"modification" poems
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
Tattoo your passion onto my tongue
Give me something to talk about
Brand the heart in your chest
Into my fingertips
So I can write about love
Implant your smile to my eyelids
Then I will dream of reasons to wake
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
inspired by
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/5120189/love-cannot-be-controlled-or-confined/
<>
Love is Meant……
and there, I stop…
<>
nnnnyup; continuing on,
this phrase
a self~sufficiency, is it not?
no conditional clause, dangling particle,
no conjunction peg upon to hang your wintered hat,
no adjacent adjective for summer's ending sadness,
no preposition to lead us to sunny places, where we search more
for nouns and pronouns, or to project/protect, in adjectives to clothe our irrationality in logic-e,
logic to define, logic to confine,
illogically
love permits one to say to another human, you mine, hu-mine,
[an aside: "you mine,' (really?)]
a preposterous prepositional insanity notion, that needs no explication,
love is meant, love is meant, love is mean, dream & yet, meant!
stadium sized. concert hall big, mini pup tent,
love is clean+dirty s i m u l t a n e o u s l y
don't you see the self~sufficiency in that?
yet you still seek definition, reasoning, seasoning,
love is meant to-be bent irregular straightaway,
love is meant, to be/not, cold 'n bot, silly hot,
lover is inert, hurt, ert,(1)
love is every point of,
of a sword's length
hilt & blade,
yet ironic,
the tip alone
is a self sufficient *****
to be full~on damaging enough to ****
to fully comprehend,
that love is meant
needs no further modifying defying
pointless phrasal modification of explanation…
s u n d a y
(if the week did not commence with a sunday,
hu-mans would have needed to create one,
to understand,
love is meant)
4:39am
Sun Aug 10
Twenty Twenty Fidelio (5)
in a new york city frame of mine
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 8:06 AM UTC
Practicality is the reality
of ignominious totality
the devices of all sizes
and the grammatical mentality
of systematic duality.
Punctuation is the **********
the *********** of every generation
the permutation and saturation
of wordsmith temptation for re-calibration
the aberration and consternation
that leads to misinformation
and condemnation and annihilation
of the constellation colloquial conversation
the abomination of language urbanization
the fermentation and ionization
of linguistic complications
the desolation of commas and semi-colons
the affirmation of their vs they're
the augmentation of amalgamation
is just the lyrical ************
of a hooded basketball top nation
the culmination of devastation
the gestation and interpolation
that leads to appreciation isolation
and justification acceleration
the modification and assimilation
of poorly-worded implementation
and the contamination of myriad exploration
alienation in illumination
punctuation is the salvation of documentation
against the tides of violation
and the extermination of regurgitation
the classification of discrimination
and last but not least
the liberation of misrepresentation.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Moo-Cow-Butterfly
Not a happy lass
Stubby little wings
Superfluous mass
Four long stringy legs
Twirly-whirly tongue
Moo-Cow-Butterfly
Highly strung
Weasel-Emu-Rangutan
Fifty shades of fur
Quite the oddest vertebrate
To naturally occur
Burrows in the jungle
Terrified of heights
Weasel-Emu-Rangutan
Restless nights
Labra-Hippo-Jellyfish
Slimy furry blob
Genetic Engineering
**** poor job
Moping on the seabed
Can’t fetch sticks
Labra-Hippo-Jellyfish
Sink like bricks
Chameleon-Begonias
Origin unknown
Disappear rapidly
As soon as they are sown
Neither here or thereabouts
But somewhere in between
Chameleon-Begonias
Seldom Seen
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
I'll make your words my playlist...
and I'll play them over and over again
I'll put them on repeat...
so I am reminded that I have a friend
It is medicine to my ears...
No remix or night core modification could compare
The music that motivates my heart to keep dancing...
The beat that makes my heart keep throbbing... to show that I care
I'll make your words my playlist...
and your sentences my harmony to my melody.
No billion dollar offer could make me sell your albums...
Because you sang each word... to me... and for me... so heavenly...
Let me make your words my Playlist... and I swear...
I'll embrace and believe every word... every whisper... every breath... never to be on-air...
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
A teachers heart is one of learning.
Of constant modification.
Lending pieces of it at the sound of a child's voice.
What is not seen
Are the broken parts.
The times when my heart falls out of my chest.
My child, I am sorry
My child, you don't deserve it
My child, here is safe
A heart of protection.
Showing each student their worth
Value more valuable than the words of this poem
Without you my child
My heart
Would simply
collapse
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
1969, one voice sent the world's radios to dancing because we were passing the torch from dreaming to reality as we took to the soft landing
That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind
and for just a second, everyone alive got to feel like Einstein but
I bet you as Armstrong looked down he didn't picture the strife and denial of life to so many in sight 40 years later
street riots and technology gone violent controlling the fears of children peering through glass stained in dust as nightmares rush passed the idea of life, crushing everything in sight
we even wrote it in our constitution
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.
but you'd have to sell your soul to bail from a life ended where money knows no measure
and you can not tell me that shooting an innocent human on mistake is neither cruel no unusual
but the constitution has turned into a wall
to push people so far back on that they couldn't turn and run
or read what was suppose to be a guarantee in the land of the free
and that's just the beginning
we're denying people from entering a country for body modification
when we've been altering our appearance longer than we have had boundaries to deny people from
because we're still leveling cities like we did when we were daydreaming and knocking block castles down
because we're still enslaving humans because of their genetics
but behind sheer curtains, it's all ok
because if you don't see then there's no need to worry
it's easy to ignore it when you have comments and feeds to read before you give the world news a chance at your attention
but what i've never understood
is how innovation and careful thinking placed a device in your hand
and all you came to do with it was carefully craft a 140 character string of ********
but i guess it goes to show
like our constitution
that though manifested to be great for the people by the people
at the end of the day, we're still too self obsessed to look at the rest of the picture
we're still too afraid to peer down at the entire world
so, Neil, I'm sorry, one giant step for man but mankind hardly remembers
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
Supernal abodes ours where we be as
soul-sheaths more transparent than we aspire
*in abodes we of
self-modification more transparent than we petaled hope*
of here, realms where bloom delights, beacons of
petaled hope, amid the rhythms of ice-pins
*amid Supernal beacons of delights
space, sensation soul-sheaths expansion of ice-pins*
in expansion space, sensation light and
self-modification all perception
*be as bloom ours where all perception here, realms where
aspire light and the rhythms*
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
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Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
Excuse me as I rant.
I am tried of trying to inhale religious expectations
expecting it to restore some coloration
Within the walls of my longing to be accepted soul
Because once I inhale
I'm drowning with rules and regulations
Suffering by asphyxiation.
On one hand I am told not to fall into temptation
On the other my fingers count the scars of self mutilation.
And they wonder why there's lack of communication
When most spit their words calling us abominations.
But Franny that's what they believe
yeah and I believe their teachings are a form of defecation.
you see what I mean, it's all 'bout interpretation
They see lustful behavior needing modification
I see nature and nurture working in collaboration.
because I am more than just a concept of sexualization.
Because I am more than God's "Mistaken creation"
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC
I’m more afraid of losing you than I am of losing myself
To force one to create;
To turn the gears of the mind by force of will
Ironic;
That the source of creativity has become so artificial,
Like plastic flowers in an outdoors garden,
Not wrong,
Not dangerous,
Unsettling;
One of these things is not like the other.
Something is wrong;
This is too familiar,
I have been here before.
Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you my whole life,
Silence is a spirit which haunts me,
Hold my tongue,
Punching my gut,
Every time brave words bloom in my throat,
This banshee screams reality in my wind-beaten face.
She is subdued by a fraternal bond, a weightless chain,
Silence is tamed by the right company,
The demon exorcised from my body,
I am sanctified in brief lucidity,
Clarity, however fleeting still exists,
Despite the holes in your brain,
The ultimate in body modification.
Every ugly duckling is told they’re a swan,
So they seek their kind,
Unable to set roots,
Assured that there is a kindred spirit,
You just have to find them.
You don’t know what you have until it’s gone,
They ugly duckling becomes more shark-like every day,
Unable to stop, a flower constantly about to wither,
With age comes beauty,
The Rhododendron expels an army of stamens,
Male in essence, coloured neon pink,
******* objects of desire for the hungry bee,
Honey and perfume,
Comfort and poison,
The children of flowers,
Opposing in nature,
Twins in function,
Sweetening, attracting, saturating,
Numbing the tongue,
Burning the nose,
So sweet I could *****
I want more time and you want more attention,
Kind gestures, kind reward,
So sweet that I’m sick.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 8:07 PM UTC
Notes, musical keys, rythmic changes-
A modification of the Word
Which purifies her soulfulness
And expresses clarities in the fog,
The hint of Dickinson in her words,
The scent of reality in her reflection,
The words become a path:
One wet summer I heard your words,
The vibrant sky breaths
And the sun became as embers
Of poetic sacrifice,
Through reading your poem
I became as a double being,
Movement began
A sudden dispersion of birds
Followed by the Humm of water
On stone,
Murmurs of infinite moments
Painting them all like some
Poet Saint,
The words became a lineage
To the unfathomable depths of you,
In the helix of hours
The beat of the sea and the stilled
Shimmers of light on water can be found
In the edification of her poetry;
Master strokes,
Like a naked liberation
Of a diamond body beyond
A turquoise sunset,
A co concubine of words
That form constellated meanings
Among the pnumbra,
Reminiscent of the March of hours
In which the words come
And a fixed glitter in her eyes form,
The form of woman,
A form of dizziness
Like a dance of wind and water,
I read between the words,
Vicki,
Vicki,
I imagine a lamp in the middle
Of the night,
A pen and a womans scorching
Words as God had spoken
The First Word,
Like a moon in heat in midday's
Grasp, she counters every word
Of expression
Like a cell for my tortured soul,
She became my solitary star,
I wander in her hours,
Hungry for more words,
A memory inventing itself,
Masterfully,
She makes the sky walk the land.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 3:19 PM UTC
BRING ON THE PASSION ,
BRING ON THE FASHION .
THE STAGE IS SET ONLY FOR AWHILE,
DRESS UP YOUR PASSION IN STYLE.
PASSION IS THE FUEL IN THE FIRE OF ACTION ,
TAKE EACH STEP WITH NO CONFUSION .
PASSION IS THE SPICE OF LIFE GIVING IT ALL THE FLAVOUR ,
REFINED , ULTRASOPHISTICATED , SASSY , GALLONT TO SAVOUR .
PASSION IS THE FUSION FOR TALENT,
MASTERY IS THE KEY TO PASSION'S EMBARKMENT .
HEAD ON WITH YOUR PASSION ,
WHILE PASSION REVEALS THE DRAPPER OR DREARY COMPASSION .
PASSION IS THE DECOCTION TO LIFE'S MODIFICATION ,
PASSION IS THE "SHOW STOPPER" TO LIFE'S SATISFACTION !!
©MRUNALINI .D. NIMBALKAR
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 10:05 AM UTC
They sent me to a place far away through time and space
Deep in the woods where there was nothing safe
They told me it would fix me, program me to behave
I'll never be able to hide the scars that place gave
Locked away, beaten, berated and abused
It wasn't until later that it came out on the news
Only then was it shown that the horrors were all true
It helps to explain why the survivors are so few
They set us up for failure; set us up to lose
For most of us death was not a hard option to choose
I remember when Karlye hanged herself inside
A bathroom all alone and the staff left her to die
The behavioral modification was nothing more than just a lie
In a land with no liberty anything would fly
They flashed horrifying images rapidly up on a screen
While we listened to audio of tortured souls that screamed
Nothing there was ever what it seemed
Stuck inside the hell of Spring Creek Lodge Academy
Solitary confinement for days on end
Watching in horror as they beat your best friend
Within an inch of his life, again and again
From that day on you didn't want another to begin
They broke my mind to pieces in that place
But not matter how they tried my soul they couldn't take
Others weren't so fortunate; I've been to so many wakes
So much pain came from that place it would be impossible to fake
I hope this is the result you were looking for
When you had two men come in the night and take me out the door
I didn't talk to you for months, I came back forever changed
Like an animal, self destructive, angry and deranged
It didn't program me into the robot you wanted me to be
There is a reason over half of my fellow prisoners won't be seen
A suicide rate like that is so high
I don't blame a single one of them
Though you tried to take away their rights, they had the right to die
The only question left to answer now is why?
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
We need others to play with us to not feel isolation,
We need to bring joy to others to feel elation,
We crack like delicate porcelain then be viewed as a deformation,
Our minds are more of an aberration,
As we yearn for someone's admiration,
We are viewed as objects by the nation,
We strive to look different by modification,
Ending up with falsification,
With envious glares acting as devaluation,
Although we are each marked by our own notation,
We submit to society's suffocation,
All in all we are the gods and demons dolls.
Artificial, pretend and above all,
just a recreation.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 8:33 PM UTC
*And it's not a cry that you hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah*
a cry you hear at night (my nighttime vocabulary), the same repertoire as the daytime residents, yelps and screeches, groans and screams, bleating whelps and yelps, grunts and curdling silent low moans and pierced wails, crues du cœur, (cries from the heart) but at night when these orchestral sounds are released without modification, freed from the governor of self-consciousness, the embarrassment of waking mirrored witnesses, atonalities as raw as a violin string snapping, the terrible sounds, twice as harsh as the scrape roughened roaring sound of the hoarse word, raw, when spoken out loud but I count them all as friends, these then my nighttime vocabulary companions.
each deed, each sin, committed, lifelong repetition, dances in a chorus line, across my eyelashes, each demanding my punishment with a different matching sound; the reciprocal noises of the lives I shed, the lives I've taken, the forsaken forsakings, the blatant ones done with no excuse, no pretend rationale, these are my very own
songs of the night, conductor, musician, audience, one for all,
all for me, my torment of endless and relentless unforgiving sonality
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 2:27 PM UTC
*My poisonous love - A poetic soul
The modification of puckish heart- A cold - blooded bowl
full of your deviant love
stirred with the taste of your strawberry lips , I howl
Real night comes along midnight tranquility
I hear the echoes of yous, Oh cold - Breeze
drives me to your enthral heart
making me lost inside you; 'bout your spellbind heat...
.. resided to your deepen love belonged to mine
With night, you undress your flowery spirit for me, A sly
I rolled up the whole drooling persona of yours with... in the blanket
like a heart seems to be hooked up with its every salacious beat,
~ Oh My French romance & your Italian love so Italic ~
Habibi, I sing you a lullaby
Like a God blessing the whole heart, deeply
The game's made to be over, but not my love, sweetly
Sanorita, Maria, Bri-bee, hey, Nina bonita, oh honey-bee
whatever your name is; wherever you reside to, my spirit needs you completely.*
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
From the foods we eat
To the beverages we drink
All the way down to the very air we breathe
All these genetic modifications
Lead us slowly down a pathway to cancer and disease
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
Step One.
When you are taught that human beings are riddled with gaping holes and survival is nothing more than attempting to stay standing against the rough gusts of wind, allow this fact to coat the surface of your skin. Memorize the mesmerizing patterns of movement of other beings as they struggle to remain on their trembling feet despite the vacancies in their chests, and mimic them with precision. This is the dance of survival that your vacant body will learn until the holes grow too large and the remainder of your body caves. This is how time passes, and this is how time continues.
Step Two.
You are born as a vessel, waiting to be infested with the words of those around you. As you absorb the dancing syllables and learn how to breath in the emotion infused in the air, ensure that you fill yourself up to the brim with this knowledge. Hold these precious collections close, for they are the substance that ensures your body remains seen among the bustling bodies of billions. Then betray your body and allow these collected words escape through petty cracks, knowing that each freed syllable is a step towards invisibility. When you allow all turbulent emotion through the cracks of your lips, you will return to an empty vessel. The silence of vacancy is fatal, and time will persist around your deterioration.
Step Three.
As you grow your body, allow your eyes to stray towards other beings growing their own. You will notice that the curves of your body are not unique, and are merely a slight modification to a standard model. Each word that exits your lips has been uttered before, and each declaration has been confessed long before your body has made its debut. As you allow your fingers to wander around the concave of his body, understand that your body is merely an interruption to the air around it. Any body could take your place, for you are a combinations of tireless repetitions and patterns. When you have allowed this realization to poison your lungs, you will pass as all the other beings have and your time will end. Another repetition will take your place as you have done, and time will go on without you.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 3:02 AM UTC
Did you hear the one about the Fountain?
You know, that bathroom furnishing-turned-art that was quickly snatched from public view because some found it "offensive, immoral, and repulsive?"
The one that has a jumbled history?
R. Mutt--my mother in German
R. Mutt--Richard Mutt bought the fountain
R. Mutt--a French cartoon reference
R. Mutt-- modification of the name of the plumbing company
What really happened?
A mystery of history.
A beautifully complex objet trouvé, turned on its side to find new meaning.
Art is in the eye of the beholder.
Art is necessary, thus the necessary is art.
For a start.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
guess what?
you can't lie to my best friend
you can't tell her
that so-and-so sent you that
( frickin slut's )
picture
(funny how you saved it)
you can't rope her back in with your
manipulation
,your
modification
of the truth,
and you can't buy me with your
half-assed excuses and you can't tell me that it's
none of my business
because you've exploited her
and you've lied to her
don't mean
that you've earned her.
she deserves better and you deserve
to be alone forever
with your self-pity
and your short-sighted
under-the-table
pathetic
selfish
actions.
guess what?
you can't tell me she has a choice
when you've given her none
telling her
she's the best things in your life
(how 'bout you treat her like it?)
and by the way
can i have a picture of you
( *insert thing she's not going to do for you
here* )
and there's a reason
you filthy
lying
cop-out of a human being
i won't hear you
tell me that
she's
chosen you
that she's
happy with you
because
if she's happy with you
how come
you still have to
spend so much time trying
to
convince her?
guess what?
i don't buy you.
i hate you.
i resent you.
you make me
sick.
and even if she doesn't see it
even if she holds onto your pathetic
whining
excuses
i see through you
you bile-throated liar
and you don't ******* deserve
one single tear
you've pulled from her,
you don't ******* deserve
the dirt on her Converse,
you don't ******* deserve
this poem.
because it makes you seem
almost like
you're worth something.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 6:37 PM UTC
Wrong question.
Wrong footed.
Let's review:
With a woman,
Created life,
Can, did, and
done.
This new life,
Automatically a replication,
In my own image,
Subject to my modification.
Control my death.
Choice is mine if I
So choose.
The body instrument,
If tended well,
Will run as long as
It can, longer than
Most can imagine.
All machines wear out.
Can ****
If so choose.
Can save,
Some, not all,
If I so choose.
Do choose.
With practice,
Will get better.
Let's review:
The power of
life and death
Is mine.
My choices coded,
By a moral standard,
Designed, modified and
Chosen to obey.
There are elements
Can't control.
Not a fool.
Let's review:
Man can make it rain.
Man can blot out the sun,
If he were so foolish to do.
Can fly.
Go under water
For extended periods,
Live to tell.
Someday,
Will ontrol most
Of the elements.
Not all, but many, better.
Those that can't dominate,
Will forecast,
Move aside the wrecking power of
Tsunami, volcano, tidal wave,
Diminishing their power.
Can go to other planets,
In my solar system.
Someday, will visit
The Milky Way,
Cause that would be cool.
On and on and on,
Could go, but let me
Summarize with a question...
That points you on the direction.
Does god believe in me?
The answer of course provided
poetically,
But let us to the conclusion come
Holding hands friend,
Yes, to both.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
35,088 feet over Nebraska,
(Nebraska-imagining me climbing a ladder, me upwards, Jacob’s angels coming down, off to a high school All Saints wrestling match in a cornfield town)
a place not on my bucket list, just a blue bias of an eastern stater’s unknowns, a sure sign of how much he doesn’t know
reading Patti’s slender volume “Devotion”
slender like her body, some would call it a wiry woman's
sparse but directed, connective, word-worshipping,
old familiar strangers she delivers to you that you have never met, her phraseology striking me and strikingly beautiful simultaneous
scan it and understanding instantaneous
she asking,
why do we write?
her answers are fine copper wire threaded
into a coil and I close it quick cause the loving ****** desire to
plagiarize such an oddly gorgeous offerings is overwhelming;
I feel the wire words piercing my temple, intending to
emerge out the other side, a decorative symmetry,
I don’t own
my need to script some cursive on my smooth body parts,
on my god-given papyrus, always at the ready,
is a methadone itch, a dulling urge needy for fulfillment,
that needs satisfying but me, soundly second rate,
write like the flip side of a hit vinyl record, no one is expected to play, fulfillment meets futility
thus the title is a modification of a Patti light touch
my alchemy never made any gold and my present presence now over Iowa a reminder that my prescriptions are 1200 evacuations; they are negative commandments,
proscriptions, not prescriptions
do not write, do not wrong words with a middling diffidence,
hide your face and put her words on a shelf above your head
hard to reach, so you do not be tempted
why do we write?
“All seeking an emptiness to imbue with words.
The words that will penetrate ******
territory, crack unclaimed
combinations, articulate the infinite.” Patti Smith
disambiguation she relieves us of uncertainty
my combinations over Waterloo, Illinois
are ordinary smokestack gray, a spewing wastage,
the angels conforming that my words Cain-fail,
my confession
meets no one’s standards, not even mine
7:07pm Central Time
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
If there was any such thing for humans,
The elemental concept of true love would truely stand failed,
Right is the saying 'love is blind'.
We just like & dislike each other's habits,
So love is mere straight-forwardness, modification and attachment,
That together make up the concept of 'true love'.
Just dream on & on till you finally plan,
And get your love ultimately gaining their deepest of desires fulfilled,
This way you can decisively prove yourself to none but you.
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC