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Most people don't know this, but the cover story was that she had
written the famous Italian movie director telling him she wanted to
be in one of his films, so she left her own Hollywood career, left
America and went to Italy. The true story ts that Ingrid and I were
in love. Nobody but she and I knew. We traveled incognito first
to Aspen and made love all day then went to a 5-star restaurant
to eat. We spent about a week there, then flew to Vancouver in
British Columbia where we boarded the famous Canadian train
that went from west all across the country to the east. In Quebec,
we again spent all day in bed making more love, then spent the
evening walking the streets hand in hand after dinner. Ingrid
was the most beautiful woman I ever met in my life. But her
beauty was not just physical;  it was more than that. it was a
combination of ineffable qualities that flowed from deep within
her and gave her a magical, mystical aura. From Montreal, we
flew to Mexico City, then took a Mercedes Benz bus north to
San Miguel de Allende where we stayed in a little cottage for
several months. I remember distinctly ever moment we ever
made love, yet at the same time, all my memories would from
time to time become a endless movie of kisses and caresses and
wild, wondrous orgasisms of indescribable ecstasy. It seemed as
though our torid romance lasted forever, but it did not;  and yet
our separartion, when it occurred, seemed somehow preordained
and there was no acrimony, no bitterness, just the afterglow of
love that stays with me to this moment. I am a blessed man, a
blessed man.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate has entire adult life.
Paul Butters Feb 2020
Repetition is the best petition.
Drive that refrain into your brain.
It’s my mission.
Driven on by Stewart Copeland the musician.
Drums and dance
Send me into a trance.
Transcendental music
Any way you choose it.

Repetition, repetition, repetition
Just as potent as nuclear fission.
Sometimes, for me, it’s just too much.
As crazy as Screaming Lord Sutch.
Yet here I make a telling submission
About the power of repetition
As beautiful as a painting by Titian.
A composition to appeal to your cognition
To get you into a better condition
Without transition.

There are four hundred and ninety rhymes
Of repetition
And that’s not something from superstition.
But I’d better avoid a war of attrition
Even with your kindly permission.
It’s great to prance
And have a dance.
I’m glad you’ve given
This poem a glance
To give its rhythms every chance.
My aim is to enhance
And cut through the boredom like a lance.

Poems are music
Poems are Romance
So let’s advance
Then make a stance.
That’s my position.

Paul Butters

© PB 2\2\2020 (first line written 31\1 then notes made 1\2). Final line added 3\2.
Inspired by Stewart Copeland's TV Series "Adventures in Music" BBC4.
Ahnaf Jun 2019
What do you say?
Should I keep trying my luck at the human condition?
I'm struggling to believe the human condition is for all of us;
Because of the way we humans are hardwired to think and judge,
and as a result, the way we have constructed meanings and standards in our societies,
many of us are left with an appalling serving of the human condition,
with little other than pain, misery, and humiliation on our plates

So what do you say?
Should I abandon the human condition and maybe seek more transcendental avenues of living?
(it's not as exciting as it sounds because I'm compelled to consider it)
Or, do you think the human condition can still accommodate for the joys of every one of us?
Pull your mask out
Let your guard down,
You need not hide anymore
I see you for who you are
Not what I desire to see you as
And I've got to say:
From where I'm standing
You couldn't be more bare.

Finally, stripped off of your facade
I see you for what you are
You're just as clueless as I:
Here to discover life!

Now, let's take this plunge into the abyss
And realize all our forgotten realities,
Sketch on each other's silences, we will,
For repainting these faded colors is fill;
For we know: time there's none absolute
But for our time together made of absolutes.
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Genius is forged by passion
It is this which never dies:
Transcendental elation.

So long as one creation
is moved to dance mesmerized,
genius is forged by passion.

Though stone hearts lack expression,
postmoderns aching to try
transcendental elation

Keeping "plebes" from their "mansions."
Speak this opaque truth as lies:
Genius is forged by passion.

The hive mind *******,
at shared expense they deny
transcendental elation.

Our yearning adoration
causes heaven's voice to cry,
Genius is forged by passion!
Transcendental elation.
Vinnie Adams May 2018
Idealism is the unification of self.
And so, your love is my love
PoserPersona Apr 2018
From the iron red sea flows
an infinite forest of white roots and gray leaves

Unequivocally woven in response to
the senses of each unique being

Ahhh, if timeless beauty is what you seek,
let the transcendental levies bleed

For that which may be perceived internally,
will be embellished eternally
Vinnie Adams Apr 2018
within moments of pity,
pride, possession, avarice;

and still, moments must resentful,
lustful, arduous, close;

some great current, unmoved
unblunted, unweakened, unswerved,
remains aflow;

for common nearness, a bondless magnetism,  
abounds through within faith-constance,
ever-surmounting that sight or scent
there without.
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