Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I began to walk the right of way
A doe rose and darted across the red clay
A hawk gave away his battle station
Crows alerted the occupants of Hill Country with --
great articulation
Tall grass bowed before mistletoe and ivy upon oak
North wind tinged in field smoke                                                             Should I hang a weathered parka on the daylight moon
Maybe a prayer for the warmth of June
Start a cedar fueled conflagration in honor of -
third platoon
Alert the aliens of Europa of the galactic news
My chillbain and madness are close friends
A dastardly , hopeful , midnight skywatcher
Loyal to the very end
This cylindrcal eye of wonder
Plotting possibilities in astronomical -
Connecting dots , casting lots
Secured in the whispering hallways of the mind
Tranquility , fame , planetary games

Recede from hostility
Moor this understood warrior
Copyright May 9 , 2021 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Haloed harlot in the midnight moonlight
      To dance beside your spectral grace
      The fluid motions of your body so tight
      Together we will set the pace

      Misty shadows of towering mountains
      Lakes and streams cool waters flow
      Towards the oceans like shining fountains
      And beauties we’ll forever know
Strange as it might seem this is about the martial arts warrior's stance.
If one considers the tesseract  as a worm hole that gets stronger as it traverses the distance traveled time spent to become the clairaudience clairvoyance of astral projection’s existential extremity……..I mean like what is the nature of  exigence exodus’s exponentially extemporaneous.  I mean given that  infinite possibility is the nature of omnipresence’s omniscience and we are but a refractively reflective embodiment  of its integrable form’s extant:   the residual harmonic vibrations of kinetic supremacy’s trajectory.  
So I ask again “Is intellectual sentience the catalyst for the evolution of God?”  Perhaps if we all practice zoomorphic zoolatry on the social contiguities of demagoguery the vicarious recalcitrance of its objectified manifest's dimensional delineations will raise us all to new heights of enigmatism.  
 But no, we are but relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity.  We’re not capable of transmuting  our environment with the imbue in the exude of our emote, despite the concoctions we xenobiotic prosthesis.  We are incapable of interceding en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit.  We don’t amount to the seven five six-y on it to eight.  We are more the four-ness of three given the two-y-ness of one.  The 3D macro of the fecundity of micro’s induction's fertility.  

I submit:  
“Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form .  Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to its progression because realistically nothing had happened yet .  As it continued it became according to its innate inflections as a functionally integrable form .  The questionably understandable nature of its conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction .  The enigmatic consciousness of its relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.”  


“As the relative complexity of its interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born.  Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of its conjunction yet the totality of its ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .”


Given the theory of ultimate entropy and the probable cyclic nature of existence……and given that there probably was no beginning so therefore an eternity has already passed, ”I have a theory: This spatiotemporal fecundity, this creationism occurs at such an imperceptible rate that positive eons of quadrillions of ages must pass in order for the cosmos to replenish its stockpile of physical matter (possibly matter without atomic structure as we know it) so that a new cycle of infinite big bangs in infinite space can occur.”

       Yes, it seems that basic gravity has extent on the extremity.  Huge sections of it slowly implode until the compression causes a singularity, or so it would seem.  Who knows, perhaps some of these big bangs have different periodic tables than ours.  I mean why would they all be the same, given that infinite possibility is the nature of omnipresence’s ubiquity.  
I like to think I cerebral cortex ****** matrix resemble but there’s a vast difference between relative rationality and rational relativity.  Noumenal sentience’s semantic regalia is incorporeity ideology’s platonic proxy incarnate for after all what is the nature of problematic prosthesis to mystic symbiotics?  
Protractive analyses of dimensional delineation are in order.  The basic fecundity of spatiotemporal telemetry’s virility had an exogamy with the infinite vastness and the inky blackness.  It’s some pretty inimitable stuff, trajectory extant and all.  
So, back to the tesseract perhaps the creativities of imagination’s immaturities are teleportational  translucence to transcendency  verve.  Then again perhaps we are corporeally preternatural finites and adjunctly  juxtapositional is beyond our metaphysical mystique………I like to think not!!!  Tesseract.
Orthogenesis overtures to ornithology horse feathers! !  Retrospectively retroactive!  The ultimate universally inapplicable weather yankee tools to mule kit blue deally romp's resembla blur.  The Martian Warlord's universally acceptable id conclusion on the enigma's entity.

          he trims a Cuban cigar and places it in his anti-authoritarian orifice:

Foreshadowing the mysteries of life brings the succulent cauldrons of mystical salaciousness to a boiling ardor.  I’ll entice the myriad realms of your enchantress and wring the moisture out of your femininity.  I’ve got a cat of nine tails in my hands- I dare you to stroke me, you sassy *****,  just so you may know my obeisant oblations orchestrations.  No other woman moves me like the feral ***** you employ.  


  Choreographed katas supplement his beast.
He’s adamant and masculine, and plucks the strings of his guitar in anticipation of your ****** harmonies.  Pounce firmly on his erotica erectile like the black panther of his lust’s rebellion.  Caress the protuberance of his virility- mount his exsertion- hair on hair- wanton on wayward- peal him slowly with your agile ictus- he’s ambrosia and honey- extort the fecundity out of him and give it back like a fertile libation.


He’s like a Mayan calendar.  Excruciatingly exacerbating, imperturbably tenacious.  He’ll draw the sport out of you and make you bounce like a cowgirl on a bronco.  Only to buck you off and leave you in the dust like a flaccid martyr on the ground he tramples.  You’ll reminisce his wily gate where ever you tread, and ****** yourself at the thought of his machismo machinations as you rode his determinism.  


His exotic lightning vaunts in the celestial canopy.  The blood of new world wizardry, he seduces from the apex axis of his citadel pinnacle.  His warrior heights ooze with the psychic clarity of zoomorphic demagoguery’s rebellion and make the knight groan with exigency.  The weight of his words, the upward convection of  their accessional draws sweat and *** from your extant.  He can sense your arousal from miles away and seduces your mind like a torrential deluge.


He is manumission, no more the faded vision of  body incarnates ghosts.  He writes of the enrapturing mesmeric-ness of its inebriation to tantalize his wanton decadent blatancy’s flagrant.  Impetus intrigue and intuitional verve become sensual currency.  He’s the lounging lion, the puissant God, the edifice ******* of pornographic wit.  The incongruous incognito with no moniker.  Seduced by your poet he would romance the *** out of you and leave you enraptured with your own anonymity at the edge of the new world freeway.
Actually I wrote this piece in response to Cara de Luna's Lete des Femmes But she asked me not to post my copy before she quit this site.  Too bad because my response is much more understandable and doesn't seem so chauvinistically banal given her rant.
Although we can personify beings with metaphysical prowess, (objectified manifest's dimensional delineations),can we touch others or even ourselves with these extrapolations?  Is zoomorphic zoolatry's demagogueries on the social contiguity a proper solution.  I mean how the clairaudience of astral projection.  One would tend to think that proximity's parameter's opaque opulence would tend to take precedence over the exponentially extemporaneous nature of trajectory extant's physical location.  It's the corporeally preternatural facts to exude when you consider the space it occupies.  Noumenal sentience's semantics infer a spatiotemporal telemetry tactician.  It's the identity crisis facts, and yet we conception feel an affinity for our surroundings.  This might tend to implicate that the evolution of psychic clarity's mystic symbiotic's were irrefragably fecund.  Ethology's entelechy to apotheosis élan vital's apotropaic.  Transcendental accession's ascension is a translucent transpicuity.  Retrospectively retroactive revision an inevitability.  All that was will be forever and all that could be will become, not that this guarantees a positive outcome.  We're fractal.
Of we fade into irrelevance as we vanish into the void!!
 Sep 2019 Julian
All hail children of the waning summer
Sour and prickly, soft and sweet
These sun-wild children wander free
Blackberry stains on callused feet

NCL September 2019
 Sep 2019 Julian
K Balachandran
It's my most favourite life game,
Leaving you behind with no particular aim
In the midst of a charming thing we perform
And keeping you waiting  till the time,
I choose to be  back again!

Did you ever notice it yourselves?
(If not what's the point of telling one?
I may ruin the pleasure of not allowing
Not to see what one naturally do not see)

I've  freed myself from the vagaries of time!
An esoteric art in what avatars are with me.
I may not return to you in an
Expected time frame or plane.
I'll spend  time the  way I wish,
Taking as much from the chest of universe
and add a fine twist to it.
Wouldn't you call it making poetry?

I've bandoned all expectaions time,
Imposed on us by  its lenier progression.
I may keep you waiting for long
You may think,  as you are now not that girl,
But a wildly bloomed tree waiting for me, The migratory bird on its usual sojourn!
You are eager to offer your best of fruits,
I peck at it with atmost care, and attain,
An 'Ananda ' pure and simple
And gift you a perfect Buddha smile,
That transcends the warps  of time!
 Apr 2019 Julian
Pagan Paul
Rider On The Storm of trances,
LA Woman led through ritual dances.
A Poet just Waiting for the Sun,
when The End was where it all begun.
The Spy trying to Break on Through,
a native sharing his Shamans Blues.
A Ship of Fools tinged with mirth,
destined Not To Touch The Earth.
Mr Mojo Risin', the acid dream rover,
taking rest When The Music's Over.

© Pagan Paul (04/12/16)

James 'Jim' Douglas Morrison
(Poet and Rock Star)
8 December 1943 – 3 July 1971.
Next page