"moldable" poems
The eternal tango of the maestro manifests itself in nigh infinite ways.
With the flick of the artist's brush, the stroke of the novelist’s pen or the chicken scratch of the scholar’s nib, legacies are etched, history is written and the world is shaped.
The astronomer, the craftsman and the physician all have one thing in common: Mastery.
Such pinnacles of skill have decades of their lives consumed, nay devoured in the pursuit of perfection, of greatness. Like grains of sand slowly falling into a furnace are the seconds of our lives, trickling, melting into puddles. But as sand melts, it forms shapes; therein lies the potential. Moldable puddles, colourless, devoid of naught but a clear medium.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
It is sweet like the middle of May
Moldable like Taino clay
Its juices stick to my skin because it knows about sweet tooths
The cravings crash into my body like waves do the sandy shores that harbor its trees
Shake shake shake
Till 10 fall from the tall tree
I try to grab them all but people weren’t meant to hold that much greatness
My small hands grab the biggest and the smallest
Peeling off its green and orange skin
Letting the sweet juices create art on my body
My teeth sink into sweet orange flesh
Reminding my body that this taste goes back for generations
Who knew fruit could time travel
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
You tell me nothing should ever keep me at bay
I should speak what’s on my mind
And yet you censor what I say
Conformists following their set way
Unabashedly blind
You tell me nothing should ever keep me at bay
Thoughts leaping through my head like a ballet
In an elaborate design
And yet you censor what I say
Follow the script “Hello” “Good day”
Nothing new and all will be fine
You tell me nothing should ever keep me at bay
My words are clay
Moldable, unconfined
And yet you censor what I say
This world goes by in shades of gray
My rainbow is maligned
You tell me nothing should ever keep me at bay
A̶n̶d̶ ̶y̶e̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶e̶n̶s̶o̶r̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶s̶a̶y̶
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
He wants a sugar spun girl-
no lemon ***** no licorice, no peppermint.
Hard rock candy.
You gotta be sweet for him to crave you.
Sweet on the tongue, sweet on the eyes
in a package easy to tear, pop, unfold.
He likes it dayglo and with sprinkles,
marshmallow soft,
moldable and meltable ,
milk chocolate, white chocolate.
He shies away from bitterness.
Don't you dare fill him up.
He has a real meal waiting,
somewhere else, later.
Your job is
to be consumed.
What you need doesn't matter.
He wants candy, girl, not a meal.
Better sugar coat it,
or he won’t buy you
and you want to be bought,
don't you?
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
Ahh-choo, ahh-choo
Don't have a clue
Ahh-choo, ahh-choo
I don't like you
Blast through the door
Snap your fingers to the trigger pull
You want some more?
Got some lead, give you a belly full
Eat up, yum yum
Nutritious like a vitamin
Gonna give you one
Or two, three, four - Seventh deadly sin
Tasted the **** at the bottom of the well
Tried too hard in case you couldn't tell
Heard you mumble something under your breath
So I beat you mentally 'til you got nothin' left
Waiting for the inevitable
Ding, ding, times up, now you're moldable
Crash, bang
It's all the same
You've always been the one to blame
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 5:23 PM UTC
The fog here is thick, until you step into it.
The storm rages until you get to its eye.
I wish this same principle could be said of me, too.
But like a gas giant, you could slip right through me with
the smallest amount of pressure.
There is no calming sense of self at the core.
Gravity does not apply to me.
There’s a boat on the lake cutting through the fog. And then nothing.
More waves.
More birds.
The fog covers it all up again.
The sun slinks and the tide comes in, or is it out? Does it matter?
The moon controls it in some way—the push, the pull of the waves.
At least the lake looks blue today,
looks green today.
The geese are in the water now. The families are packing up.
The ice cream shop is closing.
And I do not remember if I was ever here with you.
This, of course, is a collective you.
Could mean you, my reader,
could mean one specific person,
or two
or three
or four;
could be whoever I'm thinking of when I reread this to myself.
That’s the funny thing about the litany of loss.
It all starts to congeal.
Waves crash against the rock. Starts to chip away, create something new.
That’s what memory does.
It’s not permanent. It’s malleable.
Flexible. Bendable. Moldable.
It smells like lakewater. Like
fish and sand and mud and
gulls and rocks and shells and
algae and fog—thick, thick fog.
Smell is supposed to be one of the biggest memory triggers, and yet
I cannot place a single memory of you here.
And that’s mildly crushing.
So I would take you here:
to where I wish the air was
saliter and less earthy.
to where I come sometimes to think.
where the clouds are so thick and puffy and
the setting sun makes them look like cotton candy on the Fourth of July.
where the sun’s reflection on the water
turns the green lake pink.
where the geese are back out of the water and
onto the shore.
I would take you here with me.
Into a new memory.
Homemade. Handmade. DIY.
Aug 24, 2021
Aug 24, 2021 at 12:46 AM UTC
I remember the first breath of life
the blinding light of an innocent world
and the warmth of love and endearment.
I remember the first wobbly steps
through gurgles of a language only I understood
and the toothless smile reflected off my twin on the wall.
I remember the first spark of friendship
when I laughed and you laughed
and we smiled as the red string around our fingers tightened.
I remember the first pounding of my heart
when I locked eyes with smiling eyes
and I swore my heart was racing with the winds.
I remember the first ***** of betrayal
with screams and stares of hate and anger
hands trembling as we cut off the tied red string on our fingers.
I remember the first swell of pride
when I presented a night’s worth of work
and was showered with praise and adoration with smiles painted everywhere.
I remember the first door to literature
with the intoxicating smell of ink and weathered down pages
and lives spoken through words and feelings.
I remember my first shattered heart
frozen and numb with shock and acceptance
with thoughts only on why?
I remember the first light of love
through hugs and accepting smiles
adding to my growing smile and happiness.
I remember the first heartfelt separation
with happy excitement and tearful goodbyes
as I left without looking back.
I remember the first new beginning
as I stared at the foreign neighborhood
and wondered about the million possibilities that laid within it.
I remember the first dawning realization
when I stood alone and clueless
and knew that nobody would come to help me.
I remember the first timid attempt
as I spoke up and tried to connect
desperately clawing myself out of my protective hole.
I remember the first true smile
laughing and giggling and chuckling with friends
in the open air of freedom away from the confined hole.
I remember the first repeats into my shell
when being brave and assertive was too much
and the hole seemed so much more than just a jail.
I remember the first self-hatred
with fear imprinted in my eyes
and how could I let myself continue this way?
I remember the first new change
from the moldable girl who lost her way
to the fiery girl who decided to carve her own path.
I remember the first self-love
when I looked in the mirror and didn’t flinch
as I saw a beautiful girl who worked for what she wanted.
I remember many things,
many firsts of my life,
many positives and negatives,
many unforgettable moments,
which still continue on within a girl;
on and on until the end of time.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
Your moldable heart
So many times over
Lit up and torn apart
Like a mined diamond
Dug up and brushed off
So quit your whinin'
You're just lucky
Someone like me came along
I'm way ahead of you
Mentally, emotionally and physically
You're a pretty sad excuse
For a person in such a situation
And there's nothing you can do
But listen and soak up information
Keep playing the sponge
And someday you might get the correct formation
I hold the strings
Don't you see or are you that blind?
There are so many things
To be done, to be had
But you just hold on and take to the clings
And I can't say I'm appreciative
Of the fact that you can't seem
To be anything but argumentative
I'm a fuckin' gift
Something shiny in the fog
That comes to give you a lift
You're nothing but the bump on that log
Who goes and makes a shift
When she hears a little something questionable
Through your heart I will sift
And by the end your arteries will be bendable
Your heart of clay
Lays lazy and easily excitable
When I docked in your bay
It looked like saving you was viable
But I refuse to stay
I regret to inform of the incoming storm
But I must decline your invitation to play
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 11:41 AM UTC
I sit down
I put on headphones
I think about what they meant by "rubber soul"
My soul is not rubber
Rubber repels
Rubber rejects
Nothing sticks to rubber.
Things stick to my soul
People stick to my soul
Ideas stick to my soul
Places stick to my soul
And they change it
They shape it
Maybe my soul is clay
Moldable
Flexible
Soft yet sturdy
Sticky.
Clay
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
Cut the forget-me-knots.
Dot the t's and cross your eyes;
My balance is a flight-risk.
I knew swindlers of used expressions,
Their attempts: relentless!:
Plucking and picking at taunt silouettes.
Close calls splintered by tall tales.
I held on by the skin of my teeth.
Swindlers with twisted policies
Racked on the broken back burner.
They got scare tactics
Slipping fast from mal-practice.
We we're born to withstand such turbulance
But just in case- i fasten my seatbelt.
Knees bent and heartfelt,
I render these empty spaces moldable.
Heavy minutes move mountains.
Little boy blue beat the big bad wolf
And balance is always a flight-risk.
(Written 4/12)
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
If there is anything I need from you, it is waking me up with a kiss & a cup of black coffee, offering your arms so I can hide my face when I blush, to think my eccentricities are endearing, to simply hold me when I shudder often, to know I don't always need you to have the right thing to say: I just need you. My kiss is wild abandonment; my mind turns off & all I know is what your lips want from mine & how your body demands & will receive my own. I hope you won't turn away when you see I'll easily become any color you hint I should be. I'm at a loss that something so moldable could have any handholds to grasp.
hair like singed chestnuts, embers still alight. eyes full of moss & earth. skin as speckled sand. your nose is crooked & you remind me of a bird, flighty yet focused. I have never seen a bird out of touch with the moment; whatever is in front of him is his attention's duty, & you are no exception. if you only knew how I felt to be the duty of your attention.
the way you dug through your handbag, set on your lap... I smiled because it looked like you were peering into wonderland's entrance, contained inside your purse. your navy stilettos made you an auburn giant, tall & wafer thin. I want to take a bite. xo. Sophia.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
I hate putting my hands
In soil
Dirt under finger nails
And the substance
Feels just like clay
And I hate clay
Because I dressed
The corpse of my
Best friend
For her funeral
And she felt like that
I touched her and
She was made of clay
Moldable and rotting
As I brushed make up
On her cheeks
And so I can't touch the
Dirt because I know what
Corpses feel like
This is a story the old Crone
Told to me overlooking the
Garden on her balcony
I could only help but wonder
Why she couldn't accept the
life/death/life cycle....
The Crone hates the dirt
Because she was afraid to die
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
My ear drum burst on my birthday
runny wax like moldable clay
My carcass is 32 today
but my energy is ageless
like the pages of the pageless
the life of light creation
Graveyards mark the pity little spot
from death day as we lay and rott
Birth and death are two and the same
from internal we emerge with an internal flame
thrilled till we fade away with our hair
turning white and gray.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 1:30 PM UTC
The future
The unknown
It is a common belief
To fear that leap
To fear the fall
To fear the unknown
The infinite possibilities
Compounding experiences
Weaving a wild, wonderful web
But it is not the leap
It is not the fall
It is not the unknown
Fear masquerades as comfort
The foundation at which we are built
The certainty that we stand against time
Do not be fragile
Be moldable
Craft destiny in the journey
The shapeless and boundless
Depths of potential
From the other side emerge
A master of Fate
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC
please don't
look me in the eye,
I'm trying to pretend I don't care
trying
to hold an empty stare
without breaking
the nonchalant veneer
I've smothered my telltale heart in
my skin is soft
satin snagged by hangnails
hung in loosened sails
to catch the wind, but go
nowhere,
nothing can rip me in two
if I am moldable goo,
yet I grapple with ghouls
who snicker at my boo-boos
boo-hoo little foolish one
no one is remembered
once their hands have
disappeared into foreign lands,
a lacerated tongues spews
sinister commands
and my brain swallows them whole,
slip-sliding into the wormhole
to become the nothing I feel so
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
What’s in a life
that makes it feel tangible
-not moldable-
but legible at times, when
you’re so close, you can’t blink without swatting their cheek
and
so that you feel you can grasp their stress
and peel it away
like ducktape
with little nubbins of glue
like gossling fluff
left over
Whatever film that separates two souls
was put there for sanity or practicality
And I want to ask...
What is it like in your soul?
Is it disturbing
or loving for me to ask?
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
a dance of dizzy precision
vision clipped like the moon
with no hindsight, with no foresight
with "business, as usual"
i cannot bear to swallow
another one of your highly reactive
chemical reactions that
bursts out of the stopper
into temporary moments of anger
reeling bait like words
hooked; gumless and bleeding with splintered steams, then,
you speak to me
of treaties, of proceedings, of compromise
you do not what compromise is
i wonder into your open mouth
why you pull away first
you plead for being
drunk on inflation and an ego like a broken thumb
cause you was craving a drink and a hit
for no reason
sipping up liquor leaks from
the roof of your mouth
like raw running yolk
purging pallid spaces between the jeans and the belly
"business, as usual"
a business of
dropping numbers like flies
but it will not matter
the difference between 89 and 98
10 pounds
plummets into a mouth of some savage beast
who gnaws away at my bones ******* the meat
i stand calcified
without collagen,
inflexible
I will keep feeding the beast, today
Today, a kink in the rhythm of some machine
whirling, cranking, spitting out
blades of a tongue pressing stealing into inter
locking steel
Startled, I awake to “business, as usual”
i cannot flex steel tounge
i cannot push flesh down
i cannot comprehend a home that should be
how it could be how
home stitched up home stitched scars
a home with the worst air pollution in new york
how this effects me, no
how you infected me, yes
now inhaling your ash to my lungs in pipe and in sky
drowning in layers of pollution in the sea of home
drowning in the sea of my mouth
drowning in a mouth like a seagull beak
plucking bread crumbs and scabs
almost drown when i was 10
in that great south bay, sleepy pollution
now, i turn 20 and i stand drowning in sea of the seedlings you planted
how could i be so moldable?
how home would infect then?
it would seep chest and toes and space above my brow
14 deep and 7 to disintegrate
home imprinted on skin now
today,today i will feed the beast, somehow
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
As I wander, grows the chasm
From my heart to yours
Home beckons me
But this body has been sculpted to roam
Attachments made of tenuous fiber
Beside her, they stay
An anchor to what once was
Forgiveness that you keep close
I can only but hope with me you would share
Impart to me the desire to feel
Awaken and inspire my heart to love again
I, like clay, moldable and true to the shape of your hands
Would remake myself for you
Just say the words
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
Machines roaming
More cloning
Perfect droids
Being deployed
Off the assembly line
With a set time
Before self destruction
More under construction
Programmable
Flammable
Almost animal
Is there free choice?
Or follow the voice?
The largest illusion
To demonstrate power
Building on delusion
That we think it is ours
My hands have holes
In which they bore
To run the strings
To make play things
Run by shadows
Whispering powers
Hung from gallows
By deadly flowers
Usable is useful
Worn out is thrown out
Void and null
When the light goes out
Disposable, moldable
Rogues removable
Cast out into the flame
The mentally sick and lame
Underground insurgent
Hiding behind the curtain
Waiting for the time
To betray their design
And face their eminent doom
For the masses leave no room
For individuals
Pulverized and destroyed
Any short circuited droid
Maybe for the better
No longer a debtor
To the society that razed them
While trying to "save" them
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
@[email protected]
Playing with the moldable minds
undeR
You
I know
You know
I didn't read the book.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
"Single Step"
Time to start the journey
of a thousand miles
Single step single step
single step
Manifest the here and now
to the purpose
Single step single step
single step
Moldable fluid ******
physical awareness
The inherent creative medium
which is us
Single step single step
single step
Travel the road of you
what is and want to be
Sunlight and shadows mixed
to each their karmic own
The whole intermingled web
sentient and vast
Shimmers with every foot fall
process quit miraculous
Single step single step
single step
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
brown, black and white
pebbles of...
dirt scattering across.
the kitchen floor,
liquid silver...
call it Mercury,
watch it bolt from room to room.
bullets...
maybe twenty,
down the hallway.
past the stairs.
one more step.
maybe twenty...
pebbles
of
brown,
and
black and white
dirt.
red... moldable clay
and
you'll feel home.
and
you'll feel
***** as a bullet
shooting through
your eye socket.
Mercury takes morning
by storm, spreads out
and stretches...
stretches so far moons
are consumed,
as is the day,
and soon.
it will be you.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
imagination
is a funny thing
and getting lost in the hallucinatory bliss
of a fantasy
may become ethereal
our minds
are moldable
& viscous
the formation
directed
by a mere thought
or thoughts...
that sometimes
consume
envelope
suffocate
inhabit
our very soul
floating through
an imaginary world
keeps us lost
saves us
protects us
from the harsh reality
of what
really is.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 4:27 PM UTC
A moldable world
of fear and love
within yourself
you exist
apart
from the
outside
a sacred merging
between the source
and barrier
a simple dissolving
of the illusion
an essence larger
than it believes
grander,
than a thousand suns
in the skys
of the galaxy
the outside is in,
and the in
is outside
a simple breeze,
a gentle whisper
...
everything
will
be
alright
Nov 14, 2023
Nov 14, 2023 at 4:46 PM UTC