"transfiguring" poems
(For Harry Clifton)
I HAVE heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie bearen flat.
All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
On their own feet they came, or On shipboard,'
Camel-back; horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.
Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instmment.
Every discoloration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
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Shadows thrive upon complexity
Vague and nonsensical
The untrained, without resolve
Welcome all to cast their shades
Deeper inside they oft reside
Wilting, transfiguring
Til the field they presume to preside
Flourishes with roses black
as obsidian
Yet the seed may still be planted
Yielding a flower tall, light and bright
Consuming those beneath until vacancy remains
High is the Sun, white is the Orchid
Tempered radiance, gradual growth
More shall fill the newfound garden
While Day brings its gifts
Crescendoing by the simplest
of cool Spring breezes
Coming and going through
The end of another season
Promising its constant return.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
Unmovable Unchangeable
A worthiness a standard is deposited in your inner being all other elements in life will ebb and flow but
Your essence will be darkened by sorrow but from this tragedy and sorrow riches will tower a streaming
Blessedness will flow it will instantly engage another who has just suffered loss seen unseen words and
Actions will with the deftest touch a kindness soaked in mellowness will be communicated in silence to
The heart who has just suffered the bitter harvest of sorrow the gripping real a special irreplaceable
Someone has departed to walk on a different plane for them purest light your circumstance darkest
sorrow cold as Everest you are left ripped not only of all outward cover but inward has there ever been
Such savage destruction the healthy norm now ravaged the spiritual heart ripped apart it was complete
It was formed by love alone no other sculptor is more honered to work with such substance he makes
Their face those eyes the transfiguring part of human connection truly souls merge together here in this
Special stream vision multifaceted feelings weighted the heavier the deeper the depths where
Emotional ties are created from pleasures these springs of the heart you come in emptiness you leave
With these volumes ballooned ever stirring thoughts the very impulses that make them the person you
Know this feed of expressions do they not cause an unending joy that spills at different times sometimes
Just a slow pleasant entailing then at other times a roar of engulfing and at times it happens when your
Tide is low they instinctively trigger this from their register of mercy a unity that is boundless truly you
Have small oceans within I see it in the workaday world but like the song behind closed doors magic
Fire you reach heavenly heights explorers rewarded in human feeling that can’t be bought and are never
Sold truly kings and queen of a great domain in the hidden soul you have truly roped the wind and
Touched stars as you hovered under them holding hands who can doubt God when you exhibit his very
Essence through the love you found and it causes unfathomable assurances holding hands is the same
As a great dam holding water but yours is holding never ending love
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
As growth of form or momentary glance
In a child’s features will recall to mind
The father’s with the mother’s face combin’d,—
Sweet interchange that memories still enhance:
And yet, as childhood’s years and youth’s advance,
The gradual mouldings leave one stamp behind,
Till in the blended likeness now we find
A separate man’s or woman’s countenance:—
So in the Song, the singer’s Joy and Pain,
Its very parents, evermore expand
To bid the passion’s fullgrown birth remain,
By Art’s transfiguring essence subtly spann’d;
And from that song-cloud shaped as a man’s hand
There comes the sound as of abundant rain.
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I have a great story to tell
It all starts with a boy, young and bright
His family was poor, with three other mouths to feed
He never stopped dreaming, and writing, and reading
Until he found himself the words to plant a Dream Seed
Now what is a Dream Seed you ask?
It is conjured from our deepest desires
Our greatest thoughts, our greatest belief
But like a plant, a Dream Seed can wither
From our greatest pain, our greatest grief
Now back to the story
His Seed contained one single dream
To become famous and to be well known
He left that night, a burden to his parents
no more, with only himself roaming alone
He tested challenges of entertainment
Braved through insult and rejection
Why was he never good enough?
Why couldn’t he reach perfection?
A stormy night, he cried to the sky
The rapid winds and frosty rain answered his call
A lone figure brought him inside
And from there, his future was unfold
Read this passage, do it as dramatic as you can
“We never had to do this Emily, we never had to leave”
“I only wanted what I thought was right.”
“Don’t leave, you can’t leave me.”
“Don’t leave me here alone in the night.”
I applaud you, that was superb
He signed within the week and ventured to his dream
The seed blossoming in ways untold
Finally he was famous, finally he was well known
His signature was sliver, and his smile was of gold
Now read this script and get into character
“I am not a creature, I am a man!”
“Why should I take this child? I shall recant!”
“He isn’t mine, throw him in the street!”
“I…I…I-I can’t.”
That wasn’t the line, read the line again
He read it again and perfection was obtained.
But something lurked underneath his satisfied soul
He was changing, was transfiguring
But why? He had reached his goal
Just pretend, don’t worry about the part
He pretended and lied to his heart
It wasn’t just the worry, he was believing
That maybe, just maybe, he had lost
Something through his deceiving
Are you alright? Do you need some water?
He looked everywhere, he knew it was there
He smashed the jar where he kept his seed
He leaped for joy and opened the lid
And cried when he saw the weeds
What does that mean? What weeds?
His dream was now corrupted, his view no longer pure
Could he ever find who he was that day?
When he had one dream and one seed
Where his choice was black or white, not grey?
What happened?
He lived his life, weeping through his parts
Silently, he mourned for his soul
He was not the same, never plant more seeds
His heart too greedy with all the gold
Now I have told you a story, now I must rest
“Excuse me sir, a boy is requesting for you.”
Not now Ari, in the morning perhaps
“But sir, the boy has to tell you something.”
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
For every bit of advice on the matter
For every warning and caution against it
He would still give his heart like a fool if he could
But time has made him bitter
Time has given him every moment he needed
To become wary of what he tells others
He has become a secretive creature
When it comes to those matters deepest to his concern
True, he sings and dances and seems carefree
True, he seems loving and compassionate
But inside he is as cold and sad as any might be
Too many times he has been lured to trust
Each time he has suffered for obliging so
Every hope for intimacy he has seen crushed
Every dream of companionship he watched shatter
Until only the one thing that gives him joy is left unstained
He has tried and tried to burn away the roots
Of mistrust, doubt and suspicion that have grown in him
That coiled and bound and climbed around his heart
Transfiguring him into a blind and numb man
Changed him as greatly as a storm does the coast
Made him afraid of all the capricious good of life
The changing tide of existence became his bane
So that he hides behind a terrible, glorious, painted mask
People see of him the truth he wishes to obtain
Thinking that perfect bliss in life is already his own
Believing that he may be so happy and do so alone
Not seeing how he craves to trust and feel it is well placed
Seeing instead a man who fears nothing for the lack of secrets
Not seeing the man who is unhappy in loneliness
Only viewing the caricature of his abandoned ambitions’ success
And he was worn the lie so long that is the only truth
His heart has turned to dust and gone
His soul sputters lamely against the sea of life
Too long he has waited to forgive and say it is so
Time has made him a hollow beast with a hollow shell
He will act and act alone and never be at ease
He will suffer and suffer alone and never know friends
He will die and die alone and have forgotten love
There will never be meaning to his words or deeds
He will never again have a soul to define himself with
Jul 24, 2010
Jul 24, 2010 at 5:00 PM UTC
My bare feet take light steps,
Through the wet grasses,
Transfiguring their high-stretched stems,
To the paragon August moon.
The breeze is warm
Against my outstretched arms.
The dew is chill,
Against my feet souls.
Drip,
Drip,
Drip…
The patient, immutable
Tune of night,
Springing from the hanging leaves,
Of surrounding dogwood.
Each leaf’s body tip,
Acting as a gateway,
For newborn water-molecules,
Taking off in a fall,
A fall through expanse of night,
Soon to be swallowed by soil.
I sit now,
My thin legs crossed,
My arms held-high
In the night sky.
Goose-bumps infuse themselves,
Upon my paper skin.
Fingers stretched far out,
Moonlight rays seeping
Through my life lines.
Closing my eyes now,
Retreating into a space of meditative mind,
I hear the doleful song of fowl,
Taking lone flight through the night air.
I feel the shy colors of dawn,
Escalating through the heavens.
August moon departs.
August sun emerges.
Here I sit,
Thin legs crossed,
Arms unmoved from their upward stretch,
My eyes still closed,
My chest,
Rising and falling steadily.
Each breathe slows,
Until the moon is finally out of eyes reach,
My beating heart comes to a slow stop,
My lips smile to the world.
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
Drip…
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
Mother,
The epitome of love.
A star made of combustion
Of crimson and wild blue.
Her smile like a cresent
shining bright
from an afar Galaxy.
Mother,
Vibrant as sun rays,
And soft like the moonlight.
Tremendous as lightning,
enlightning the dark sky
with a spark.
Mother,
The paintbrush
that paints vibrancy
on the dullest of days.
Mother,
A soul that burns with ferocity,
Whos hands are always busy
scrubbing, moulding, cooking
But her touch always caressing with love.
Mother,
Who's voice can be the ocean
Calming and soothing
Or as loud as the seas
Roaring and crashing in a storm
bursting away personal confinement.
But she rows
Even through the sea of troubles.
Nothing is too heavy
She marches on.
Mother,
Who sacrifices and compromises
To deepen skies
and hand stars to hold.
Mother,
Who's love I cannot comprehend and stomach
For she grows flowers from pain,
Inhaling O2
And Exhaling O3
Transfiguring weeds into garden for us to play.
She is the incarnation of love.
May 13, 2018
May 13, 2018 at 2:39 PM UTC
A mountain dweller clung the livelong
day...rank and nude...fuschia skies sequenced.
Surrogate family to ram, serpent, eagle--
inebriate of consciousness, holy spurn.
Of rubble and dappled shadow, G*d's
wayside seed sown...severe eyes, Witness expressly.
He could crowd fire, latch to it--rocking in
orange flashes.
A swarm of chants uplift and pivot him...
flying a thousand names for not this, nor that...
as That.
A haunting inheritance whole--ascendant
body of mind...transfiguring locus of
whitening white...there pardoned of nature,
supernatural panache.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
And the mist comes a'fallin
in October the month of Harvest,
breathing portents and signs
as we all feel this
some sort of calling.
And the Dark comes a'risin
in October the month of Changing
when Heroes and Heroines
of our home the Earth
find themselves despising.
And Samhain comes a'whisperin
in October the month of Remembering
what we used to be and still are
more than mere flesh and blood
children of the Annw'n glittering.
And the Veil comes a'witherin
in October the month of Delivering
that which those of us bleeding
from wounds deep within
a God's Love continually Transfiguring.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
you have formed me
into ribbons of notes
sound waves flowing
more gracefully than liquid
becoming so large
i have swallowed myself
and nothing is left
of me,
but feeling
metaphysical transformation
emerging to float
levitation so light,
it transcends the weight of air
symbiosis, in hunger
and purity
set free
ambient auras transfiguring
our ephemeral realm,
cupped in its palm
reflections in the window
show not our clinging bodies,
for you and i have become vapors
translucent existence
taken over by our spirits
this, my love
is what i have been waiting for
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
We rocked you to sleep under
cushions of burnt frankincense,
your rosemary plum lips glowing
beneath the glass shutter,
as our warm, fluttering fingers
smoothed the polished edges of your velvet mahogany.
Odes of voices,
soft as the powdery scent of dried roses,
were wordlessly strung into
half-convinced rhapsodies of "but it was painless",
and as if from the fragmented lens of an abstract camera,
the pews streamed in, black and white, woven hushes,
broken ***** sighs,
as we poured through glazed photos of your enraptured memory lanes,
how you burst through black winter days like a firecracker,
your young blood
blossoming as a scarlet primrose
upon alabaster.
Our preacher (who once prayed for my cat which
then died and
said it was God's plan)
professes of your rapturous gaiety in the angels' hideaways,
but my aunt stopped preparing family meals without a husband,
and your wet sapphire eyes,
like the violet blankets of daffodil pods,
only glisten at us from shrouded, opalescent moons,
stray and far,
transfiguring into vacant mirrors,
shaded from reach.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
Many years I have wandered these woods,
Many years I have cast my eyes to the soil.
Many years I was content with this consuming darkness,
Many years I was content with these hyperborean nights.
I felt a warmth once such bitter evening,
I staggered and swayed until I rose upright,
I thought the moon was again out deceiving,
Gifting me again with only false hope this night.
I howled and screamed into the soulless night sky,
Thoughts turned knives into my heart and soul,
Mind cut and gashed now bleeding into my eyes,
I wildly lurched to and fro over this frozen knoll.
Again the light in the northern sky sounded,
I cast my crimson eyes upon it eagerly,
The golden glow left me aghast and astounded,
But I continued to move towards it greedily.
My footsteps left behind a trail of blood,
My footfalls sounded the songs of death,
Those crimson remains now awash with mud,
I fled that dark scene with haggard breath.
Frieden endlich gefunden.
Uneven steps reached the radiant light at last,
Outstretched arms finally experiencing warmth,
Feet gently swept off the frost laden ground,
I was spirited away to the castle of the evening.
Such a marvelous castle, bright and brilliant it was,
I wandered deeper and deeper through it's majesty,
Until I found myself in a room as pure as crystal,
A room inhabited by a single, quiet soul.
I recognized it as myself, but I was mistaken,
I recognized it as solitude, but I was mistaken,
I recognized it as pain, but I was mistaken,
I recognized it as a friend, and I was correct.
Soul approaching, I too traversed towards it,
Standing together, it reached out with a faint smile,
I tenderly held it near,
Until it began to shimmer and glow.
Stars it became before me, each all aflame,
Motionless I stood as it filled with the room with light,
Motionless I stood as it entered my body,
Transforming and transfiguring as it went.
All shades of black and grey could not escape,
Every dark corner was hunted and found guilty,
No unholy sanctuary was safe from this vengeful justice,
Until I rose to a new height, a new plateau.
I took myself into my arms and returned the weight to my shoulders,
I took myself into my legs and skated across the skyline,
I took my myself into my heart and swam through the river,
I took my soul into myself and stood guardian for all eternity.
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 7:15 AM UTC
a bead of sweat slowly runs down my anatomy
from my red hair it begins slowly inching its way to my cheek
it feels like a tear
it is wet and now sits beneath my eyelash
yet it doesn't sting my blue iris
i've lost all control of my legs
the ones i use to twirl around Philly with
with you
they twitch and shake as the words dripping off your tongue roll into my open ears, as if i'd never heard such provocative language spat inside my cranium
have you made me more innocent?
discovering shapes, curves, rivets, and freckles in myself
transfiguring all my flaws into beauty
sitting in delicious silence
that's filled with sugar eyes and resting limbs on one another
candy falling from our jovial lips that are rarely not kissing
we could just sit here for hours
watching the smoke leave our lungs and enter each other
seeing each other without looking
hands clasped
sun sets
a smile
a kiss
black out
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 9:58 PM UTC
one by one
our sons
have become
limestone slabs
planted
in newly clipped
concrete grass
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 2:06 AM UTC
Do you know where I live and eat and breath, what sustains me and kills me, how and why I am what I am and also seek to be?
Bah, who wants to read that, who wants to know that, unless of course it has resonance within us all.
And yet, one piece of experience, one pen pouring holy writ, the breath of a tiny slice of one person's understanding of existence, ah now that may indeed prove worth some pondering, some meditation.
Isn't music emotion as sound, isn't poetry passion on paper, isn't what we try and communicate to each other, by any medium we can muster, a thing worthy of praise and contemplation?
For are we not all continually Transfiguring, are we not all continually following, and growing and flowing and metamorphosing, as we proceed through our lives?
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC