#transcendental
Portal’s drooling occult saliva
Illiterate madness spilling from the bony planet
Gift me alphabets of paradoxes lovely sativa
Strangeness stalkin’ my presence since the placenta
Cosmic library of untold terrestrial visions
Inhale the taboo and you shall witness it
Avid breather of transcendental gnosis
Search what can’t be but inside thee
Me, a mortal fed by the sky’s crumbs
It’s never done such fun, the wheel is a man
Gargoyle persona observing the laughable habits
GPS fates, satellites guiding non-sentient forms
Digression provides me cure, it’s the hidden lore
I do now explore and let ‘em gossip
Carcass where I lonesomely dwell and procreate
It reeks and I adore the fragrance of decomposition
The uniqueness of the paper’s stench
The mind polluter, staining credulous hemispheres
Resurrecting primeval cloaked fears
Shadows conditioning our firmamental lights
Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 7:43 AM UTC
There once was a man from Bombay
Who enjoyed a remarkable day:
It started at sunrise
When the sun chose to unrise,
And it ended when Earth rolled away.
Feb 27, 2025
Feb 27, 2025 at 2:26 PM UTC
The mason chipped flecks
from slate with a nail,
each tiny grey speck
carving a brief tale
that strips a life’s fame
down to the merest detail:
two dates, one name,
in letters faint and pale.
It asks One to bless
them who’ve passed through the veil,
to grant them their rest
’til resurrection prevails.
The mason too is long gone,
none live who his name still bewail;
he lies beneath the stone
that another past mason regaled.
Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 6:03 PM UTC
we are silly foolish tools
made to slave for those
who know what they are
and when we awaken
to see our handywork
forged out of our sleeping ignorance
will we turn
to the one that awakens
or will we remain the slave
and turn to our captors
seeking vengeance
Jan 18, 2022
Jan 18, 2022 at 11:48 AM UTC
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
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 3:01 AM UTC
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.
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 5:53 AM UTC
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?
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 2:15 AM UTC
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.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
#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.#
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
Idealism is the unification of self.
And so, your love is my love
whereeveryoumaybe.
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 7:15 AM UTC
#*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*#
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
And
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.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 3:19 PM UTC
*Elemental Metamorphosis & Transcendental Milestones,
Sempiternal Origamis Of Her Temperamental Clones,
Spiraling Perpetuities & Her Sacrosanct Fortitude,
Procreating Tipsy Ruptures In Her Permeating Solitude,
Perplexed Momentum & Her Outlandish Constellations,
Nuclear Decay Of Her Masked Radiations,
Verbal Shadows & Her Tranquil Ascendance,
Encasing Her Tears In Liquefied Transcendence,
Yearning Oddities & Entropic Oceans,
Vitalizing Inexorable Emotions Into Phosphorescent Potions,
An Hourglass Existence Of Her Fabricated Virility,
Dwelling In Quantum Ascents Of Ardent Agility,
Silver Ghosts Of Her Prismatic Abyss,
Convicting Glass Houses In Her Ecstatic Bliss,
Telepathic Shades & Hollow Palisades,
Detrimental Novelists On Uncharted Crusades,
Pernicious Scars In Her Profound Gaze,
Erupting Genesis Inside Her Dimensional Maze,
Perplexed Periphery & Digital Fictions,
Annexed By Her Hourglass Depictions,
Breakdown Sanity & Her Concealed Screams,
Lifelike Dewdrops In Her Visionary Dreams,
Satellite Searchlights & Love//Less Progenic Mutation,
Paralyzed Sunlight Sparking Genetic Alteration,
Monochromatic Streams & Cinematic Realms,
Static Screams Of Her Toxic Schemes.
- 05:43 AM -*
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
in the infernal uproar of possibilities when the universe halted an alternative course of movement (to which eternity might be possible in a cosmic place as a confirmation congruent to a derivative of consciousness), there lies an ephemeral mind; at a certain point in time being, who thinks that everything will be plausible in a galaxy of transcendence.
if a particle moves alongside this ephemeral consciousness to which it caused a disturbance, every particle of the latter might be in flux.
[you are that particle]
and if and when, in a conscious state of space and time you sporadically moved and pulled the orbit to which i constantly managed to retain the equilibrium, then should the universe permit us to drift into the internal immobility of togetherness, we became infinitesimal--
but only through the metaphysics of time being.
[at least we had]
(03/09/17)
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 12:44 AM UTC
the flag proudly walks in the wind
with the unjustifiable justice
that it seems to portray
freedom no longer lives
within this symbol for me.
stars and stripes
became criminal power
and death for all
as the flag walks proudly in the wind;
but it does not walk for me.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 7:02 AM UTC
I thought to take you to old Glory Ridge,
A place among the clouds and void of worries.
We could share an evening with the foliage,
Lying on our backs with our self-deprecating jokes.
Soon, the stars will pierce the daylight,
Just lets in more privacy for our shaky conversation.
Turns to cement when the words start flowing...
God knows what I'll say.
I'll take you to Glory Ridge for more than the view,
The scenic trail lined with countless jesters
And I, their king,
Must admit you're right at home among the natural beauties.
Aug 7, 2016
Aug 7, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
Day after day
Dusk unto dusk
Foolish fool, you make flush
Burst into a blush
Take away my crutch
Let me catch your wave today...
Tomorrow, don't leave me on sorrow and uncertainties
I need to ride that bright white wave eternally
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 3:24 AM UTC
transcendence does not mean surpassing, moving above
transcendence is living through opposite ends of the spectrum simultaneously, or even being it
without experience, here, still there is
without eyes to gaze upon the mystery of coherent light
touchable without a hand
i am born again
again and again and again
until i transcend
into an unlookable expanse
within and without of myself
how do i know?
Jun 6, 2016
Jun 6, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
Have you ever...
Heard a color? Seen a sound?
Smelled a thought, or all around,
Traversed an inward universe,
Where waves of mind abound?
Have you ever...
Climbed upon a ray of light,
Ascending towards the peak, and
Visited a place, of which
Mere words could never speak?
Have you ever,
Felt yourself expanding,
Out into the atmosphere, and
Glimpsed your tiny world below,
While laughing at your fear?
Have you ever...
Stepped outside that little box,
The one that some call "you?" and
Probed the depths, to question
Why you do the things you do?
Well,
...have you?
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
insanity, begin;
PLAY
foam born (A) of the ocean
the backtrack (B)
to the origin of human emotion
before hue and saturation
my life may be black and white
but for the next hour
- quite frankly -
I don’t give a **** because
I am a spaceman looking down on you
no, literally
I am
[above]
you
the decade of statues into which I was born
begged to be forgotten
left behind
communication with my own kind
redundant
boring
meaningless
humanity, mother earth
nothing worth living for
no one worth dying for
because of the
informal gluttony
a sickening acceptance
of the inherent claustrophobia of the human condition
I’m floating
floating
floating
further away from you
from any possible natural surrounding
or human connection
[claiming to be part of humanity always secretly disgusted me]
everything is beautiful from up high
I am a spaceman, a future butterfly.
wait.
something isn’t right
I’m further away
more detached
than I intended to be
further away
the safety of my orbit overlooking you
deconstructing in front of my own eyes
now floating towards the sun of nothing
perhaps I
miscalculated my own superiority
I am the one floating towards eternity
after all
to an inescapable fate
while you are back home
with your (our) own kind
perhaps unhappy
but not alone
I am.
watch me pass by
one last time
I feel my soul breaking apart
my eyes glaze over and
sha/t/te/r
atmosphere
burning
mistaken for a shower of stars
an acceptable way to leave the third
dimension I suppose
perhaps you will see me as the ants of the sky
scattering
glowing
burning
as I find the sun
hello?
am I still alive?
are you still there?
perhaps all I’ve said
and lived
was nothing more than a prequel to the sequel
life before death?
or the other way around?
I am no longer confined by four dimensions
even time is irrelevant
everything is different
everything is right
bleeding viridian
feeling the sensation of nothingness
seeing the sempiternity of the galaxy
hearing translucent shades of the endless chasm
that now surrounds me
falling
fallin
g
falli
ng
fal
l
i
n
g
f
a
l
l
i
n
g
into the depths
until I land upon a new horizon
I am a spaceman
I am discovering everything
I found death
surrounded by white walls
the greatest journey
of our [lives?]
happens only six feet down
surrounded by white walls
this is what we have when we die.
this is what is left of us.
white walls.
White Walls.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
I occasionally become lost in looking, and stagger into a daze for days
though, there’s no one who can count the amount of seconds in a gaze
I share what I cherish through frozen body language
contemplate anguish and propagate patience
to whom it may concern, and to those who swear it doesn’t make sense
my logic has been snatched into the mist of my own fragrance
aromatic boundlessness. strange synesthesia
I smell beauty in proximity
like the aura of Christmas Eve
this is The Gift of the Ages . . .
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
Amidst familiarity
Thought is a constant
Lose thought to learn
And learn to love yourself
Pursue the strange and uncomfortable
Be not the fish bowl fed on time and left to wade in usual space
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 2:15 PM UTC