uphill climb,
rigorously relentless
with ambling ambitions
and schematic stratagem,
blueprinted blatantly
on the blank
parchment of marooned mind,
sketched skillfully
with chameleon color shift,
transiently transfixed.
gripping gravity
of transcendental time
of the loaded past
pulls back incessantly
the strings of present,
fastening in retrospect
the incoherent network
of faltering footsteps
at the refurbished root
of existential essence.
intent inertia
of living force
creates proactive
causal momentum
of tumultuous time configured,
permeates the perception
of the fourth dimension.
construed continuum
of elusive eternity
strives to unveil ineffectually
the shrouded acuity
at the summit of actuality,
emotionally evasive,
abortive climb connotes
futile foray
to somewhere intangible.
Limited by our senses
Limited by smells, sight, sound
Limited by tastes and touch
Yet somehow
We sense there are mysteries ...
beyond them
A sixth sense
Embedded in our brains
The Pituitary gland
A doorway to the imagination
Where there’s a revolving door of neurons
All juiced up on Angelic power
A gateway of ganglia
Blueprinted from ages of DNA evolution
All up in our business with revelations
A continuous reconstruction zone
Especially created to regulate growth
Both literally and spiritually
The philosophical phlegm
That secretes like God goo
Inside of me
Inside of you
Inside all of us
ew
The uphill climb,
rigorously relentless
with ambling ambitions
and schematic stratagem,
blueprinted blatantly
on the blank
parchment of mind,
sketched skillfully
with chameleon color shift,
transiently transfixed.
The gripping gravity
of transcendental time
of the loaded past
pulls back incessantly
the present instants,
fastens in retrospect
the incoherent network
of faltering footsteps
at the refurbished root
of existential essence.
The intent inertia
of living force
creates proactive
causal momentum
of tumultuous time,
permeates the perception
of the fourth dimension.
The construed continuum
of elusive eternity,
strives to unveil ineffectually
the shrouded acuity
at the summit of actuation,
emotionally evasive.
The climb connotes
a futile foray
to nowhere.
Stackable living
hackable lives
On top of each other
like bees in a hive
Inside a box
hard corners to know
A neighbor above
a neighbor below
Stackable moments
fractional lies
The walls serve two masters
invasion implied
All differences measured
in bedrooms and floors
A blueprinted nightmare
its maze underscored
Stackable meaning
the truth wearing thin
Its elevator stuck
stairs covered in sin
The higher you climb
the farther you fall
Stackable living
—the death of us all
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/my-destiny
Right throughout the age
I have written every page
Knitted in your mother’s womb
On this earth I shall make room
From the start when time began
I blueprinted every plan
The salt of all the Earth
Rich in value and in worth
Whether near or whether far
Worthy masterpiece you are
When others pass you by
You’re the apple of my eye
When placed in any doubt
I shall not leave you without
In a dry and barren land
When you aim to understand
So beloved, precious gem
Touch my garment at the hem
Even when misunderstood
You partake in the priesthood
When you feel you don’t belong
Rise and sing a new song
In the storm beyond the shore
Whether rich or whether poor
With seeming endless miles
Through the test and through the trials
I am with you to the end
Trust in me, you can depend
Place your very faith in me
For you are my destiny
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
War
Drawn out from Factories
in Assembly line
as always seen
spanning
all kind and all time
horizons
War
Blueprinted consistently
to win an idea or a space
or anything our fancy
War
Somebody has a right
and the supremacy
to feel bored
why should everybody
feel we are all right
we are intact
Intermission – get on line,
Which mostly seems to crawl,
Just to have the pleasure of
Two minutes in the stall.
Do your business, wash your hands
And climb two flights of stairs,
Then squeeze past people who won’t move
And fix you with their glares.
Broadway shows are special treats
But will be better when
The aisles and women’s restrooms
Aren’t blueprinted by men!
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