"transfiguration" poems
*erstwhile a halcyon extant universe incessantly ceaseless
cradled itself in hues of violet phosphorescence
laced with cobalt shimmering stars
perpetually whole it nonetheless
sought to know itself
encompassing all that is bubbling over in effervescent ebullience
intertwined with indescribable catastrophic splendor
it shattered into tens of millions of splinters
of eloquent efflorescent light
shining in the night
each splinter heretofore imbued with sempiternal felicity
began to conjure sumptuous dulcet elixirs
furtively seeking out savory emollients
to mollify the pique of separation
plummeting they fell
into monstrous competition seeking demesne they lost the purpose
of gaining awareness and intelligent consciousness
surreptitious estrangement overflowed
deluging them in excruciating agony
thus an epiphany was born
the carving of the beleaguered fragments inked with tremendous pain
created a transfiguration of splinters to crystals
hence enlightenment commenced as the gems
magnetized together constructing a world
where omnipotence shines
the ineffable beauty formed by the reintegration of crystals
far exceeds the original as they dazzle with universal light
bursting from diamonds etched in deep wisdom
flooding the firmament with kaleidoscopic
rainbow strobes cascading the sky
©2016janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
Mysterious death! who in a single hour
Life's gold can so refine
And by thy art divine
Change mortal weakness to immortal power!
Bending beneath the weight of eighty years
Spent with the noble strife
of a victorious life
We watched her fading heavenward, through our tears.
But ere the sense of loss our hearts had wrung
A miracle was wrought;
And swift as happy thought
She lived again -- brave, beautiful, and young.
Age, pain, and sorrow dropped the veils they wore
And showed the tender eyes
Of angels in disguise,
Whose discipline so patiently she bore.
The past years brought their harvest rich and fair;
While memory and love,
Together, fondly wove
A golden garland for the silver hair.
How could we mourn like those who are bereft,
When every pang of grief
found balm for its relief
In counting up the treasures she had left?--
Faith that withstood the shocks of toil and time;
Hope that defied despair;
Patience that conquered care;
And loyalty, whose courage was sublime;
The great deep heart that was a home for all--
Just, eloquent, and strong
In protest against wrong;
Wide charity, that knew no sin, no fall;
The spartan spirit that made life so grand,
Mating poor daily needs
With high, heroic deeds,
That wrested happiness from Fate's hard hand.
We thought to weep, but sing for joy instead,
Full of the grateful peace
That follows her release;
For nothing but the weary dust lies dead.
Oh, noble woman! never more a queen
Than in the laying down
Of sceptre and of crown
To win a greater kingdom, yet unseen;
Teaching us how to seek the highest goal,
To earn the true success --
To live, to love, to bless --
And make death proud to take a royal soul.
4.2k
*Would that
unhinged mind
have thought
differently
about it
trying this...*
*Would that
every school
had a
precinct
directly across
the street?*
*Would that
be so
hard to
create,
or support,
to finance?*
* Transfiguration *
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 8:33 PM UTC
*After five good years of drought
It rained kisses and warming hugs
After my heart emaciating from rejection
I have experienced a resurrection
She kissed me wholly and deep
She sowed and had to reap
Could not recall the feminine grip
Even how to undo a lady zip
She kissed my upper and lower lip
Then around my body took a trip
Tore my favorite shirt,no time to unbutton
She ate my skin softly hard as a glutton
Not sure it was her mouth on my ***
Cause I couldn't open my eyes as she did it
She passed her soft fingers on my chest
Luckily I hadn't on my fitting vest
Crawled about my belly like a worm
While my ****** heart beat loud as a drum
She said something I didn't hear
Because passion had blocked my ear
She then undid my belt and my trousers
Quicker than all internet browsers
Then...then put the muzzle in her mouth
Was she aware of the bullet, I doubt
She cleared all the rust through the years
While in pleasure I cried happy tears
She knew how to hold the whistle and blow
Between where she knelt down low
Her palm around me was a soft tight glove
Felt she's the one that I deserved
Like a snake she crawled back up
And astride the volcanic plug sat Asap
Not afraid of the sharp edges causing harm
She kissed me violently and hurt my gum
I just couldn't care less at such a moment
Of a soothing ride, a welcome torment
Soon overtaken by my inner animal
I realized I could not take it anymore
And took charge of the walk to heaven
While the clock alarmed, think eleven
She arched tout like a hunters bow
And her eyes brightly seemed to glow
My journey deep was careful and slow
But the return as swift as Pacman's blow
I loved the way she clawed her nails
Into me, she reopened all my wells
I wanted to take her for a longer ride
But the wave of passion killed me,I died
Even when we were done I remained inside
Watching her skin as pale as transfiguration
Out of the joy we had shared, I'm glad
I received my emotional resurrection*
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
Creation can be a dangerous game ,
the words are not just words , nor the pictures measly brush stroke paintings
creation magic tricks
transmutation
translucent transfiguration from thought realm to
physical plane -
eat from the palm of third eye mind
lick the plates of your halo
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
~
*Listen for the sirens
I'm on a highway
Along the perpendicular streets
Having escaped my killer
There's blood on the windshield
There's blood on my thoughts
The rush of song
I've experienced it all
Yet this is only track four
The night wind slices through
A fracture in me
Two sides of me
Must push on and away from here
Is there something happening
Inside that causes it all to melt?
To stick to the sidewalk?
To form into a river of transfiguration?*
~
Aug 29, 2025
Aug 29, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC
Butterscotch Dark Chocolate
Infused with rose quartz
dragonfly transfiguration elixer
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 2:12 PM UTC
Orphan roots are banished into Bermudan-like triangular realms of presumed stability off the coast of Neptune,
Whilst abandonment firmly establishes her ancient dendrology.
Are your connections deeply entwined in the postmodern era of presumed certainty and deluded rationalism?
The method of self-transfiguration is evidenced on the mountain-tops of vanity, where the purging of the soul with self-flagellations is an archaic and scornful memory to those who claim to be enlightened.
How rooted are your roots? Does your reason stand trial in the docks of uncertainty?
The autumn leaves are changing color, and the birth of death reveals a beauty which, when embraced, flutters her powerful wings in the dawn of a frosty voyage.
I believe in ripples of probability.
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC
I feel we're living the last days of Versailles
As beauty fades before my eyes
Convinced as I am
The gods owe us time,
I'd destroy this world
To keep what's mine.
My universe is necrotising
As I stumble through ruins
And colour drains away.
I bargain for time...
Throughout the many lives we've lived before knowing only each time we return,
To experience full transfiguration
You have to be willing to burn.
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
*There are times when
you are not yourself.
You blend into something
unwantedly & unwillingly.
Something that is
too distant from your
psyche & guise.
The transfiguration makes
you a whole another person,
one beyond your bridle.
But you always hit back to
your archetypal persona.
The endeavor to recrudescence
is always tenacious,
summating unscrupulous inscriptions to your crasis.
People will judge you
on this substructure of your psyche.
But this is not who you are
& what you are!
It is mere an icky phase.
Your elucidation lies beyond
this transfigured self.
Never relinquish your
pristine pneuma.*
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
nimbus clouds
evoke
apparitions
of evolved
yogis sitting
lotus
deep in
states
of solitary
mindfulness
rules of
law
tales of
prophets
no longer
apply
yesterdays
pristine portraits
crumpled into
dust
compose today's
Mandala
memories
of fables
accruing
critical mass
become
nimbus clouds
Oakland
3/6/11
jbm
Mar 13, 2011
Mar 13, 2011 at 9:56 AM UTC
The growing day has
Handed over the doyen
To the dawning evening,
Yes, it is the
Responsibility of the
Father to make the
Sacrifices for the son,
Ask the son to wake up
Early on his soul day,
In preparation for the ceremony,
For Ntikuma has exposed
Kwaku Ananse once again,
Perhaps, it was our fault,
For Boakye Danquah has
Gone to the village without a cause,
Now, sprinkle the divine water
From the calabash,
Three times on him,
Oh yes, on the son,
And ask for the Gods blessings
Right after the libation,
Indeed, anyone who does
Not know the drums or horn
Message of his chief,
Gets lost in any dispersion,
Joseph Boakye Danquah,
The true father of Ghana,
We are debtors to your soul.
II
Who is this father?
Ask him to use the three
Fingers between his thumb
And the smallest finger
To smear the mixture of white clay
On his forehead, chick and wrist bone,
For Boakye Danquah has
Gone to village without a cause,
Ah, Boakye was born
In the period where
The stormy rainfall causes
Small ***** to abound,
Hmm, the nations have drunk
The water of affliction
And have eaten the
Strange bread of adversity,
Was anyone there,
To quench his throat?
Was anyone there?
To drink his blood and sweat?
Was anyone there?
To witness this transfiguration?
Indeed, the horns cannot be
Too heavy for the head of the cow that
Must bear them,
Joseph Boakye Danquah,
The true father of Ghana,
We are debtors to your soul.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
Immortal clothing I put on
So soon as, Julia, I am gone
To mine eternal mansion.
Thou, thou art here, to human sight
Cloth’d all with incorrupted light;
But yet how more admir’dly bright
Wilt thou appear, when thou art set
In thy refulgent thronelet,
That shin’st thus in thy counterfeit!
1.8k
his cthonic figurations
illuminated by mortal eyes
if mercurial dreams bestowed form
in a forgotten kingdom
fragile lungs gently invite
Prometheus' sacred fire
the man of clay breathes
and flames ignite
his heart of chaos
wandering beneath merciless stars
never have they adorned his precious head
with their benevolent light
a confused and apathetic withering life
being human, de declames
to have love pierce one's heart
to be enveloped by flames
and tormented by kisses
makes this little heart burn
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
The transgressions of utter here and nowity
Unbeleivable longing for a collapsing norm
On the altar of self destruction and causal
Reciprocity fluttering on rebirthed dreams
You can sing and love these colorful birds
Vibritang meticulously with rare palpitations
Of greater bodies, which dust is a part of us
Delusional creatures, flying on the grandeur
Non reachable to written words, stellar ink is
Spilled, playing on the shores of ever returning
Waves of transformation; Shapes dance within
Your gaze, telling the story of water coy stillness
Unmovable we move on, unlovable we love hope
Clinging to tree roots and blood veins as clothes
Warm our trembling fragile figures travelling on
And on into the higher realms of transfiguration.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:09 AM UTC
When he rose to speak, I pitied him,
that tall, ungainly, man.
His speech was high pitched,regional,
but clear to understand.
An inner fire burned in him,
his spirit fairly glowed.
His eyes and voice enchanted us
despite his rustic clothes.
The constitution was his text;
By chapter verse and line
He taught us what the founders meant,
the thoughts that filled their minds.
He said a true Republican
would not bid slaves to rise.
John Brown was no Republican,
his actions were unwise.
He explained the Government
could forbid slavery's spread.
The Union is a sacred trust
and must be preserved, he said.
I felt my heart on fire
when I heard him speak tonight.
When I saw his homely features
Transfigured by the light.
This Lincoln must be reckoned with;
if the South misunderstands,
They'll be tears and lamentations
in many homes in Dixie Land.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 10:40 PM UTC
When he rose to speak, I pitied him,
that tall, ungainly, man.
His speech was high pitched, regional,
but clear to understand.
An inner fire burned in him,
his spirit fairly glowed.
His eyes and voice enchanted us
despite his rustic clothes.
The constitution was his text;
By chapter verse and line
He taught us what the founders meant,
the thoughts that filled their minds.
He said a true Republican
would not bid slaves to rise.
John Brown was no Republican,
his actions were unwise.
He explained the Government
could forbid slavery's spread.
The Union is a sacred trust
and must be preserved, he said.
I felt my heart on fire
when I heard him speak tonight.
When I saw his homely features
Transfigured by the light.
This Lincoln must be reckoned with;
if the South misunderstands,
They'll be tears and lamentations
around hearths in Dixie Land.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
The Universe is compelled to Upgrade!
Stars, Nebula, even Black Holes must be Improved!
**Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Sis Boom Bah! Rah! Rah! Rah! Sis Boom Bah!**
It is risen! It is risen! It is Risen!
Most marvelous, miraculous divine device!
Forget turning water into wine... Lame!
Forget Muhammed moving that mountain... Lame!
Let Lazarus flop back into the tomb... Lame!
This is Miracle as it was meant to be!
Oh grand glorious God of International Capitalism!
The triumphant product of American Genius manifest
in the work of many skilled primates' foreign hands.
Truly an event of Startling Global Significance!
And you have stood like a lemming on methamphetamine
many long hours in the rain to be possessed by its majesty
and now it is yours, yours, yours, yours alone
for only $649 dollars plus a few hundred monthly.
Let all the bells be rung! Let high Hosannas be sung!
A phone so smart it was beta tested on the lobotomized
and made them look like slightly scarred Steven Hawings!
The apps that are available will explode your existence!
They can provide *********** wipe your *** ******* you.
Yes! Imagine Siri willingly kneeling between your legs!
Oh, but what to do about that first important call or text?
It must be equal in loftiness to this Digital Masterpiece!
Perhaps command it to call Obama and implore him to gain weight,
or Alexander Putin to tell him a Polar Bear needs wrestling,
or perhaps God to tell him he is no longer necessary.
No, all of these are far too paltry for that first message.
Instead, tell Siri to search for the nearest Lunatic Asylum
and book as many cells as possible for self-obsessed consumers.
That way they can text and call in medically supervised bliss,
undisturbed until Apple provides them with the next Transfiguration.
It will probably only be six months from now... Suckers.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
~
*I see starfish from
my false bottom
canoe
stretching the wave,
a shimmer to the sound
—slow, fast, wide, and narrow,
then gray over blue
in the empty mirth.
I see trouble and strife,
a beacon of
decadence,
trembling consistently
on each note as if
she had the permanent fever.
I see death and transfiguration,
(equal bedfellows),
out of the ground
as glorious
wisteria,
there's ether on hand
and a lot of bridge work
to cross the vocal span of our
vibrato wars.
I've only got time
for the business at hand,
these cobwebs in the corner
(of history) can linger,
or die like
flies
on the Queen of Compromise,
who never was,
who might have been,
who will always be.
am I cantillating
or have I ventured into
false memory syndrome
again?*
~
Apr 25, 2022
Apr 25, 2022 at 12:45 PM UTC
a
miraculous
blindness
willingly
self afflicted
turn
jaundiced
eyes
from the
corruption
of
sacred
vows
a
miraculous
transfiguration
renewed
evangelical
ardor
a
refreshed
public face
beheld and
adored
ripping
iron curtains
into tiny
pieces
obscuring
stains
on altars
of shame
they once
brought a boy
vexed with
lunacy
to the
Good Healer
“oh faithless
perverse
generation
how long
must I
suffer you?”
Jesus
cured
the boy.
Disciples
asked,
why they
failed
to cast the
demon
out?
veneration
of worldly
trappings
defiles my
body
find in
yourself
a faith
the size
of a
mustard
seed
and the
demons
will flee
from the
body long
wracked
with illness
Matthew 17 14-21
Gnarls Barkley
Whose Gonna Save My Soul Now
Oakland
4/25/14
jbm
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
there is a door
obscura
in my mind
a black ocean
that smears alizarin mist
between love
and the dissolute
i hear
a storm of thick whispers
a breath calling
in free fall
my malleable lover
plays voodoo poppet
carousel of lady buddhas
diagramed unholy ***** *****
with scumbag eyeballs
contort for eager ruin
an ornamental cadaver
bejeweled
in a lake of tears
give me flesh
smell my rich ****
bouquet of **** the *****
transfixed eyes of flames
spread legs wide
thigh spillway buttered
loving the snag
and strangle
of a silk tourniquet
watch me shunt
and glassy stare
a glittering doll shimmies
blood bauble
and flapping tongue
torrent of curving jaws
clever teeth
to tear
and lips to be torn
a cockeyed brain
drowning in
illegible consciousness
for foot slaves
in a sweat and ****
magick show
body of irresistible horror
in descending spirals
to love
in the grotto
of furies
imbued with prayers
that fill the spaces
in her throat
martyr of transfiguration
she falls as
dust falls
i depend on her
tapestry of shuddering lust
in moist air
locked behind
a blood stained door
marked no exit
this savage pageant
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
Fear is a constant friend for me in this old town,
It numbs, yet excites in the men's old tin drums.
Everything else runs away and hides in the imminent
twilight.
It keeps us old folk happy, and us young folk safe, even if I'm
anesthetized in street dances.
The love of your life is in that next building, honey, looking over his footprints for the future.
And if he's not it, live with it. Keep Him happy, so that you're safe.
Never stop fearing...
Love was never in the cards for any of us;
why would it happen for me? I wasn't any more than us.
A distant longing quenches a soul with doubts for only so long though
...making the white hum and breed black.
A lone sound amongst the silence with its soul thirsts for what has been hidden.
There's no sign of true life without something more, bigger than you and us.
How can there be, when true loss is unpredictable, our founders said.
It has already been spoken in a prophecy...
Perhaps, for me it is different, what then?
Do you pity me?
them? I do.
But there's something wrong with the little party I didn't plan, yet didn't cancel.
There were people overseas, beside you and me that have died for what I have been avoiding. Why?
Perhaps my own parade needs a little rain,
or a blazing hellfire to make way for the reality?
The transfiguration I've been dreaming for,
has watched me, and cried for me while I watched the town parade,
riding on my dad's shoulders.
But we have been anointed by the bravery and hope I've dreamed about when I saw us walk away.
We need to leave this ghost town,
where beasts of my blood roam the streets. Where fear
overtook me and mated
with me in an incestuous ceremony.
A true joining of true , lost ones
Created in the beginning to love
lost their way, found home
with the one and only
Reason, not to fear....a goodbye.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:06 AM UTC