"transmogrify" poems
Is the only way through
situations the passage inside?
Detach my spirit and hover
from above at
the height of light
Where should I transfer
my trash?
the recycling box
doesn't seem half bad
but it requires sorting
what goes where
and eventually
it will transmogrify
and come back in the form
of a coffee cup sipping'
on my new lovers eyes
that I will of course,
repeat the pattern
of romantic disaster
and time bombs
of imminent arrival
holding out...
how long could one stifle
a much needed expression
that was sublimated
under the pretext
of ultimatum
do or die
love me or not
understand or dissipate
commit or let go
for as long as the rest
of remembrance
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 7:50 PM UTC
Shot a rabbit two days ago, it was a good shot taken at distance from height. The rabbit died instantly, it had been digging holes in my lawns, it had to go.
I watched it die and I had cause to ponder the death from a religious angle, where believers say we go to another place when we die?
I know where this rabbit went, he went into my vegetable garden, buried deep with all the other varmints and critters that have crossed my path.
Over the years we, (my wife and I), have turned that patch of barren volcanic ash into a wondrous source of lettuce, potatoes, onions, rhubarb, tomatoes and leek..by adding the carbonaceous remnants of not only these creatures but of composted vegetation, seaweed and selected fertilizers. We also grow the most beautiful roses and deliahs and crysanthemums you will ever come across.
And do you know...in the dark of night other little rabbits and bugs and things come out and nibble those very creations...unaware that they are completing the circle of being.
This is the true spirit of creation, as I see it, where deep in the garden, the motes of nutrition transmogrify beneficially from one entity to another, eventually, for the common good of all.
This is the basis of my belief. Feet on the ground...
What is....most definately is!
M.
Taranaki NZ
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 3:32 PM UTC
Oblivious is the man who claims decorum of extrapolated omnipotence.
The man who has ossified rationalism into an inexplorable ruse.
An attempt to transmogrify inchoate minds, characteristic of apparitions.
Providing illusion as the answer to an obsequious concrescence of naive followers.
Oblivious are the men who follow this decorum.
Their leader keens to their needs.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 3:59 PM UTC
Following the dusky orange of the sky,
I would wade through shallow pools flooding the trails.
Just after sunset when the air radiated with
constant chirping that would beam and penetrate the silence,
I would setup altar at the dock near the hills.
The absence of humans would bring about the spirits.
Nature sounds would amplify and visual acuity would hone.
Some sort of love and peace would fall before my feet.
The mountains would be like towering ancient gods and ancestors.
The trees like earthen tentacles slithering upward yearning for light!
The stars would gleam like alien eyes staring and observing.
Sounds of the unknown would shriek from one corner of the worlds to the others. What it was that could be defined I knew not what went on there. However, I cannot help but feel a lineation of ancestral wisdom, of which can be absorbed. I also have come to the feeling that this mystical experience is condemned and kept out of reach of the layperson and common-man. Human kind would transmogrify its being from the inside out, incarnating into
the Gods and Deities. I have clearly gone too far from
the common thread of thought. For those stumbling
across my message of cogitation, I urge you
to disregard any interpretation of this piece.
Go on about your normalcy.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
emaciated faces placed hastily in waste filled space
graceless shapes, mass of flesh
lidless eyes scanning endlessly
searching for rest
impoverished waifs piled
on the mentally ill homeless
skin pressed together
inappropriately –
lost child wildly blinded, bound
gagged on diesel rags used to clean tools
torture implements rented on ebay
scented candles transmogrify blank surroundings
and color splashed lashes shine red in the afternoon
glistening –
fake baking ******* easily ballooned
ozone less atmosphere cooks plastic skin
releasing Botox and wheat germ
creating orange clouds engulfing tanning booths
light skinned pretenders swish across foray’s
looking both fabulous and abhorrent
frolicking –
camera angled babies
in thick foundation hide tears
so as to not disappoint
or fail in the eyes of the media sharks
fear and gun-rights send them into a frenzy
seeking to raise and destroy
everyone –
political ridicule in a public tribunal
grandfathered unborn wait to rule
wombs of power hold genes of control
eggs designed to tax
meeting ***** engineered to manipulate
deform –
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
She is an angel…
With dark wings,
been through bullets, arrows, and tyrannical things.
She is an angel…
With crooked halo
and beside her was danger
with an eyes like a narrow hallow
her soul is shallow.
A lifetime lies
was all you can see in her eyes
every time she closes it
she sees dark paradise.
She is an angel…
replacing her sun with a moon
the night is her day
and crying was her tune
because the pain in her heart always stay.
She is an angel…
thought that life is the sweetest delight
but transmogrify into endless night.
She is an angel…
her lips are fatal
her eyes was lethal
She is an angel…
fallen from heaven
but experience more than hell.
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 5:34 AM UTC
Impressionist Monet,
Was rejected by his contemporaries
À Paris
No longer wanting
To be a small fish in a
Large pond
He moved on to form
Anonymity amongst
Those who created
Independently
Resulting,
In Starry nights
And dots that
Transmogrify
Into tranquility
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 1:32 PM UTC
To break the rules of reality,
I cheat all those all around me
Regardless of how sagacious I may be,
Only fools are mesmerized of those who behold me
I prance and dance on the open sea
Like a basilisk, but I remain afloat
With blessing’s curse, I cannot be washed ashore
Witnessed the many who drifted off beneath
As they recycle down below the abyss
Once more a rebirth of you, the only one I truly miss
I recognize you
Morph to something anew
You don’t remember me, but I remain the same
I float on the pinnacle of the sea
And yet, I’m envious of you
Eons and eons of my demise
Patience, a virtue
In tune to my existence
As I continue to observe the world,
Keeping watch of your perpetual transmogrify
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
There is a ghost in the backyard of my father’s house overlooking the lake.
I only come by once in a while to rest my head from my travels
but when I do visit, the ghost is faithfully floating above the place that haunts me.
She never looks into my eyes,
but I know she starts her performance when she feels me around.
Her phantom is that of a polluted princess - acid rain.
Sometimes I sit and stare at her safely from the screen.
And she’ll start moving the way she always does.
Tragedy embedded in her every movement
and I can see the vibrations from her mouth shoot off into the night sky,
tears come to my eyes. But no one can hear her cries, except mine.
The tree branches encourage her misery
and they sway in synchronicity with her body.
She struggles for freedom, the branches lift higher.
She falls to the floor and leaves splash around her; elegantly descending.
Most times I look away.
I already know what happens next.
But then there are the times when I’m feeling morose and existential,
cigarette in my hand poised like a gun to my mouth; suicidal.
Those are the times I keep looking at her.
She then turns toward me, cuffed at the hands - dragging.
She doesn't want to leave. Her ghost-like body transcends the doors and walls,
and she’s heading toward the front door. She goes through me on her way out.
In that precise moment where we both are one, I feel whole again.
She continues on past my matter, and I’m vacant.
Gypsy living has taken me worlds away from my father’s place.
But I still think about the ghost girl on the lake and when I do, time and space
travel me down a spiral south bound.
gaped open, mouth wide, wide eyes transmogrify
the missing part of myself into
something someone can hold in the palms of their hands
that screams suffer, lover.
Losing you can't replace.
Darkness closing in settles in comfortably, finds a cozy place.
She is an extension of me due to my pain.
And I relive it every time I visit the lake.
Maybe one day ghost girl will walk through me and stay.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
When the poet loves, the poet gives birth
The poet reigns over the vast lands of the earth
As the love grows, the poet conquers all the seas
With ink-stained hands, the poet shapes galaxies
A poet in love crowns a special muse
His ocean of inspirations, the poet's mind on a cruise
Hands grow exhausted, crumpled papers accumulate
Verbal perfection, the poet seeks to create
The poet sings, lyrics morph into his beloved's name
Eyes descry a lovely face, metaphors embody a frame
With mellifluous words, the poet builds a pedestal
Through his poetic verses, his beloved turns immortal
The air the poet breathes, the radiant sun in the sky
The joy at Christmas Eve, fireworks during 4th of July
Furious storms, calming breeze, devastating earthquakes
The beloved adapts any form, whatever the poet makes
Resplendent rainbows insipid compared to corporal curves
Art erupting from pens, embellishing what eyes observe
From vivacious mornings to sleepless nights
The beloved is everything - everything, the poet writes
But on a daily basis, the poet wages into an inconspicuous war
A pen as his reliable sword, stacks of papers hide every scar
A war of incarcerated words, of subdued emotions
Even the most trivial move can shatter the crystal elation
The poet writes when in bliss, all the more when morose
Describing through flowery words, the beauty in an overdose
The beloved's candle-like fingers transmogrify to perilous daggers
Affectionate lips emulate a whirlpool at the heart of ocean waters
The poet seeks the tranquil blue in a bed of scarlet flames
Ears hearing strident chains of profanities as endearing names
And the poet still loves, never ceases to write
Exacerbation of the rational mind and melodramatic heart's fight
The sun conflagrates the flesh, moon freezes the core
Billows that used to dance vehemently washes the poet ashore
A hand grips a pen tighter and writes some more
Words of today vociferously emerging from yesterday's door
When the poet loves, the poet gives birth
His love reigns over the vast lands of his earth
Then it blinds the poet's sight, defiles the poet's ink
His own words are the music as he dances on the brink
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:26 AM UTC
To see just how far I have come from harm
I just look down at the fading scars of my arm
the burn of the flame has cooled
and showed me what in my psche ruled
for now I’ve been schooled
in emotions
fooled
by illusory oceans
I go through the motions
as spirit shows me what’s right
and guides my poor eyes to sight
It is imperative to fight
to live
with authentic shivs
People cry and ask what gives?
Simple thought ships
neurotransmit APC clips
to be played and looped
with these blips, beeps, and boops
Cylab v2.0
this collective insaenity has brought you a show
for those who don’t know
about life and love
the difference between sharing a laugh or a shove
gazing quietly above and be grateful
not hateful
towards both spirit and shameful
This is a plea to understand the thoughts so disdainful
so let these molecules of thought rearrange you
to reconsider a few memories that stain you
tie die the stain
to transmogrify the pain
learn to laugh
learn to cry
hold your friends close
while you fly high
but most of all
never say good bye, until the day you are ready to die
these are the lessons I’ve learned
and the distance I have covered
on my journey to become
the epitome of a lover.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
1, 2, 3
There was you and me
4, 5, 6
your colorful bag of tricks
7, 8, 9
we'd share a bottle of wine.
These are the memories that send chills up my spine.
You were acid,
I was alkaline.
I used to pick the petals off a celandine, hoping
"maybe he'll choose me this time."
I thought our love to be phantasmagoric,
when in fact it was hardly auric.
leave it to me to always be metaphoric.
You impacted me in ways I can't describe
please believe me when I say this isn't my diatribe.
this is me trying my best to transmogrify.
my original stimuli,
you have no idea what you signified,
but
This is me trying my hardest to say goodbye.
Jul 12, 2021
Jul 12, 2021 at 4:47 PM UTC
At a distance, a harp begins to play
Mellifluous tunes attempting to capture the heart astray
Every single note pleasant to the ears
Every note reviving the comatose fears
Beautiful is the song as it is enchanting
Through agile fingers, a masterpiece in the making
But as the riveting sound cavorts the insipid walls
Dispelled memories return like raging falls
Strumming the strings equate a pronounced invitation
Melodic verses transmogrify into proposed elation
But the rhythm is alarmingly familiar
Whose end averts from the spectacular
The harps plays, the harp sings
Obnoxious bells produce clamorous rings
For the songs it sings are dulcet
But the notes may be disguised bayonettes
The comely harp will continue creating its art
A fragile bubble vulnerable to approaching darts
As the music invades every corner
May the north be an inexorable commander
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
what a beautiful ruined world
if i seal these mortal instruments,
render binairy apertures of flesh unmade
your prescence like a tempestuous fever inside
'neath this mockingly empty starless sky
you are an apparition, and an agony boundless
i am your stalwart sepulchre
so prevail upon me thine anguish
and torment me from within mine own shell
for a thousand moons i have stalked
through a hundred and one nights
a gaunt, dark and wild aberrant
looking for a single star in a chasm of earth
but my memories, shattered into eldritch geometries
will not converge upon themselves, and i know not your face
but my heart knows your heart
so i will brave onwards...
we we're made when this world was made
for a million aeons we watched it's countless civilizations grow and bloom
and inextricably wither
and now, at the end of all time, we wander listlessly as aching wraiths through it's strange and wild precipice
to percieve, in apathy as the unspeakable beauty of mortal art crumble and transmogrify as dust and smoke, is an agony that would shatter the heart of the universe, if infinite darkness had a heart...
the beautiful cities and lights and words and stories
all gone
all turned into ephemeral embers, flickering in vain as they die in a sea of ash
the ash of a thousand burning souls
longing for the warmth of another
and now, they are all gone
no bones remain
but our love is eternal
i have traversed the ruins of an ancient cities
i drifted past the forbidden palace in the east
through Dubai, and a strange drowned metropolis
i looked for you in the deep dark of the dying Moscow
were the fires still fall as rain
and the silence is only abruptly put to rest by the shrieks of mad ravens
i went on to St. Petersburg, i know you loved it so, but i saw no traces of you
i thought i glimpsed a shadow of you through the fog in the remains of London
where are you?
no matter where you are in this ruined world
i will find you
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Solitude stands on the precipes of misfortune
as the crowds form behind his vanity
they want locks of his hair
some even want his underwear
yet he shivers and shakes
just one more step does he need to take
then down he will go
showing them how
to transmogrify
from life of the living
to the soul of being
light splinters with his wings outstretched
yet he closes them again to gain more speed
head long he goes into oblivion
his fanatics out of reach of him
destiny calls only once in a life time
and when called, heed it's voice
for time makes follies of indirection
if you know not the voice of God
and the laughter of Love
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
In each moment, each pursuit
Improvise.
It’s nothing more than living Now.
Of course you’ll f---k it up at times:
Mistakes belonging to a human
As does dust upon a mirror.
In each moment, work or pastime
Improvise, extemporize.
You have encyclopedic knowledge
In your little life-so-far;
Gifts and talents, skills, capacities;
Experiential knowledge
You absorbed the moment you took breath.
If you do what I advise
You see patterns that transmogrify,
Patterns that will make you wise;
Patterns when you make each minute your device.
Despite anomalies,
Quirks, and incongruities,
This the key to bring to light
The star you are,
Becoming brighter with each gesture.
Make a pact with you yourself
Put old habits on the shelf of things gone by.
You improvise,
You start to fly.
By and by
You are the sharpest, deepest, most profound and visionary
You alive.
Improvising Your Way Through Life 8.5.2017
Definitely Didactic; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II;
Arlene Corwin
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 8:17 AM UTC
Dew drops shined on the grass
Morning dew glistened on the fresh green shoots
……
The delicate dew drops
hung
at the very tips of
long and reaching
blades of green grass
in the warm summer sun
the dampness of night left its traces
dancing upon the crab
as the dawn glow shown across the valley
nearly translucent water particles
sat
waiting for the rays to transmogrify
their very structure
and give rise to photosynthesis
under the starshine
………….
Dum dum dum dum doobie doobie do
Dum dum dum dum dum
Doobie doobie …
Two dew drops walked into a straw shack
Rolled into a grass hut
Sauntered into an old saloon…..
The morning dew sent me spinning……
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
Welcome to Trumplandia--
Where truth and falsehood collide,
And voters blindly commit
Political suicide;
Where people vote for a man
Because he "speaks his mind"
And don't care how many
People he's maligned;
Where general politeness
And a thin veneer of civility
Are worn away as bigotry
Finds acceptability;
Where extremist views
Completely transmogrify
The democratic process,
And justice and clarity die;
Where clever speeches ignite
Passions that become scary,
And governing becomes
A concern that's secondary;
Where in the guise of freedom
Of religion, people create
Laws that give them the right
To cruelly discriminate;
Where there's baseless distrust
Of scholarly opinions
And the leader prefers his UN-
Educated minions;
Where equal and civil rights
For which people fought
For many, many years
Sadly come to naught;
Where the middle class
Through clever bait and switch
Are talked into providing
Tax breaks for the rich;
Where facts become suspect.
The leader makes it clear:
Invented "facts" are the only
Facts he wants to hear;
Where freedom of speech is stifled,
And millions do not squawk
When the ones in power
Turn back the clock;
Where people need a scapegoat
And constantly look for someone
To blame and do not think
That they could also become one;
Where values, tolerance, morals,
Compassion, and decency fade
While anger and xenophobia
Are on a vicious crusade.
Welcome to Trumplandia.
America, farewell.
Bemoan the ever deepening
Crack in the Liberty Bell.
- by Bob B (12-5-16)
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
in amphibians, the process
is called ecdysis
shedding, casting off, transforming
birds will moult several times a year
flourishing new plumage
orchids will regrow fallen blooms
the process is natural
but not any easier
especially when we grow apart
but everything changes
and everyone changes
there is no true sort by same
go through a metamorphosis
transmogrify and evolve
leave yourself behind and
recreate who you are
above all, never fear
the change of becoming
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC
Specious speculative salacious spectral season
Transmogrify trapezium traverse torsion treason
Erotica errantry erectile endogenic emblazon
Ghastly gnashy grotesque gristly garrison
Larcenous lecherous lascivious latent lesson
Entelechy ethology exsistentialize extant epsilons
Spurious spry squabble subtle specialization
Transient transitive tour de force teleportation
Encephala enunciate endeavor executant emulation
Garish gaudy gambit glitch granulation
Lurid livid liaison limpid laceration
Extravaganza expletives expeditious equilibration emendation
Sly stodgy surreptitious spatiotemporal solicitor
Taciturn tactile transcendent tertiary torpor
Euphoria eminent equivocal exserted emancipator
Garrulous gustatory gung ** gestational gesticulator
Lyricism lilt liberation lambaste levitator
Escutcheon exergonic epaulet exodus extrapolator
Starkness staunch spectacle stolid stultification
Telepathy tantamount tractive tellurian transmutation
Exonerate euthenics exegesis entourage eradication
Groaty gnarly gruesome gristly gastrulation
Licentious lewd lacunar laconic limitation
Extemporaneous exigency embark embargo extradition
Slinky slick sultry stoical snout
Transubstantiate torturous temerarious tumultuous tout
Eucharist extortion enmity epithet eke out
Gross grit groin grove grout
Lentic leister lotic lothario levity lout
Execrating eventuation evocative evitable excerpt bout
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 10:11 PM UTC
I’d like more
than one death knell,
I’d like a
personal
bottle of lightning,
that I’ve caught for
my very own.
I’d give up that
little **** of a
rat-terrier if
it could,
somehow,
transmogrify
into a wolf
or
a panther.
I’d like
a jet-black
Camero,
with tires
made of fire
and seats made
of smoke.
I think that
a little toxic-waste
is good for you.
(keeps ya sharp, yeah?)
I think
that a man,
a woman,
hell,
any human
worth a ****
ought to be able
to ride into battle
on a goat, a *******
or a *************
llama
and
know in their
hearts that they are the master
of their own destiny.
It’s a rough sea,
it always will be.
That’s life.
Be sad,
mad,
a little depressed,
but,
stay here,
because there’s
kielbasa sandwiches
with mustard and
onions.
There are people
that love you,
there are books,
songs,
flicker shows
to see.
The sharks bite,
the octopi might
squeeze,
the rays might sting.
None of it means
anything,
if you don’t…
Take off the floaties
and swim.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2019
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
Beyond the ordinary
and the dream fly.
Never wait for
anyone's approval
or to be pushed
to go for
your dream.
The set time
is now
just for you.
The cosmic pull
draws you
powerfully into
the orb.
Yield yourself
to the call.
Your inner core
knows the way
and the truth.
Accept it the
way it is.
Change will come
when you
are transformed
from within.
Things have come
to a full circle.
The end has
become the beginning
beyond the limits.
You need a ride,
a quantum leap
to transmogrify you
into a superman
beyond the ordinary
and the dream
so you can
definitely at last
finally fly.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 11:03 AM UTC
They know I am in human form
so they send their hunter seekers
they would love to extinguish my flame
but I am made of sterner stuff
They know I do transmogrify time
know that they are vastly inadequate to deal
or not deal with a creature like me
for I am as vast as time itself, and they know
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC