaved To Her Emphatic Hive,
Imbibed Inside Her Metamorphosing Dive,
Eternal Sunshine Of A Spotless High,
Twinkling Fireworks Into The Duskiest Night,
Like The Sprightliest Light,
Painting Me In All Her Colors Of Life,
A Gorgeous Cognizance Blossoming Transcendence Of 90’s Summer,
As She Discos Like A Junior In Spring Summer,
Myriad Instants Of Her Untamable Beliefs
Driving Me In Her Upbeat Beats,
Infinitely Running On Repeat,
Scorching With Her Heartbeat,
An Amour So Sanctified,
Thrills Out All The Unrefined,
Cause To Major Redesign
A Cryptic Princess From Tomorrow Land,
Glued To Her Hand In Hand,
A Wish Of Hazel Eyes,
Relentlessly Every Night,
Cranberry Delights,
Mystical Highlights,
Etched With Infinite Scars Of Her Amours
Into Transcendent Clusters Of Her Own,
Engulfed In Her Moans In Rome,
Surrendered To Her Cryptic Heart,
She’s A Symphony To Mozart,
All She Gives Are Premature Ventricular Constrictions Every Infinite,
Till The Rest Of Her Lives*
- 04:21AM
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 5:53 PM UTC
Flying above the clouds,
The elements beneath me are churning,
The Earth is metamorphosing into something greater than it once was.
I’m surrounded by a heady and heavenly bliss.
I descend from the azure blue skies in search of something greater, in search of fulfillment for my heart.
Time has bestowed me with the greatest gift of all; love.
Now I must search.
I reach out my hand; I push past the sea, the barren soil of the wasteland and the unknown thresholds of the terrene.
Pink ribbons envelop me.
Glimmering hearts surround my soul and spirit as the sky begins to turn crimson red.
Everything is changing so fast.
My eyes begin to gleam.
An ethereal beauty materializes in my midst.
Iridescent puffs of smoke form a silhouette of an animated vessel, a human of the most magnificent splendor.
Rose petals lie upon my barren and vulnerable skin.
As you are created right before my eyes, as I witness your conception, I come to know what forbearance really has in store.
I reach out my hands in the hopes of grasping your delicate skin if even for a moment.
You glow.
Your eyelids are formed.
And…?
You open them!
I’m gazing into cerulean spheres of rapture.
I’m magnetized by the gravitational pull of your body.
We’re both levitating above the ground, and like two celestial bodies we collide.
An eruption of passion creates a daffodil made of light.
It looms high above the clouds, in place of the sun.
We have effloresced.
Our bodies have bloomed at the moment of contact.
Our inflammation shall illuminate the night sky for the heavens have bestowed upon us the greatest benediction of all…
It’s love.
Just when our passion seems to be everlasting, the sky turns to darkness, ebony clouds linger and the ground beneath us begins to crumble.
We fall into an infinite abyss until the bottom swallows us whole.
Lying upon my bed, I awaken to find that you are nowhere in sight.
It is only I.
Me, myself and I.
It was just a dream.
I am forever alone…?
By, Iridescently Efflorescent
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
The sun disappears much, much later, an hour later to be exact.
This translates into having more daylight and a longer afternoon,
To watch the strolling peacocks in the park, and to have more fun
Admiring the baby bulbs metamorphosing into flowers at night.
The lily flowers are most of the time ephemeral, lasting hours,
Rarely a few days before changing into leaves, which eventually
Will be dried up by the warm air or the rays of the sun. Beauty
Is temporary, so enjoy the spring season and the summer flowers.
I have vivid memories of the shedding cherry tree, which brought
The beauty of spring in front of my house in the dead-end street.
Oh! I miss the atypical moment, when the green lawn was not neat.
Sometimes, the entire top of the hill was littered with falling flowers.
It was strange to sniff the unusual scent of the weather-beaten petals.
Oh! I miss the hours sitting on top of the window like a distraught cat.
Copyright © March 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Nov 11, 2024
Nov 11, 2024 at 10:51 PM UTC
On a quiet night in late November
I fell in love with a sunset. I grabbed ahold and rode
him into the night, but gradually he shed his vivid garb as if
it clung too tightly to his celestial frame. It’s nothing short of a shame because
what I adored the most were the enthralling ways his hues danced
pirouettes with precision,
softly staining my skin and sinking downwards and inwards,
tinting my innards with his alluring, warm palette.
But temporary tattoos wash off with time and cold water,
and the most psychedelic of colors will one day fade to a prosaic shade of grey.
I wanted to stay
But the starless black sky that he raised before me was filled
with unknowns and I’d rather be left alone than let down,
because I am only human.
So mortal that when he abandoned his dazzlingly
colorful mirage, I sabotaged every flicker of light that I’d learned to hold on to,
heedlessly metamorphosing until his dispirited shades of blue
became one with my shades too.
But I want to thank him for letting me in.
Because before him, I never knew how a color felt
or how it tastes.
And as I chased him across the horizon,
he taught me that yellows and reds taste like eating candy for breakfast
and feel like soft skin, akin to his own.
And when he let his blues and blacks linger on my tongue and
occupy my lungs, it felt like tumbling down the most precipitous ravine
where at the bottom, unseen, the flavor of dirt overwhelms
your palette. Like choking
until you’ve a head bursting with fears and muddy tears in your eyes,
obstructing your view of the most beautiful sunset our Earth has seen
in it’s years of being.
Thank you for helping me see.
And I can only hope that one night when the sunset has begun to die down,
you choose to wipe the dirt from your eyes and
become the sunrise.
Because just as colors fade, with time,
mud will wash away.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
Yes, I forgave you and asked forgiveness
Twenty-four years and more ago.
Yet, you continued to despise.
Metamorphosing into an Unforgivable.
Hater. Destroyer of family.
You made sure it hurt me.
I don't like what you did.
It was ugly. It was not called for.
I wanted peace. So I created it.
Here, this is yours.
It's your very own universe!
To create all the havoc you desire.
Way over there! Far from mine.
When your venom is spewed
And your heart is as light as the Dove's feathers
I will open my doors in peace.
Welcoming you in for herb tea
with a spot of honey and a few biscuits too.
Maybe, even some laughter and fun.
It is all up to you.
Remember to present yourself truly
Setting what you have twisted right.
I pray for you to develop courage
Needed to tell all that you have done.
Yet, I am not hopeful.
Won't you prove me wrong?
I hope so, dear sister. I hope so.
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 7:59 PM UTC
Why something rather than nothing,
millenary questions mankind dwell
upon whilst witnessing existence
of surroundings, mesmerising
phenomena. Enthralling vibrations
we sense, sparkling myriad colours,
sounds, shaping textures emitting scents,
flavours tingling baffled palates.
Wandering on metamorphosing soils
ceaselessly reflourishing in springs,
celebrated by pagans and mystic believers
the same, for the goddess we call nature is
the only revealing
itself before us with no veils.
Bathing in fresh waters, rivers
streaming from icy mountain tops
to endless oceans of white
salty minerals balancing life,
in the depths of which all began,
cells melding to engender species
of omnific varieties, beguiling entities
curiously exiting to wander lands.
Juicy fruits on branches of rising trees
erecting to shield, shading creatures
from the scorching rays of a brilliant
star, circadian dawning consenting
earthly presence to evolve, for eyes
to rise contemplating space, in time,
notice the sparkling lights
on infinite black canvas, wonder
what they are, mirific excitement
while perceiving a unique
peculiar consciousness encompassing
all that ever was is and will be,
for intuition to question in beguile,
Why something rather than nothing?
Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC