"paramount" poems
*towering gently overflowing with heightened awareness
subtle hints of blade’s keen glittering chiseled edges
untamed rugged surface powerfully averts gale’s acrid tempest
vigor pulsating that doth persuade the cloud’s reflections
if i shall not again embrace a meager glimpse; a demure echo
of thine towering mounts my soul shall ever suffer
my spirit soars with e'er one glance of thine majestic presence
replete with reminiscence seasons stir and beg thine tender mercies
to house the changing leaves at dusk of autumn’s auburn portraits
and give birth to crystal snow cascading peripherally in winter
which melding into spring then begs thy bluffs to cover
in soft amethyst of columbine blossoming first light of summer
‘tis not paramount to scale high aloft thine peaks in escalation
for small sheer glances stamp forever with imperial impressions
and ‘tho i’ve traveled ‘round and savored nature’s varied essence
none can compare thine evergreens laced in aspens nuance
my breath is gone and shan’t return ‘til in thy shadow casting
i stand and look upon thine hallowed face the rocky mountains
©2016 janetaylor
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
Assert confidence in a convincing recital
Claim certainty that protection is binding
safety is paramount
a rehearsed amount
until she takes it on ethics
every truth is there to detect
A battle for reason
until potential yields to the objective
Loyalty isn't just imagination
Fate constructed in a noiseless dialogue
momentary eye contact
pencil hits paper
Smoke and vapor
Fire comes later
an unsurpassed honor
All the letters weve written
are a smear on the page of occasion
Resulting in endless treasure
Only to be rediscovered
When the omission is uncovered
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 4:41 AM UTC
Love is a flame
Consuming two souls,And
Melting them to one
But
Only when it is real and true
Fake love is *****
Dusty and rusty
Boring and tiring
It is lengthy
That hours don't elapse
Days are months and months are years
True love is nice
Sweet and short
Everyday ends early
And every night is short
Years are months and months are days...days elapse like hours
I hate fake love
I love true love
But I do?
I do follow my heart
So,
"dear my heart lead me to whoever has true love"
Because to quench my thirst,
Clean is paramount.
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 4:49 AM UTC
We want to understand our world and humans that are in it
situations and events that shake it up and spin it
make our choices, choose our path, convinced that it is 'right'
until we see another path that's just beyond our sight
a different path but yet, the same, with others plain to see
all moving on or standing still, all people, you and me
as paths converge what happens next is basic and is right
no pushing shoving or standing ground, no need to stay and fight
a simple course correction, moving round each other with ease
to continue on our paths, no two the same you see
For all the paths eventually arrive at the same conclusion
that help us clear our hearts and minds removing our confusion
it's not the destination that was paramount, but those along the way
people, lessons, obstacles, that come with each new day
the journey that we travelled bringing thought and clarity
Be glad you chose the path you did ~ Be glad that you now see
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 6:02 PM UTC
You know that I am
the needed release,
the paramount sanction.
I come after
the denial of yourself.
I cause your desire for
physical, psychical, spiritual
liberation.
I alone can create you anew
by reversing the ***********
back into your core -
Forcing the nakedness and cleanliness
of holistic wedlock -
of merged bodies and souls -
of the intensity that
splits and destroys the ego.
Here in these arms and ***** -
Here in these fluids and caresses -
the holy mystery
will lovingly envelope you.
My sacred sexuality
will anoint you king.
- fr
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 7:45 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
The coming of Trump
Like the coming of Jesus
Is hailed by the masses
He knows how to please us
Or maybe it’s that
He just knows how to tease us
Cuz he’s clearly not Christ
Nor is he close to Jesus
The coming of Trump
Like Jesus went through Galilee
All that’s missing
Are the palm fronds ya see
But Jesus rode an ***
Trump rides an airplane
And so you’d have to say alas
The two just aren’t the same
The coming of Trump
With all the adulation
As if his words alone
Could really save the nation
And those who are prone
To not have any patience
You find at every stop
Wishing him their salutations
The coming of Trump
Like Jesus’ Sermon On-The- Mount
Talks about bringing
Many things into account
He’s gonna build a fence
At a huge discount
The Mexicans will pay for it
Which for him is paramount
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 4:50 AM UTC
What's weird?
I don't understand the concept
I thought it was paramount to be yourself
I thought it would be normal to be your own creature
Even if doing that didn't necessarily equate to obtaining massive wealth
Please explain to me what being weird is?
I thought being an individual person was how we stopped being cookie cutter humans like we were put together on an assembly line
It's fine that we are different and split apart
So what's weird about that?
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
She caught on to algebraic notation, as if,
she'd been born in the 64 square matrix,
whose precise logic spoke her mother tongue
They discussed, at length, the fianchetto formation ...
... how the defensive fortress of the castled King
was akin to the monarch's personal Masada
... how the power of the doubled Rooks and Queen
in the latent lance of Alekhine's Engine
gored the other position in thermodynamic dissipation
When he pointed out the cloaked irony of
Queen being strongest, but King paramount,
she shrugged, as if it were to be expected
Shaking hands, agreeing to the draw,
she smiled, joy precipitating from her face,
knowing there could be a world without losers
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC
red blue
reptiles reptiles
white russian ****** mary
puritan pride puritan pride
freemason freemason
where the good, old days at? where the odd. good days at?
conspiracy conspiracy
deep fake deep fake
trump has a wooden leg biden has a wooden leg
aliens aliens
wars wars
china china
abortion abortion
manifest destiny manifest destiny
lobbyists lobbyists
fox nbc
sovereign citizen version
hey!
get the hell out of america!
your title makes no sense
if you're a citizen of the world, then move to that world
who do you think you are? God or something?
(as it appears on https://www.merriam-webster(no lie)
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sov·er·eign | \ ˈsä-v(ə-)rən
, -vərn also ˈsə- \
variants: or less commonly sovran
Definition of sovereign
(Entry 1 of 2)
1a : one possessing or held to possess supreme political power or sovereignty
b : one that exercises supreme authority within a limited sphere
c : an acknowledged leader : arbiter
2 : any of various gold coins of the United Kingdom
sovereign adjective
sov·er·eign | \ ˈsä-v(ə-)rən
, -vərn also ˈsə- \
variants: or less commonly sovran
Definition of sovereign (Entry 2 of 2)
1a : superlative in quality
b : of the most exalted kind : supreme sovereign virtue
c : having generalized curative powers a sovereign remedy
d : of an unqualified nature : unmitigated sovereign contempt
e : having undisputed ascendancy : paramount
2a : possessed of supreme power a sovereign ruler
b : unlimited in extent : absolute
c : enjoying autonomy : independent sovereign states
3 : relating to, characteristic of, or befitting a supreme ruler : royal a sovereign right
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 12:08 AM UTC
There is this idea, this feeling you say:
A revelation of profound compassion
Riddled with crippling paramount tribulation
Dribbling with drops of pontification.
Thoughtfully and yet aimlessly kicking
Unctuously vacuous presumptions. Promising,
Eventually, to unveil brick by brick
This facade someday and assure me
The imprisoning edifice, with which you keep
Under lock and key, will be effaced
And naked, soon, someday in front of me.
Yet, here another day passes.
From curbside to manhole, up sidewalks and across gravel grit.
Then a squib toward onlookers window shopping
Glaring down at me as both they and you listen
To my dissonant and hollow caterwaul.
CLING, CLANG, BANG! Look at me I'm just a can!
Crumpled and malleable, a thin sheet of five cent aluminum;
Recyclable, reusable, just a means to a mans end.
Ah! But I am not what you think I am:
Within, a bountiful boisterous bloom, unravels
The arid breath of lies and procrastination you exhume.
Your insipid words fall vapidly in my mind like corroded rust
Gently drifting onto a lapping lake.
They are an erroneous ear infection boring my wits
And dulling my thoughts, a waste of time.
All of it bottled, canned, and manufactured
From within your ******** emporium.
Keep your bricks and mortar, think they retain your unctuous pride
While this time, for once, I kick the can curbside.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
He; inexhaustible yet exhausting,
Ruthlessly efficient yet demanding,
Hard working yet withholding,
Barbed
Yet deemed necessary.
Protecting that which
Long ago was made sacred;
The heart, the hearth, the home,
None may touch that hallowed ground.
Defence was needed
Safety paramount
And then...
The years passed...
This ninja warrior endured
Defended
Sliced, hacked, diverted, whirled in endless pirouettes
Of engaged battles
Of mesmerising movement
Of unrelenting actions
Of no consequence
For the mighty goal of protecting
That
Which
Was now all but forgotten.
So effective was his defence
Of the thing called 'home'
That it was hidden from all view
Forgotten
Beneath his whirling dexterity of projects and activities.
The years passed...
And there was no home.
Never did the warrior stop to question his task
That old old command.
He simply obeyed
As a warrior should
And continue
Until his death
To protect the property of his master
The result
a hollow, busy, lonely life,
Punctuated by exhaustion
And the question....
"What's missing? "
But so complete was his defense
So skillful his guard
That none saw what lay beneath.
Too mesmerised by his motions to see that
He was but a distraction
A diversion
From the question which would strike such fear into his masters heart
"What will happen if I stop?"
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
I long for the animal you hide
Won't you come out to play?
You won't know unless you've tried
This space is safe, promise it's okay
I am going to leave my mark
One way or another
Raw untamed fervid spark
It is you I am going to smother
Let the voracious hunger mount
Escalating each minute
Primal breathlessness paramount
You are your own limit
I'm not going to make love to you
I utter rather sweetly
Neither am I going to **** you
But own you...... completely
I want to tear you apart
Don't make any sudden moves
Pulsating beat of your heart
Every inch of me approves
I want to forget my own name
While I'm busy moaning yours
I promise to start quite tame
Until you are out of your drawers
My body I do herby bestow
Let me show you how
I whisper in your ear and let you know
The time is Now
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
Each morning I lie in bed and anticipate your arrival, my awakening, our escape
To the fair ground lights outside the city, and I dream that as we peak on the Ferris wheel,
And, with stars as our witness at this paramount moment, all of Texas comes into view.
Autumnal air ruffles your hair, and I'm reaching for you like always with little gestures:
My smiles, your smirks, my laughs, and our quirks. Mingling at the summit,
A hand brushes slowly along a knee with the smooth reintroduction to an old friend.
Long fingers fumble with need, and it's just you and me distancing ourselves
From our every day studies in distraction, comforted in our mutual procrastination.
With you I catch up on my anatomy and you excitedly review me in structures and railways.
On a train homeward bound, the heat of blood rising in your cheeks and lips
Sends an electric surge to my head and heart, and nerves tingle from anticipating home.
Under your tutelage, I soon appreciate the bridge of a nose finally unstressed by glasses,
The dynamic arches of a worn out back, and the strength of pillars erected in urgency
'Til daylight exposes last night's mysteries, and we rest in our ecstasy perspired,
Both of us finally relinquished from the weight of anticipation for this weekend to arrive.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
Bellicose angels chanter,"Never
Was and never more," upon
The totian breeze with clarity of peace;
A peregrine requitement of
Effulgent obsequies, tempered
With melancholy tortuously
Fetching lost codices whilst
Careening stars-of-Bethlehem
Nonchalantly whithersoever,
A parable of presence
A dirge paramount; perdurable
To the transcription of the
Orderliness Of Orcus'- unabridged,
The final heavenly sonnet.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC
I was pulling up in the car park at the Immigration Removal Centre
When I realised that I'd completely f 'ed up
Having remembered:
- portable recording studio
- condensor microphones x 2 (one of them doesn't work, dunno which one, they look the same)
- dynamic microphone (sometimes works)
- XLR cables x 2 (in a tangled mess)
- Jack cables x 2 (joining the party)
- headphones
- headphone splitter (a remedy for people who are always on their phone?!)
- big-to-little adapters
- kettle lead (so named because it dates back from when the kettle was king)
- guitar
- and two folders of important bits of paper (well, at least some of it might be important)
I suddenly realised that I'd forgotten the only genuinely essential thing.
My passport.
You can't get in without your passport.
That's the rule and the rules don't bend.
Security is paramount.
I find my colleague, Lucky, sitting in his car.
Lucky: "Kev, you aren't gonna believe this but..."
He didn't need to say anymore.
I knew that he had done the same thing.
Lucky and I were in the same *** of s***.
But for some reason they made an exception.
We were lucky.
It must had rubbed off.
(true story)
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 1:53 PM UTC
What if you discovered that the puppet master was just a tangle of other puppets...
Interconnectedness is paramount to who we are, to life itself
To get loose is not to get free -- to get free is to love the strings you keep
Aug 3, 2021
Aug 3, 2021 at 9:03 PM UTC
I am not disposable.
That's a fact, it's non-negotiable.
A fact, which right now you smirk at-
but I am not a servant, and
you're certainly not an aristocrat.
I am not expendable.
I wish proper etiquette was injectable,
because that's a vaccine you desperately need.
Caring and truly caring-
you need to learn the difference between those two things.
I am not nonessential.
You think you know me inside and out,
but you don't have the right credentials.
I try to understand your motives,
but your thoughts are cryptic and confidential.
I am not unnecessary.
You make yourself into two faces-
the object of all my affection, and my greatest adversary.
This situation is just a coal mine-
your treating me like I am these things is the canary.
These things are what I am not.
I should be paramount in your life.
Through your own actions you've proven these are all I am to you,
You've unsheathed a backstabbing knife.
I am here to stay.
Though you've nonchalantly tried to toss me away,
you will learn someday,
that I am not disposable.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 8:47 PM UTC
A blasphemous ******** as the dwelling beast salivates in its hollow. The glaring screen in the darkness is its only light. Years upon years it has followed the same sick fantasies. Self loathing and sickening it has reached the paramount of the low. Trawling the deep dark corners of the web to find his fix. Like a ****** addict it has delusions of needing his fraudulent fetish. A tiny drop of drewl collides with the derelict ground. It flows onto the pile of stale hardened tissues used to dispose of the beasts ****** off spray. A trundle to the local park to put a spring in its step. Watching the adolescents thinking corrupt thoughts. Child bearers stab the beast with scared stares of disgust. Attention is being drawn towards the hairy obese miscreant. Ripped shorts to expose the genitalia of the malevolent monster. A father approaches, intentions of confrontation are obvious. The monstrous **** runs to the road, unaware of the approaching speeding bus. It is drawn under the wheel crushed with the weight. Blood spurts in every direction, like a hot needle to a balloon full of acid. Slowly he dies in agony and suffering. The evil **** got his penance. ***** for eternity in the dark depths of hell.
The devil reserves the darkest places for the darkest men. His penance came, as will yours.
By Joseph Burns
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
He is a man in fact , a factual man in fact
But in fact more than man, and more natural
He is a predator, sometimes ****** endeavourer
Jumping as a feather stead upon my weathered bed
Lead at the head but it's heavier
A best of a beast, in his chest at least
A lion's heart beats, and with mine at his feet
He is deadlier
Mane across his back, mainly manly, manly knack
And a pride to admire any crazy track
Mired by those paws or clawed back
Lion's share of the hair and a siren's glare
Its enough to ensnare any to come back
To lie in the den and unpack
A purr that can stir dwelling spell in gazelles
A roar that could ensure his reign is obtained on every plain
If called for
His face is made heeding, and bleeding the sun
His legs win a race never needed to be run
Already won
Prowl and it's done
If he who rides the tiger finds it difficult to dismount
Than he who rides the lion will feel him sure surmount
No doubt, for nobility is paramount
Alpha is better beyond count, couched in whim
And he reigns as King of the jungle I grew for him
King of all that's funnelled through to him
King of all that humbles me and truly sings
And so
Clearly success best rests in
Being a lioness, not left guessing lionless
A carnivorous, blitherous, tyrant's guest
In fact I am a woman, a natural woman in fact
And factually I am a woman intact
Yet in fact a woman distracted on a lion obsessed tract
Where a leonine mess is lacked
And a lion-like chests interact
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
Life is a sacred journey.
No two are the same.
Respect for divergence
is paramount
to a holistic experience.
Life
is not about
status-quo
or
expectations,
t'is simply what's made thereof
Lyphe
is a sacred opportunity
not to be taken lightly
Our Bodies
are our umbilical vessels
which tether us
as mortals
to "Reality,"
which, in itself,
seems to me to be
a reduction of potentials
from chance
to actuality
such ephemeral eternety;
infinite limitations;
actualized potentials;
possible paths-
these are but some of
the koan-like attributes
which lead me to use
the rather ambiguous
and ambitious
term "sacred."
Truly,
it becomes
whatthefucksoever
One may well will
to create thereof.
Action is Manifestation,
yet Thought begets Action.
Therein lies the sacred gift of Life.
'T'is all too oft taken for granted.
Every living being
(i am convinced)
has an equally vivid depth of experience
and I find it more than somewhat offensive
that humans (with a lowercase H)
feel they are the penultimate organism.
All is One
in that existence, itself,
tethers us all
to everything
and probably even beyond,
and so
to be so
hubristic and arrogant
as to assume a hierarchy
so convieñantly crested by mere
**** Sapiens Sapiens*
seems to me to be
an anthrocentric and narcissistic projection
of that meddlesome ages-old archetype
of the "Ego,"
that is to say "God,"
whatthefuckever that means!
Find it in thyself
to be humble enough
to accept that each and every iota of "Creation"
is, by virtue of association, equally sacred; divine.
Heirarchy, thus, seems to be a manifestation of some desire for order; control; a yearning to alleviate some hypothetical insecurity as a result of being essentially "absolute, infinite" (vis-a-vis the domain of Consciousness) yet contained within a vessel that is mortal, and, thus, ephimeral.
The Ego doth so loathe it's own limitations:
too bad it's far too arrogant to realize that most of the limitations it experiences are illusions, allusions;
charades of an insatiable Consciousness
Hell-bent on experiencing something
it won't redily allow itself to experience!
What a Holy fuckton of
incredulous, ineffable, impalpable, inspirational **** that would be, eh?! (insert interrobang)
I am me (I think...)
as thou art thee;
so why can't that just be good enough?
Could it be?
What obstruction precludes such harmonious divergence?
I reckon 't'is but us;
and very little else, indeed!
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:37 AM UTC
A man, passing a certain point
on a certain sidewalk,
looks back,
reflects upon his being
and is beset by memories.
The sweet fragrance of her perfume;
Her hair, like silken scarves.
The touch of her body with skin so soft.
All taken away but a lifetime too soon.
And a promise to never love again…
He tries to forget what he has remembered
but the floodgates open wide,
pouring out into a paramount vision
of his life without living.
He sees her in the clouds
(They form her silhouette)
He hears her voice in the night
(The wind carries her song)
He feels her in his very soul
(Yearning to break free)
Tears flow, his vision is obscured by hazy clouds.
He sees her in the gloom ahead.
Is it her? He can’t tell.
She turns around, face full in front
of his tear blurred sight.
No, it isn’t her
but she is there.
It happened so fast, he doesn’t believe.
He wouldn’t let go he steadfast truth
that love cannot live
after pain, suffering and grief
have left signs of passing.
But not now.
Inside his heart a feeling begins to break
the chains of self-pity
imprisoning him for so long.
They are wrenched apart,
torn,
broken,
and bleeding.
The promise breaks free from it’s cold,
dark prison and flies away,
blown on the breeze to fall
unnoticed to the street.
And this man takes her hand in his.
He had found his love again; he would never let it go.
“Do you love?” she whispered,
and whirling around, whisked him into
the still, cold night;
laughing, then falling silent.
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 11:02 PM UTC
recently in a women's magazine
I read an article
about the Duchess of Cornwall
being most ungracious
toward Princess Mary of Denmark
*the Duchess can be a very catty *****
especially when Charles
is eyeing something of more appeal
but Camilla seems to have forgotten
her come hither days
when she was conducting
an affair with the Prince of Wales
under his wife's nose
the protocols in royal circles
have become less civil
and it is about time
she on her high horse
was more convivial
where the crown
and matters of state
are paramount
the Queen should avail
her son's missus
of a polite dismount
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
aromatic coffee awakens senses
midst the gestured warmth of radiant
smiles's 'tween morning brew,
reverently paused to catch
the awe inspiring poignancy
of sunrise's exhilaration,
whilst cozily wrapped in the delightful unfurl
of captivating poetry's skillful delectation
a rising ritual begun many blue moons afore,
tempting consciousness, feeding soulfulness
enlightening sensibilities as it
enriches the day's appreciation
'pon the keen awareness of poets,
tempests from all niches of the world
coming together amid upheavals and serenity,
ceremoniously dubbed fierce confirmations
of words expressly borne, communing the
artfully spirited of resourceful artisans,
procuring special collective bonds that
only poesy can wholly dictate,
they look upon us as enigmas
rather strange breed of puzzling characters,
as this inexplicable endeavor
escapes their stifled perceptions
of conduit's musing reasonable facsimile,
we're merely cognitive passages for
experiences on common ground
in realizations of all-too-human foibles
eccentricities, yearnings and fortitude,
released deliverance of potpourri
serving up inky joy beyond expression,
intention's distinction deciphering
reflections in meditative affirmations,
breadth of unrestrained beholden visions
conjured notions of paramount significance
wherein lies evidence of life's burnt offerings,
beginnings and endings of hearts' indulgences
wept in resolute celebrations of existence
as only a poet could discernibly translate
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
It’s Tuesday morning. I’d thought, until Leeza corrected me, that Thanksgiving was today.
“Thanksgiving always falls on Thursday, dorkus,” Leeza said Sunday, at breakfast (extirpating my hopes). “Besides, notice we haven’t been cooking?” She added.
“Good point.” I chuckled disappointedly.
Later, Lisa, Leeza and I had just got back from the pool where we saw John Krasinski and Emily Blunt. Leeza told me that Paramount studios has a condo, somewhere - on the 29th floor - where celebs stay (When you don’t know where something is, it’s on the mysterious 29th floor). Peter missed it. He didn’t join us because it’s a saltwater pool and it stings his warm but delicate, deep brown eyes.
I wondered what Peter was doing - push-ups on the balcony or something probably. Who knew he exercised so much? There’s a whole state-of-the-art gym but he likes exercising outdoors. I checked and yeah, there he was, on the balcony in the 46° wind, doing curls or something with elastic bands.
I sipped on some of Karen’s (Lisa & Leeza’s mom) nummy cinnamon-apple-cider and watched him for a few delicious minutes. Peter really is kind of fire, I decided. Then I popped my head out, “Come shower, Lisa wants to go out,” I announced. He just nodded and began packing up. I ran for my room to shower first (we share a shower).
Nov 22, 2022
Nov 22, 2022 at 2:48 PM UTC