"mutable" poems
for those who are concerned; I dispersed within the vastness of outer space.
My body, once caged all the stars, are finally in its resting place.
Maybe here, I am finally seen by those who romanticize the deathly night.
I am at a tranquil state, where all the planets are aligned just right.
No deaths, no violence, no wars, no fights.
No existential pain or crisis to plague a human's state of mind.
I am bound within the molecules of space and time, dancing on asteroids, I am entwined.
Finally, my body is free from the darkest of pains that had wallowed in my rib cage.
All the bottled emotions that had forever kept me enraged.
I have exploded into a beautiful mess, now the size of silica.
I am in motion, twinkling for those bellow in such a sorrowful world, as they paint me in Starry Night replicas.
They'll be envious to hear that I am conversing with Van Gogh himself.
We are in the cloudless night, a painting in a museum, and history within books on a bookshelf.
We're sprinkled in the dark like a beautiful combustion.
All the answers written in the stars for what we once questioned.
He tells me "be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high."
And that was enough for me to just get by.
I am a galaxy, freed in the vastness of the universe.
Into this new life of neighboring planets and meteors, my body will immerse.
I am the stars you see on your lonely nights.
And this time, please take your time to analyze my light.
I know I'm a mess, but I can make it beautiful.
For what it's worth, I once took the form of a dying artist, whom was so mutable.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 7:55 PM UTC
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of us all?
Skin so delicate and fair
Blue eyes and long black hair
A good king, a good daughter
A wicked stepmother
One day full of gloom and dread
When The Wicked heard it said
"The Daughter is the fairest,
O' dear! You are second best!"
The Wicked was wild with jelousy
And begun plotting conspiracy
Getting rid of the fair lady
Was the wicked plan of the day
The Wicked called on her servant
The name was **** Cindy
Bribed her with riches women want
Promised her a gift of beauty
So **** Cindy and The Daughter
Went into the depth of the forest
**** Cindy has led the pretty girl
She surely must put her to death!
Our **** Cindy however
Found the girl a thing of beauty
**** Cindy's courage betrayed her
Excused herself and ran away
The pretty daughter was left alone
Terribly scared but still alive
Tears fell as she thought of home
Doubtful if she will ever survive
**** Cindy returned to the castle
Showing a heart of a roe deer
And served as a loyal vassal
To The Ever Wicked stepmother
So **** Cindy got rewarded
With unimaginable riches
Lasting beauty she was awarded
At last she got her wishes
At night our **** Cindy
Her riches, all she gathered
And then she vanished swiftly
Away from The Ever Wicked
Meanwhile the pretty daughter
Found a place to stay
That house was full of laughter
And the rest was history
Highly pleased now The Wicked
Turned again to the mirror
But her hopes became unsettled
After the unpleasant cheer
She must die! She must die!
Went The Wicked's awful cry
She became an old peasant
Killed the girl with a poison
And so the pretty daughter
Laid in the forest for days
The cute house lost its laughter
The Wicked went on her ways
The sad news reached the town
And to our **** Cindy
So she wore her sexiest gown
And started on her journey
Into the forest she went
Looking for that pretty girl
Her heart skipped and bent
Feeling that awesome thrill
**** Cindy found The Daughter
Lying on a wooden bed
"Thy beauty is oh, so rare!"
Was the thought inside her head
She could not help but wet her lips
Staring at the sleeping lady
She felt a tingle below her hips
And sensation inside her belly
They said no man can wake the girl
And maybe no man really can?
So **** Cindy kissed The Daughter
And so her passion has began
The kiss was oddly very awesome
And it stirred the sleeping girl
It brought a funny slurpy sound
Waking up The Royal Daughter
"Oh God! Oh my! Oh my!
Oh my beautiful princess!
Take my hand, come with me
Away from this very place!"
So **** Cindy and The Daughter
They ran away together
Across the land of nowhere
Where they lived happily ever after
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Who is the fairest of us all?
"Snow and Cindy are the fairest
O' dear! Now you're the third best!"
~THE END~
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
Nostradamus and sleeping prophet's One lost image of the singular Eye
Re(ad(d): No worry
To, Love Our Sun :).
Signs like Gemini is to air
Sagittarius is to fire a pair
in this crossing with Pisces
to water is Virgo for earth
too We are the mutable ones!!
Sunny is however we coin the calling spiraling too
EYE of the One generation transmutable souls of soil ARE
to earth; 'hues EYED like a butterfly, here to sample many flowers
connected within a Great Spirit invoked as in wilds if peopled or things'!!!
We do feel it within or without the actual considerations of the ultimate doings;
'letting go and taking the risk of trusting and depending on another'!!! One by one!!! :)
EYE of humus hued in spirit and love fused to the stone's twirling and of the ruse's tolling
So many of paths we traverse here as on earth the singular EYE knows out on the HORIZON
The great Eye is too glued on Sunny Sun's ever evolving viewing's as hued spirits cross EYE'S
Our blinded one eye's longing to Lyra's lyre, great musician Orpheus winging, whose W
music tamed wild beasts, caused rivers to stop flowing and enchanted even gates S
to the Lord of the Dead Hades, the softly lit fire singing inside linking heaven A
to earth viewed from outsider's hues waxing and waning of sleep wakened I N
so ode to the moon in the darkness of night gives but who takes her softer F USED
delight when One day halves by sun setting all ebbs in flowing as tides B I
to Great oceans moved like hearts breathe air to presence's emoting STAR'S
from magic to tragic we long of ecliptic traces cryptically erasing W
the blindness of memory and sight' majestic beast's floundering I
a forever crisscrossed from the One Eye here now to Knight's N
dear lost forbidden inner retreats from the East to God's lost 'S
children cast out to the land from blood pooling in spoils O
as easily uncovered as readily as new western lands had ~/ E \~ N
claim maddened ravaged savagely eagerly discovered ~(:YES :)~ G
fear still rocks this boat with hope still sailing onward (:FORGIVEN:). 'S
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
You know he’s full of stuff
When the evidence ain’t enough
And he’s acting like a cream puff
By not calling Putin’s bluff
If I labeled him a scaredy-cat
Or better yet Putin’s new doormat
Would that raise the thermostat,
And flush out that Norway rat?
When the evidence is irrefutable
To the point that it’s not disputable
His response is always mutable
And comes out as most unsuitable
Then his mouthpiece attempts to frame
An alibi, but we’re hip to her game
She can’t absolve him of the blame
Though she tries to just the same
So you better believe and trust
That she looks ridiculous
When she’s being duplicitous
By trying to fool the rest of us
It’s a sin to stand there and lie
But she gives it a college try
Like the mistress of deny
As if the Ten Commandment don’t apply
They interfered with our election
With a clear cut interjection
Of cybernet deflection
Without protest or objection
Two days before his inauguration
He was told of the Russian’s participation
Much to his own consternation
Yet he still voices reservations
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
Quite admirable , awe-inspiring , a divine piece of manufacture
It’s capriciousness is an equivalent of swooning of rapture
This carpet conveys itself as flawless , the fragrance is pleasant
The glossy finish generates a yearning to have it present
The blissful texture is mesmerizing , subject to perfect knitting
Not to mention it’s size is perfectly fitting
~
Though the alternative side seems worn and tattered
And the fabric surrounding is scattered
There are pockets and splits
There are strewed fiber bits
Along the edges are multicolored spots
And the yarn had formed knots
~
At that point the onlooker would become flustered helplessly
Were they to take it into their tenancy ?
Sure it was depleted
And maybe it was slightly untreated
Though it was equally handsome
Despite it’s opposing filthy expansion
~
Then the beholder would ponder a tad
And realize the flaws weren't so bad
They were to be contemplated abnormally
Though as well stood out morbidly
The allotment seemed now suitable
And each side was mutable
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
Is it ambiguity that frustrates you;
instead it was my gift to you
But why question a bird in its cage
or a caterpillar in its cocoon?
That is not the life that matters,
only the life to become; creation
is not destiny and destiny is not
the past for as the bird is released
so too are words into your mind
to fly where they may
Do not hold them fast; let them
take you where the vastness of
your imagination and dreams
may go because you will not see
the cage; it will remain empty
without memory or purpose
The sky is who you are; there is
nothing left of the past or what
someone may have felt or thought
at the time; the words have become
your own, changing, mutable, free
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 11:00 AM UTC
the path to love is elsewhere
surface folds create the illusion of depth
in a fully mutable system
this is you
roving and roiling
on your open palm
an offer of lack
in lieu of fulfilment
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 6:03 PM UTC
Thin-legged, thin-chested, slight unspeakably,
Neat-footed and weak-fingered: in his face--
Lean, large-boned, curved of beak, and touched with race,
Bold-lipped, rich-tinted, mutable as the sea,
The brown eyes radiant with vivacity--
There shines a brilliant and romantic grace,
A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace
Of passion and impudence and energy.
Valiant in velvet, light in ragged luck,
Most vain, most generous, sternly critical,
Buffoon and poet, lover and sensualist:
A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck,
Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all,
And something of the Shorter-Catechist.
1.6k
Please keep breathing well.
Thanks for the "No-Nonsense planet of Saturn moves into the Tell-It-Like-It-Is sign of Scorpio on October 5, 2012, where it will stay until September 2015" info...
and most beautifully for the flashy greens flying about!!!
I have some drafts to finish to some point while I can still feel them...take heart of the best parts and air enough till fires burn new sight and flight in the mutable delights of Earth's warmer waters...XOR!!!
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 10, 2012 at 1:35 PM UTC
in gentle circles, a single
blade amidst the field inside
slowly ascends: twists salt
earth, a mutable red-black
tree, an unbalanced myself.
a place we swayed trickles
back. i set foot, with
wish to waste enough
time to forget ever
opening towards the
light spilling out behind
your eyes.
misery sinks my teeth
into her arm, slows and
grasps
cohort as i take
shelter. as i find
metric in my own chest.
as i **** up, grow tired,
stop. watch shadows on
the ceiling. i could float
away. i could float away.
i could float away. i could
float away.
if only i wanted to.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
Born to be inscrutable
although maybe, it's disputable
somethings are not so mutable
when boy and girl, unsuitable
Clothes will go out first
you won't know, you're coerced
no more to quench your thirst
as in her now, immersed
A bad boy reputation
the girl with expectation
attempting reformation
you're into, transformation
Down the path to bliss
you must remember this
a kiss is just a kiss
it's yourself, you'll miss
Sep 14, 2017
Sep 14, 2017 at 8:46 AM UTC
Four on the fold;
Turned within:
Coil and Pyramid
An eye for an eye makes
No world deaf
No love held
No life had
Not a moment here
Or a road in sight
[...]
Once upon a time, when
you, like him along the Rhine
Thought of your reflection,
Mutable in the current
You too grasped that chance for
No representation, no reality
Beyond that weariness
Yet
Your pain, you didn’t know
Became the king’s austerity
[...]
Cloak and Dagger, a dove came
In the night like a thief on the hour arrived
Unexpectedly, inexplicable as
A sickness or sage or words to tell why
Why?
Why?
Why me?
She too stole that power from,
Usurping the crown from above
Reason, elevated unto
—Passed down from—
Hand in hand in the Court of the heart
And here yet again
Yet again you’re here!
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
We're young.
God we're young.
We're young and rebels all.
Rebels with every cause and to every glorious effect.
We melt the sun away,
And howl at the moon.
We carry our dreams in our jeans,
Our heads in our hearts.
Screams soaked in ocean surf-
The highest highs and lowest lows as but tide on our toes.
The big black always behind us,
The big bang always ahead.
We cut the chains of a criminal cage,
Search for the red in our veins.
In all of us a personal summer,
Pushed by fear of future winters.
A timeless truth over a thousand permutations,
A thousand generations, a thousand germinations:
We are.
We are fires in the night, stars in a sublunary sky.
We are mutable gases born by open wind,
We are illumination, awakening, engendering.
We seek the world and spurn the rest.
We are young.
God we're young.
-c. c. Condry
Mar 12, 2011
Mar 12, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
we wound in stars on old fishing rods;
reeling on promises from days where
the light still brought species, clutter,
schematic belief. you caught three. i
caught nothing, but glimmers of hope.
allusions and reality are often cleft,
though. this truth i'd rather cast,
like myself, over cliff-face. but, i
alone am
mutable in this scheme. you named
yours as blank-faced children, born
to the sea.
predictably, i named mine woe.
fate moves through seasons, sovereign
groups, ways set down to dot. the
object stands;
here lies truth. this is the truth:
pebbles form kiltered circles
under the dock. floating
above the architecture of my
ribs consuming churned
air, i watch me fade. i
discern and too, dilapidate.
you raised yours with colour
in iris. i picked mine up
lovingly-
this woe is
awake and tightly circling.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
When I am with you
I wanna lose my center
he would say to you gently
without words
he would translate you into his own language
of groove, longing, shouting, fluid desires
for the sake of finding his own tracks
his eager mutable depths
he is looking for harbours
for his solitude turned into offerings
for devotion
for the secret wisdom that fills the cracks of night
he doesn't deny the intensity
of the sweet conversations between the hearing
and the touch
he hides his violence in sealed wells,
in clear visions, in the decimals of knowledge
he was a lonely boy
full of wonder
Dec 1, 2022
Dec 1, 2022 at 2:08 PM UTC
My apprehension follows me wherever I go
And points out all of the possibilities of everything
To a point
Where it hurts.
As much as I entertain the fact that these possibilities are mutable,
But then apprehension whispers in my ear
sneering and squeaking like nails against a chalkboard
"How about a 10:1"
That provoking sentence elicits a tsunami of voices
Well-what-ifs and I-know-buts mostly.
The possibilities seem to grow larger and larger as more evidence is provided that in the next moment of my existence any of these thousands of things can happen! Or better yet, they all happen at once!
The power outages from this flood leave me in a panic
I start to stagger my breathing and sometimes forget to breathe at all.
The rain pours down around my eyes and the thunder rolls around my mouth.
I no longer have control over this storm that's heading south.
And then the storm cools off,
breathing naturally comes again
And I calm down from an attack of rain
And voices in my head.
Apprehension needs a break, but they never gets disheartened
So they tag along on my back and grasps tightly onto my chest and lungs
It's going to be a long walk if I carry this thing around.
Again my apprehension is near,
But this time it's words
"10:1"
"There are 10 chances it could go to Hell, and one chance it won't so make your choice."
Those screeching words
Have made me deaf,
I can no longer hear,
The world around me.
Just that screeching voice
10:1
10:1
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
Forgive the Seekers
They just have too much
Of dancing flame
Which turns limp clay of bodies into stone
So they stand straight, so that they can
Endure the quest.
As flies in honey stuck in time
They struggle
In strait-jacket of seconds
They revolt
In shackles of duty, fetters called normal life
They strive
They dream
Of glory generous and vast as starry sky
To wrap their tired souls
The clocks keep ticking ominously fast
Time-bombs familiar to all, death overlooked
Who hears them but the Seekers, wide awake
As soldiers,
Incurable ill,
And parting lovers.
They shed their skins as snakes do every year
For us to pick and wonder at, try on and keep –
Their books or paintings,
Bridges, wars, or songs.
They leave them easily and change as infants change,
From day to day
Who knows them knows
Their truth that was, and never what will be
And only wind can be their companion
As fast, as mutable
A wanderer as they
As true
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:52 PM UTC
Sshhh
Hear, there be whispers
Pitter patter
A hush
Of a chatter
Once or twice
A loud groan
Light is littered
Here and there
Darkness has the bigger share
flasSH !!
SLaashh !!
Sudden light– a spark
A mutable mark
Gone
The world shrouded
Under deep fog
The heavens–cotton crowded
It tears
Tears tears
It nears
The scent of life
Tears tears
Someone hears
The sibilant symphony
Tears tears
Then
It clears
The sky
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
my soul settles when the sky weeps over the world.
the rap-rap-rap of the rain against my pane
soothes my mind, a balm to any pain.
is it the comfort of knowing that nature cries, because
if nature cries, surely i can, too?
rain gets a bad rap, i think
as it rap-rap-raps against my pane,
because it is destruciton and relief
it razes and raises.
mimicking goldilocks and the three bears:
too much, too little brings death,
but when it's just right.
when it's just right, it fosters life
why do we equate rain with sadness?
pieces of the ocean rap-rap-raping against my pane
drops dropping into puddles, pulsating
water, the element of change;
water, the element of growth;
water, the element of life.
push-pulling its surroundings,
creeping into places it shouldn't,
movable, mutable, implacable.
rain, rain, don't go away
stay
as a reminder that even the tiniest of drops
will erode the largest of statues
Aug 17, 2017
Aug 17, 2017 at 5:00 PM UTC
You sort of just abducted my heart.
Your desires are daunting.
The morose nature, of your overdosing
on painkillers,
is daunting.
You hadn't seemed mutable.
The painkillers were nadir to our love,
To your love.
My bones are brittle.
Your self esteem is fragile.
My soul is timid.
Your thoughts are feral and you bypass its limits.
You doubt my fidelity.
The wounds are severe.
You're a novice lover,
but I am too,
sort of.
So are we neophytes?
I'm enthralled in the wonder.
Let's not desecrate love, please..
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
so shriveled, small at times,
yet large on the by & by,
a shiny laquer of a shell,
the center hollow
expands & invades neighboring
territories
begin to
swallow people,
experiences,
substances,
time & money in
ever increasingly big gulps
consumption without taste
never feeling quite full,
never feeling totally satisified
the boundaries expand
& the entrapment ever present
begins to instill itself inside
my mind & my being
the ever mutable sponge,
ideas & sentiments only
ever ephemeral
nothing remains,
nothing lasts forever
i have no memories
turn up the volume,
only to render myself deaf,
crave that intense color
when the world plays out
forever in black & white
is gray is the goal?
feel dead during the day
& molt every evening
the night & its shade
keep the beasts at bay
there is no color,
there is only an Itch
that I can’t seem to scratch
but i have no hands
& my body is not my own
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
Another gray, black-eye sunrise,
****** off and insomniac,
awake as the earth spins again onward
into the mutable mass of gas and plasma.
How many of them must there be?
The number will rise up
into the trillions, they say,
as the top continues its turn;
dizzying now and incomprehensible.
The sun bigger and bigger
slowly each time, growing
until this small marble
is overtook by some
dystopian beachballl of fusion
and fission, blistering away with
such anger; imbalance.
Hungover, contemplating ends,
I think the bullet may be alright;
regarded as painless if aimed well.
Imagining split-second blitzkriegs
of neural discomfort prior
to blackness, I dismiss the thought.
The sun is up fully now, stretching.
Red giants, they say are cooler
than their white counterparts,
but larger.
All the fights, from the bar
to the battlefield.
All the love, from the brothel
to the bedroom.
All the life, progress, movement,
everything and nothing;
muted by colliding hydrogen particles
emitting heat.
Is it so terrible to be irrelevant?
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
*Sit there and watch
the power of the moon
feel how you are moved
by Her
your blood at her mercy
Watch the tides and learn
to surface when it is safe
enough to breathe
wax with Her
and wane with Her
learn to swim with the
mutable tides
of your existence
navigate these hours
by Her
then see the bounty
of the moon spill into your life*
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
we never did an ounce
of hard work in our life
too distracted by television
we remain infinitely mutable
all our decisions so flexible
come quick and watch us change the channels
so many other signals we could respond too
for you are from another galaxy
and all my inhibitions retired early
i perform various feats of bravery
like stealing butter from your cupboardss
while all of my most intrepid acts
require the utmost of confidence
there are still too many swords here
and not enough ice to shave into statues
what a pity the way we forgave
each other our preferences
fortunately these days we are beyond
the thickest parts of the fray
in this dining room there are several pieces
of your brilliance waiting to be eaten
until with fingers licked clean
you inspect the totality of my being
and i suspect we are now ready to recline
on the omnivorous spines of our ancestors
and blindly worship, the old Mercurius
for the great Trickster still rules our souls
from within the ancient halls of entertainment
that we now pretend to call "a television"
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
I am not your ghost.
Swallow my liver
like I’m a fire demon
and hold it hostage
in your mutable citadel.
Your hearth is my life
is my home is my prison.
Don’t expect my bile
to turn into diamonds.
You should have taken
my heart when offered.
You could have crushed
carbon and soil,
resilient and fresh.
I might be a meteoroid
but I am clever enough
to know when I’m being caught
or when I’m being torn asunder.
Go back and tell me
not to find you.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC