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Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance like the others. You earn pretty medallions gallantly while other players buy, sell and trade at market to get ahead without moving an inch. Slow burn…hey? You’d rather keep your dignity, or try to figure out their game. That’s where you really get lost. Game full of misdirects leads right back to start over and over. You could have stayed on your quest. Now, you have this.

Redacted, censored, gaslighted…must be doing something right, my old boss would say. I’m not a sociopath, he tells himself. Equal parts, then? Mom should have had me tested. Because, life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit ugly.Tap on them. It’s part of the quest…see where I’ve been; see who I am:


         
                   
                                       
                   
                   
        
         


Right. I redact myself. The beautiful mess you made. Who are you?
If I’ve been denied the right of knowledge, I’ve earned the right to judge.
         |
Without knowledge, who’s to judge?
         |
No gavel; no voice.

"...politely reedy but ambitiously eclectic—moving effortlessly from hen-picking and bottleneck slides to a full deck of chucka-chucka rhythm figures."

I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost

         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle.

*Neurodivergent poet.
*Don’t judge/hate. I love.
*Honesty without mincing words.
*Dump your prejudice outside my door. Hope you leave it on the way out.
*Nothing to fear but people who surround themselves with rules, can’t be touched.
*Real dialogue accepted.

My words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The true experience/acknowledgment of my writing yet to come...long after I’ve left WDC, am dead, or both.

Truly been a blessing, but I've been pushing it — envelope, push world and all inhabitants away, push buttons to find boundaries, having no clue or told where they lie, where I've lived in your dark. Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me the way I need to be viewed. (if I knew what that was. Cryptic, I know. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid the strange, virtual walls that tempt me to try).
*The parenthetical lawyer up?



Foot free, I’m all over the place.
 
"Note: Poetry: life’s little interruptions amassing int..."
 

Best Poetry Collection 2X, nominated three years. What does it mean? I was enjoying myself, head bagged. A happy idiot. Something messed with that. I won’t be a coward; not starting feuds or wars over ideals and beliefs. We all know that’s a pile of crap packaged with dreams of pretty things to sell the next boob that walks by. *Clown*

Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. But, I get it. You're sick of me. It's how I feel about myself when I dig deeper, push boundaries. Don’t care my words that aim for honesty, either brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit a target. Get a back off shoulder shot for asking your motivations to write…won’t get me to bend over backwards to appease, again.

There’s no prize to eye, not properly incentivized. So, does it mean when dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got? Yeah, rigged. Yeah, other tables — other ‘games’. But, something in my gut I’ll never be rid.



My Pluggers:
You are an icon here.*BigSmile*
You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue}*Heart*


It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋"
Your poetic muse is on fire! *Fire* Some great emotion, well-balance(d), lovely lyrical qualities -- even the ones that were written out of sadness or anger came through in a clever cadence…It's obvious you've put a lot of work into each entry and the totality of the blog has eye appeal. *Cool*

 
Published four times with one a literary journal, including… *PointRight*   "The Tender Core (Sedona)
I don’t submit because it’s too much work. Truly alone, know no one cares to show they believe/support me. Lip service feeds delusion. I’ve seen a lot of smoldering and snow. Try not be cynical, work hard at openness and consideration — work, sooo…gut thing.

*Toilet* *RibbonW* Merit Badge in Taboo Words
[Click For More Info]

Brian,

Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659]. 

I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*

Rachel Merit Badge in Poetry
[Click For More Info]

    Thanks you for supporting the  [Link To Item #power]  with an order to the  [Link To Item #powergifts] ! We appreciate it. *^*Heartv*^* Keep writing the beautiful poetry. [Link to Book Entry #1027659] is an awesome poem! *^*Starv*^* ~Lornda

 
Love my process constructing and sharing visions in words collected (no small task considering personal and physical limitations, see below).


August 28, 2006 this blog opened

BOOK
SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days  (18+)
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#1300042 by He’s Brian K Compton 18 year


No specific aim going forward (2014)

 
What I used to say: 'Maybe, I just don't get it. Watch me fumble with my version of reality, expose ignorance as truth. You don't have to get me, either. But, wish someone would explain me to myself.' Now I say: *Cool* *FacePalm* Now: I was such a whore.
 


*Laugh*This is old….
What? Oh, this? A rhetorical, self-motivational speech I'm working on.
Don't just read the parts to construct your theory, as if to confirm (construed out of context) your opinion, mentally-stunted Neanderthal. Therapist wants me to be less negative toward myself. I see it as attacking, rather than being defensive. Fear I will chomp too many bullets unintentionally sent toward the unsuspecting.
If you can be triggered for stupid reasons, then I?
…just looked like me rolling around on the floor with myself.*RollEyes*
             



What Was NEW

Who am I, you ask? My mirror knows that question, repeated daily.

Just trying to create a little buzz, not boost my ego.

#amwriting #poetry #blog #contest #freeverse #award #bestpoetry #freyaridings #lyrics #music #video #YouTube

Can you believe it took this long for someone to put a quarter in me and push the button GET ANGRY?
 

Mud 4 My Eye: Is that you, Poo? 💩 Secret Back Door

The Best Poetry Collection on Writing.Com
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November 11, 2023 at 12:20pm
November 11, 2023 at 12:20pm
#1059311
I’ve considered you all
So much
I forgot about me

And yet
Thank you for the distraction
Never far
From my next birth…rebirth

Received?
Amniotic waves flow away
From me

Once fertile feelings of love
Are naught
My love not to be bought
I hide

Walls of resistance crushing
Fall in
Explode a beautiful sea into

A void
Harmless blue blood washes brown
Back out
Black into light obliterated

I am
Alright in sanctity tonight
Until morn
We wait to see a sparkling babe

Born…again.
What a waste lost, to revision.



11.11.23

This…I’ve done for all and any, and yet…
still learning…and who I am?
Not to be defined by another, anymore
That’s why the reviewlution…for now…

Cleansed into one-ness.

Careful, lest stars get in your eyes.

November 11, 2023 at 9:50am
November 11, 2023 at 9:50am
#1059304


Yeah, you don’t know me.

What’s that on yo neck?

Unrelated

How many corners of Earth you tryin’ to own?
How many more have I been in
tryin’ to whiff an essence?

You? You think I chase.
You ain’t got the cash I need.
You can’t own those mountains, that sea, the sky.
You can climb, swim but never fly,
yet you try…
buy it all, hoping I buy
something you can’t conceive,
something I ain’t sellin’. ‘Cause,

the more I buy,
the more I’m bought.
The more I’m bought,
the less I’m worth.

And you can’t have those words that I just stole.
They ain’t my birth.

11.11.23

Trousers back on

If you ain’t feelin’ me, ain’t been tryin’.
Maybe, you read wid dem roses on.
Roses ain’t green.
You ain’t foolin’ me;
but someone, right?
I hope they pay you good.

Me, I’m jus’ tryin’ ta be.
Now…my dick?
Yeah, now it feel good.
And sorry, it’s jus’ for me.

No need a Buffalo Stance…


I’ll try another approach another day. I know you don’t ‘respond’ SVP.

p.s.
My poor mom…’where do all those words come from?’

She SHOULD have had me tested, instead of calling me ‘different’, her ‘dumb bunny’.

You know, a dumb bunny is sick in the head…soon dead from madness.
I’m no March hare, mad hatter.
She could never see what was the matter?

Me neither,
until EVERYONE told me otherwise.
Then, skinned or marshaled me to some island
where echoes of childhood float
above black plumes and below these lava boots.

I’ve stomped each bitch, one by one,
until in my Lost, saw just illusion,
someone’s delusion, as others employed
guilt and shame from that long ago
Time Machine I refuse to board.

You get in.
Bet you won’t know the date I’ll set it.



Edited versh. I wudn’t do you like dat.
Pilin’ FBoys like logs fer fire. 🔥 burn.
November 7, 2023 at 8:33pm
November 7, 2023 at 8:33pm
#1059102


I’ve Strayed/When You Tire

Don’t know what normal is
         in your world
duplicated
tried
but it’s all a lie
         and you hate me
         for my charade
         wanting to belong
when we like the same song
         but I just go on

deep in the night

fighting for some right

I’m deep in this fog
         in a forest four counties long
further from you
so my voice is no good
though I sing to someone
         just like me
         each day, each night
why they fright to extend a hand
         I do not know
but if found, I’ll hold on
         make sure we’re never cold
or alone

maybe, I’ve strayed so far from you
because we walk
in opposite directions
beneath one moon, one sun,
         one song eternal —
that I wrote all the words wrong
         rearranged, so you’d know
there’s something about me
that you won’t see
         undiscovered
in every dawn you yawn
yet, we hum away
to that very same song

I’ve noticed
I’ve strayed from you
         accept what lonely is
         accept that forests and nights
guided by one moon
         I won’t fright
and when the sun comes
I’ll help someone else be strong
         help write the lyrics wrong

I’ve strayed from your normal
yet, between us
who’s the one that fears? when the dawn?
When you tire of that song?


11.7.23
51 lines, hardly epic

I might have written to a different song that invaded my head
long after this video died down.


Speak right into the clown’s head. Maybe, they‘ll get the order right.
Choke on dry chicken without Sprite but seltzer to wash down this life.

I’m pretty sure the song in my head was “I’m bad news”. Did I blog that yet?

November 4, 2023 at 11:25pm
November 4, 2023 at 11:25pm
#1058921


You know
this is
just another pawn I’ve played
Even no response
reveals each position —
the incipient
voids.

Tried to teach you
errors in your ways
… Silence …
absence of sound
proven to be heard.

I place another beat down
felt a heart echo pleasant sadness
that you
can no longer come around

All you deploy takes effort
to lack
All I lay on the board
emulated strategy

I don’t care if you move toward
or away —
you decide where the Queen is at
and who is pawn today

Does an absent heart regret,
lay down
or stay, move, play?
Disinterest instills foreplay
of red and black game

In my infinite space
nothingness travels
Air molecules fill
an inner ear
Another heart unraveled today…


11.4.23

I’m always thinking, but not acting, six moves at a time, producing six new avenues each…computation that takes time.
I learn to rest one hemisphere at a time, so there’s no lag.

https://www.thenationalnews.com/world/2023/07/10/absence-of-sound-scientists-fin...

Tag!

Somber is one of my happiest moods.

I’ll look at this someday and wonder…

I’m not not listening.
November 3, 2023 at 9:38am
November 3, 2023 at 9:38am
#1058804
I can assure you anything I do was preceded by some provocation when stripped the right to …


That went nowhere.

You don’t have to like me
Or pity
Know what…?
Just keep doing what you’re doing.
I’ll just
keep
doing…
this.

It’s artless
when it gets to this

Some-thing…
robs
mind
soul
unity within
unity without
starved

Drops the knife

Not the write tool.

Right?
November 1, 2023 at 8:55pm
November 1, 2023 at 8:55pm
#1058503
Wing-clipped (Without Context)

Here’s to:
all the energy, vitriol, indifference, sanction,
silent demonstration that fills your lungs
like the black balloon, weight
one small bird inhales, exhausts
with its cryptic coos...


Shall I never write poetry again?

Wing-clipped & burdened
under a white cape. Buzzing
shears the head of hope
I’ll ever be beautiful again.

Winter death
dreams not of eternal Spring,
silenced, sputtering,
inhaling morbid dust.

Mourning nests in eaves,
stiff pine, bushes with dandruff.
Within, all aspiration chases them
through wild Summer grasses past

to get to this Fall, to fall and fall,
fall, fall…with no arms to receive — me —
fleeting, particulate white, scattered,
slowly painting my green home

going down under brown.




10.29.23
11.1.23 edits to make connection to me, though not original intent

Bookmark a life this late, risk
sleep without knowing
if I’ll wake to realize
the chased happy ending?

I’m saying, I’ll die without truly immersing in this life I’ve wasted.

Also, as ash, like white, I become snow.


Babble-add…
Thought for story:

a piece of ash of an incinerated body becomes a magical element when collected by a child who likely has a shard of a human-alien bone. Disembodied, it becomes a voice in his room, mis-associated with a ghost, that helps him cope with life, find purpose, hope, how to deal. It helps solve difficult problems.
I’d place that particle in some kind of school experimental like a particle accelerator. When not charged, it’s silent…until it’s truth revealed.
I’d mark it dark, real but with hope for the future, to teach people how to treat one another with respect, and pay attention to what’s really important…love, community, unity, compassion, caring, and impartiality…work on.
October 31, 2023 at 8:20pm
October 31, 2023 at 8:20pm
#1058388
Criminal Thoughts

Why write poetry?
because I’m a criminal who took your thoughts,
ran deep into the night,
blind like a fool worrying, wondering
if I’ll get caught returning them
better than before.

If caught, I’ll have 29 beautiful lies.
Regardless, I’m prosecuted.
Yet, time served
dreaming you alive in my world.

It is the act of imagining what you think of me
that drove me to steal away
to shaded park benches,
hidden, ancient library stairwells,
to the sea that heaves dead scrolls at me,

or in my childhood tree, an oak
(sorry, just a maple),
to find you there,
a soul like me longing for a friend.

We run carefree,
fast as wind,
quick hounds on monarches’ tails —
snatch at slimy frogs,
standing, rolling, on mossy logs,
feet bare, fearless.

And, when I have one!
the lights come on and you’re not there.

I slip green reptiles and dead butterflies in your trousers
hung over the ready chair.

My stealth could seem your enemy if spied
in your room
where I steal your sheep each night.
My heart affrights,
runs ahead out the portal,
down long neighborhood blocks,
ducks behind white hemlock
when headlights catch up,
veer around another corner,
steer off, and relief.

I’m free!
to be alone in my own story.

I skip the longest strides,
hop toward the bleary moon staring down.
Not a single star. Nothing in reach.

By three a.m., exhaust;
close the laptop.
Like jelly slide to sandwich in thin sheets
to conjure a story like memory.
Eyes tight, the dream I plead
please come true
is of me and you in June.

We hold hands.
Sorry, if mine are clammy.


10.31.23
53 lines

That’s how much I love, how I need a true friend.

Grammar check tomorrow
October 29, 2023 at 12:08pm
October 29, 2023 at 12:08pm
#1058246
I have a recliner I can’t eat in.
I have a bed I can’t eat in.
I have a bathtub I can’t eat in.
Because, I won’t clean.
Sorry for the mess.

It’s slothsome ignorance
not self-aggrandizing arrogance.
People who have met me should know me by now
without having to repeatedly explain myself.

I struggle to consider others inside my own struggle
to get outside of the storm that rages within,
close the door behind me,
to sit in my recliner,
to lay in my bed, or
soothe in the bathing bubbles.

Like a neon sign:
No snacks where you idle, nap or soak.
Not a buffet.
Starved for the littlest luxury.

Dirty, tired, bored.
Still, won’t go outside to play.


10.29.23

You hear me.
So, there’s that.

Don’t be so literal.
October 29, 2023 at 11:11am
October 29, 2023 at 11:11am
#1058243
Me, before every poem I post…nipple bracket left, font, colon, times, nipple bracket right, nipple bracket left, size, colon, four, nipple bracket right, paste, title entry, chose view setting, save, hope internet works, post. Do I share? Today? Coffee then write another, offline. Don’t want to lose precious words that never pay anything while collecting my self-worth. My flesh for a machine made of human flesh, deceitful, manipulative, incentivized black souls who feign friendship and sever, sever, sever…sounds a machine makes in its systemic purpose. Sorry I couldn’t stoop low enough to feed myself, but I did come up with this arrangement of words.

Here’s to all the energy, vitriol, indifference, sanction, demonstration, that fills your lungs like the black balloon, so you can feel the weight of one small bird.

Shall I never write poetry again?
Wing-clipped & and burdened
under a white cape. Buzzing
shears the head of hope
I’ll ever be beautiful again.
Winter death dreams not
of eternal Spring, silenced,
sputtering, inhaling morbid
dust, strapped in leather,
collecting all aspiration
of chasing them through
the wild grasses of Summers past
to get to Fall, get to fall,
fall, fall, fall…no arms
to receive fleeting, particled
white slowly painting
my green home going down.

Let this be
the last one.


10.29.23

Bookmark a life this late, risk
sleep without knowing
if I’ll wake to realize
the chased, happy ending?


I prefer silence AND stinging words. You-just-can’t-stare-at-me directly in the face with those tanks…at your ‘little man’, two arms weighted by shopping bags. Go ahead. What do I car-ry? It’s collapsible. If released, immeasurable.

What did you bring besides metal mud-packed, tread propelled by factory machines, sheathed projectiles that never deploy; silenced by rust, daisies in your turrets, gritty orange streaks have run down the flat green camouflage? Buffalo stance. There’s nothing inside, not even Oz.

Be Real?
It’s not rejection I mind, but the lack of a sense that I’m part of a community.

We decry government for bureaucracy, to self-audit; but the components that you rely on, that you build upon, can not feed you their flesh and bone without TRUE renewal.

I’ve tested your flawed systems, and…black smog. You should have inhaled some. Sorry. Cryptic. Isn’t that what poets do? How can you know what I mean, if I don’t come correct, if you are not a poet, too?

Another morning wasted in blog in this way, hiding the little gems, because what you want is my unquestioned fervor and a few bucks. I could spend so much more, but have learned how false some people really are, can’t get one sense as arrogant, indifferent, narcissistic and poorly incentivized bottom feeders, how really incorrect and lacking in morals each of you are. Poke.
Poke.
Poke.
Poke.
Bruise bitches.
Bruise in those domes.
So dumb.
So, so dumb.
You really don’t know what you are.
No faces. Smiles are emojis.
Poet pretenders with fake, fat community recognition.
No value, zero to me, when you show how you truly are, without having to resurrect S.G. propped up like a stuffed Stalin.
This ain’t no revolution, baby.

Bullshevik
October 29, 2023 at 10:20am
October 29, 2023 at 10:20am
#1058239
I’ve done this/these moments, in five different poems. Never all in one…

Winter Light
by Luke Johnson

Let’s say you watch your father
heave & sputter
& froth as air has left his lungs
leaving him still & small.
Let’s say despite
your sister’s call home
your wife’s call home
your children calling out for you
you’ve come to a bench
by a boarded-up gas station
to light a smoke
& stare across a shady brook
toward mountains placard in snow.
Let’s say a mother swallow slaps
a passing truck
& flips across the sleeted street
landing alone in the gutter.
That as she fights you scan her eyes
& for a moment
find yourself inside your father’s
childhood home
where winter light leans upon
a covered piano
powders an empty gun
then moves along the wooden floor
to fill a box of moths.
You place your lips upon
the swallow’s beak to blow.
Watch its pebbled plume bloat
like a black balloon.
& remember how you’d
run the grove without your shoes
to climb the leaning oak
& listen for the egrets’ wings
in search of fields with water.
It was simpler then. Fire.
Snow. Flood. Sky. Hours falling
like flowers. Your mother
in her lavender slip looking
for wild honey
& both your sisters’ parted mouths
longing for the rain.

https://barrenmagazine.com/winter-light/

I had to ask myself, outlining questions I had, before tackling this poem to realize what I had witnessed in Winter Light…

What has the poet done here setting scene to introduce memories and to speak to existentialism? Winter Light is a story, is a vignette with vignettes. What are these poetic devices that make this poem charming, and what does it say about the narrator and the repeated ‘let’s say’? What’s up with the ampersands?

In a critique, introduce by answering all questions with consideration of what’s been witnessed, and break this poem down for people to realize what can be realized, both from the speaker’s POV, but as poets, to consider before they approach and employ words to produce yet another poem.


What I came up with…

The poem "Winter Light" by Luke Johnson sets a scene that introduces memories and touches upon existentialism. It uses various poetic devices to create its charm. The poem is written in a narrative style, inviting readers to witness a moment in the speaker's life. It's important to analyze the poem's content and form to understand its depth and meaning.

The poem begins by asking the reader to imagine watching the speaker's father in a state of distress, emphasizing the helplessness and vulnerability of the human condition. The imagery of the father heaving and sputtering, with the air leaving his lungs, conveys a sense of mortality and the transient nature of life. This introduction immediately engages the reader's emotions and sets the tone for the poem.

The repetition of "Let's say" is a stylistic choice that adds an element of uncertainty and imagination to the narrative. It suggests that the events described may not be literal but are more like possibilities or reflections. This technique prompts readers to consider different interpretations of the events presented, enhancing the depth of the poem.

The use of ampersands (&) throughout the poem creates a sense of brevity and immediacy. It's a way of connecting ideas and images without fully spelling them out, giving the poem a more fragmented and contemplative quality. The ampersands serve as a way to link various moments and emotions in the poem, reinforcing the idea of memory and the interconnectedness of past and present experiences.

As for existentialism, the poem explores themes of existential reflection and the human search for meaning. The speaker's contemplation of the father's mortality, the swallow's fate, and childhood memories all contribute to an existential undercurrent. The idea of finding oneself "inside your father’s childhood home" suggests a connection between generations and the way memories and experiences are passed down.

In terms of poetic devices, the poem employs vivid imagery, metaphor, and symbolism. Winter light is used to symbolize both the harshness of reality and the beauty of memory. The image of the swallow morphing into a "black balloon" symbolizes transformation and loss. The memory of running barefoot through the grove and listening for the egrets' wings represents a simpler and more innocent past, contrasting with the complexities of the present.

In conclusion, "Winter Light" is a poignant and introspective poem that engages with themes of memory, mortality, and existential contemplation. Its use of repetition, imagery, and ampersands creates a distinctive and emotionally resonant narrative. The poem encourages readers to reflect on their own memories and the human experience. It's a reminder for poets to consider the power of ambiguity and imagination in their work, as well as the ability to convey deep emotions through concise and vivid language.


10.29.23

Four Walls (Context)

Here’s to all the energy, vitriol, indifference, sanction, demonstration that fills your lungs like the black balloon, so you can feel the weight of one small bird.

Shall I never write poetry again?
Wing-clipped & and burdened
under a white cape. Buzzing
shears the head of hope
I’ll ever be beautiful again.
Winter death dreams not
of eternal Spring, silenced,
sputtering, inhaling morbid
dust, strapped in leather,
collecting all aspiration
of chasing them through
the wild grasses of Summers past
to get to Fall, get to fall,
fall, fall, fall…no arms
to receive fleeting particle
white, slowly painting
my green home going down.

Let this be
the last one.


10.29.23

Bookmark a life this late, risk
sleep without knowing
if I’ll wake to realize
the chased happy ending?
October 25, 2023 at 7:41pm
October 25, 2023 at 7:41pm
#1058069
They see you shoving me around.
They also see me get up from the ground.
In front of the children?
Are you mad?

You have your therapist
to employ but it’s me
on your couch.
Concern so sweet and yet fake,
But doing their job.

Everything you bestowed
was supposed to be a gift?
With all the pearls a groundling
less than court jester.
I need not your wealth.

Lend me a hand
up from my seats.
Take pride in the fact
you cede one diamond
pressured by your ways,
changed rules in your playground.

But what price do you pay?
There is a healthy way
to deal with anger.
It’s not through shunning, hating,
gaslighting that is
the path to least resistance.
It’s not sugary words
so seldom delivered, too hard to swallow.

I feel they’ve worn themselves out.

*Squints* but can’t see you.
Are you real? How many ghosts
linger in these halls? And where
have the halos gone?

Yes,
I’ve got better things to do.
God says I need to help you
find the right way.
Get a bigger kid
it still ends the same.

Takes less energy
to show us that smile.
But, if you can’t, I worry
who’s the one really
picking themself up from the ground.

I’ll be around.


10.25.23

I get dirty, don’t like myself there.
When I have ‘real’ friends who don’t stab me like some Caesar,
I can be who I intend.
Hey Judas, why did you kiss?

I am the betrayed. Are you confused how this all began, continued to this day?

How are the Site Jabber Reviews coming? Decide 4.7 was enough?? Poor Google, Twitter and more, total revs easily surpassed by you. Yelp!
October 25, 2023 at 6:59pm
October 25, 2023 at 6:59pm
#1058065
October 24, 2023 at 4:04pm
October 24, 2023 at 4:04pm
#1058006
My oft repeated chorus (Soundgarden):

In your house, I long to be
Room by room, patiently
I'll wait for you there, like a stone
I'll wait for you there, alone


How does it get more impactful than this?
Rest in peace Chris Cornell.


Broken People

I don’t know your fallen angels.
I don’t know those who mourn.
I wish that I could commiserate
without feeling forlorn.

Broken people have wings.
Broken people can fly.
But, we drown in our sorrow.
We are afraid to even try.

We’re focused too much on pity.
We focus too much on the dead.
Why can’t people lend sympathy,
leaving emotional homeless unfed?

I envision your shadows.
I have lingered in your shade.
I don’t know why I am here and
why I am buried with your spade.

It’s through charity we find folks
who struggle just like us,
who are the same kind,
who need redemption and trust.

We can be here for the living
before they suffocate underground.
People can love people
with differences all around.

Lay down your weapons;
take off those bayonets.
Extend a tender hand because
I haven’t met you yet.



10.24.23
28 lines

We are all stones, either above or below; some shining brilliantly for show while the rest of us know we have worth, too. But it’s really not about that. Is it? Do we want to be on the surface? How much pressure can a diamond take? I’ll be in my bedrock until the earthquake.

*Dove*
October 23, 2023 at 2:22am
October 23, 2023 at 2:22am
#1057884
When I was (redacted) years old,
I had a favorite (redacted) who (redacted)
In an old (redacted)(redacted)(redacted)
I liked best. It wasn’t very long later,
I learned of (redacted). And I guess
I miss (redacted)and the times we
(Redacted)(redacted), and (redacted).

I know we are supposed to share
these very personal experiences with
(Redacted) people to earn a prize
for contest, because it helps us
open up and tell about (redacted),
or (redacted), but I realized
I really don’t know anyone,
not even (redacted) who I miss
and can confess is dead and
I had nothing to do with it
because I was just a (redacted).

I’ve revealed enough of my life.
It’s all right there for consumption.
I’ve tried not to consider that
(Redacted)(redacted)(redacted)
could be going on (redacted),
so I kept to myself, but to be human
we each need interaction. Yet,
to be told (redacted) years ago
I’ve had decisions to make.

Never tell anyone about (redacted),
(Redacted), or (redacted) because
(Redacted) cannot be trusted.
They have (redacted)(redacted)
and you have to beware of (redacted).

I miss that person integral to my life.
I really could have chosen mother,
but I’ve spilt plenty of beans there.
They know your (redacted) and your
(redacted) abd they behave like
(Redacted)(redacted)(redacted) people.

Choose your adjectives wisely.
Also there’s an old saying my father said.


10.23.23

And it can’t be fiction.
My memory is fiction, mis-remember,
completely forget. I don’t make passwords
from anything personal, or that will come up
when gee, I could win a prize if I act
the biggest boob bawling about someone
who did blah-blah, I forget. It’s not
that they weren’t important. Cherish
privately, with family, with trusted ones.
If you’re all alone…you’re screwed?
I’m working on being unwanted
and then maybe can write some
stuff about me and fake cry.
Save your pity for the dead.


Ooh, that got ug-gly.

Oh, well.

I might enter it, parade it around, after revisions, of course.

Knock-knock. Is this thing on?

Where’d you go, polysci. Not my friend?

You created me. I’m not like this. I just thought that boomerang would hit you all in the head by now.

So what’s my end game with Kåre Enga in Udon Thani if I’m a monster? He’s honest, needs attention. You pretend that’s what you do, and now with your phony PR/psychologist BECAUSE OF MISTAKES FROM YOUR PAST ARROGANCE. Own it. Wasn’t supposed be all caps, blind, forget…the PR.

And you’re fucking with people. I’ve been here too long, looked for your wounded to care for. Here’s another poke. Yeah, it’s the internet. Shady is okay. I can’t shadow your shade? Haven’t I mirrored enough of your shame? Do you really have no faces? I’ve seen you on Zoom, which was killed.

I miss the scripted conversations in scroll to model WDC desired behavior. I copied and pasted the last one from Storm Machine. *Laugh* worse in old days. Now, bots and zombies. Dead. You’re having trouble? Hmm.
October 23, 2023 at 2:00am
October 23, 2023 at 2:00am
#1057882
Machines can warm you, but
do not hug.
Definitely, don’t inhale
their toxic exhaust.
You can model their behavior.
Don’t be robotic.
Machines want your data, never
ever input

Something about through put blah blah

10.23.23

Everywhere I look, little dystopias, chewing on the brains of my spouse, my two kids, co-workers, more.

Num, num. give us more.
Sad robot.
October 23, 2023 at 1:30am
October 23, 2023 at 1:30am
#1057880
Let’s square off
You go first
Use your words
Call me on the phone
with three of your friends
Corner me and shame me
places I live
And I’ll respond,
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
With concern,
“I’m worried for you.
I sense your hands are clenched?”
Sit down with me.
Let’s talk it out.
What’s bothering you?”
My version of civility,
when I live
as public as a frog.
Don’t need to pace it off.
You have some notions.
Let me fill in the blanks
for you, so you’ll see
why I’ve been poking you.
If you don’t dialogue,
I have to wonder if you
own the guilt and shame.
Why can’t you just
say something, rather than emote
through actions, but no words?
I heard it for 17 years,
as each faceless one retreated.
Some sort of coalition
I had sought inclusion.
I have regrets, but
no forum to speak them.
My accusers went to the grave
one by one, replaced,
superseded one who erred
early on, tried contrition,
offer a hand, understand
the systemic nature of this,
an environment that must sustain.
Is it not going well? Could it be
you are angry at something else.
Look. It took me a long time
as a whipping boy to get a taste
of silence not lashes. Slow
as one with no social functions,
learned through negation
and how to model reaction.
But lose myself, dignity, identity?
What’s the cause? Secretive.
Uh-huh. And I’ve done you wrong,
somehow by playing silly games
rather than eyes on my own prize
when I realize what you’ve taken
from me. And if I don’t like it?
I’ll sit here and enjoy tea.
Repaint your faces, speak
falsely. I don’t care. I came to help.
I deserve what I get for blind trust.
So, square off, talk or back
the fuck off. Because, I’ve only
just begun learning your game.
I model behavior, good and bad.
Thanks for the inspiration,
I’ll not own your shame. Happy
to be out of whatever this is.
Not trying to get in the way.
I’ve erred somehow, but
get off my dick and I’ll stop
standing on your porch
looking through windows,
wonder when you’ll come out.
I’m not in hiding. You are.
Step out, speak. I’ll listen,
I’ll add contrition, if your argument
is fair. Some of you have
something at stake, won’t speak.
I feel you out best. The rest,
arrogant indifference. It’s okay.
I’ll absolve you all. I said,
I don’t care. But, you really
need to grow up. School yard
stuff. I hate to think how your
motivations have hurt others
seeking refuge in a false hostel.


10.23.23

I know you read my private stuff.
This - is - me - poking - you
Take the masks off. You’re afraid.
October 14, 2023 at 10:25pm
October 14, 2023 at 10:25pm
#1057417
I tossed the red ball on the tide;
joy envisioned
         how excited it jittered
           on small white caps
   — smooth-riding shallow
gloss brown glass —
  flow departing with a warm
‘here you go’, and rejoined.

Except, loss felt
alone at our beach.
Love was a game
of keep away
every time I neared.
A tongue stuck out
while you sneered.

I had to make my own games,
own rules, stayed
on shores of time.
You hid amid sunbathers,
swimmers, trusted lifeguards —
only your lovely voice
played amid saintly clouds.

My skin warms by charm of a sun
now leaving. My game
clutched at a salt sea scene
heaving. This
isolated divergence leaves me
somber for you
  ~ and the only game ~
you ever knew.

Coda
I own the red ball —
not you.
And don’t be afraid
to lose

like I’ve lost — because
I had to.

10.14.23
12.9.23 edit for stronger sensory/imagry/clarity of message.

37 lines free erse

Formerly titled: The Only Game
Submitted to Shadows & Light 11-2023
Merit Badge in Shadows and Light
[Click For More Info]

Brian,

Congratulations for winning 3rd Place in  [Link To Item #shadows]  with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1057417].

Rachel



Great source of musical inspiration with truth and grace.
October 14, 2023 at 11:50am
October 14, 2023 at 11:50am
#1057376
…the strangest, most wonderful

Each memory merged
a whirlpool, swirling.
Submerged snapshots’
expansion dissipatings
dim-bled beneath, before
resurfacing reborn, gasping.
                   |
Time-collapsed-vision,
(Image of bicycle pump/respirator/ambu-bag)
reawakened scrambled recollective
through the thick portal.
                   |
Quantum strings plucked,
produce pleasing sound,
amplify by vibrating vision.
                   |
Overlapping assortment
of forgotten photos, filaments
forever fast flipping failings
upon ponderous projections
of past, present and predictable,
changeable outcomes flowering
a fading verdant scene’s exfoliation.
                   |
Purged promises bloom
inside hollow words to rake
piled collectives to curbs.
                   |
wind —  space —   time —  relapse
                   |

how long was that? Eyes
shutter, collapse in moments
foggily framed  — delay
—  delay, repeat  —
repeat, re-emerge
         awake.  Fumble and struggle
to straighten from saddled weight
sunken in
the green recliner outpost, rake
         after a warm cup
and something to eat. ~ *LeafY* ~

I had the strangest, most wonderful…deja vu
| / _

10.14.23
Might still be working on; I might still be incepting.

coherence fills gaps of flimsy truths of time witnessed/unprocessed, lying on the surface of cluttered memory, acting out hope-fueled fantasy inside carefully hidden but revealed dreams in dramatized seasonal sequences (virtually and viscerally re-enacted) but fall short like this sentence.

Like this sentence? Deja vu acts as a second chance you only had in the first place if you can recall future memory.
It’s a brain hiccup, dude.
You’re fooling yourself to believe this…now…or anything will ever matter. It’s the icicle stabbing that melts over and over again in your…
Heart?
…ass.

When you wake, you’ll read this again, as if for the first time.

Dude, stop lifting your brain! You’ll hurt your…
medulla oblongata?
…neck

When will I merge two virtual realities without skidding over the surface of time
and snap something other than a bunch of random, grainy shots?
Feel as worthless as I do…in this theatre?

Def not you…it’s me?

If roles reversed…nah, math never changes.
Don’t even reach for that sliding door.
We’re trapped in here together…

until….

and I know a sentence fragment and a sentence don’t need a semi-colon, but have you ever fused conversational tone with dramatic narrative to adhere fractured, schizoid voices into one consciousness? Do you hear yourself and other’s reactions before you unhinge your jaw to utter?

Think about what you’re gonna say before you speak.
Thanks, dad. (One of the many in a cast of characters that shoved themselves up inside this jug. Before I realized I didn’t have to, it was a turnstile. You want to be a piece of the collective consciousness that becomes my brain’s tumor I now aggressively cut and paste into viewable formats. Go on, Charlie Kaufman. Try to beat my metta mind melds.

I think an edit with fresh eyes will be in order after two hours of my back into it…the giant green cradle.

There are spaces between spaces undiscovered, the incipient void…my horror vaccui…its Wikipedia article since removed is irony, is how I view this ongoing experience I’ll call experimental after it all meets the trash.

Another acceptable poem introduction:

Truth is fleeting. Catch it while it falls.
           |
           |
         *Leafy*          Nope. Try again.
           |
           |
         *LeafO*          Close. Nice try. Keep at it.

Purpose is found, as meaning is lost.
October 10, 2023 at 9:13pm
October 10, 2023 at 9:13pm
#1057152
it’s the other reality
on the other side tonight
no one warned me
I could be an implement
ignorant, unaware robot
taught torment in its gears
they oil and rub
as I move safely
into your neighborhood
at night, striding streets
at what you see out dusty windows
as foolish, arrogant pride.

gleam in street lamps
is a byproduct of ignorant joy
discovering space, empty
but for their machine
gobbling gone all your scenery
did you know rain and inactivity
Can cause a corrosive rust?
I’m thinking my creators gave up,
Constructing a new model
to gas and wind up

you look in your homes
I look under this hood
no place for either, restricted
from roaming to a vacant lot
the dock by the pond
the open field, chill dewed
as I make my way somewhere
no place is true home
robots neither sleep or dream
never need a master

I follow the horizon non-stop
wave and smile, can’t slow
as if I have somewhere to go
Oz? a fairy tale place before
I burn down with sunset?

Hello, I am Mech, a human
machination programmed to adapt
into your civilization. Error codes
I cannot resolve keep repeating.
Nothing left but abort,
self-destruct, another year
grinding, recharging a batter depleted.
they say the sun is friend
I can only go out at night


10.10.23
10.17.23
October 10, 2023 at 12:56pm
October 10, 2023 at 12:56pm
#1057125
life support
unplugged and dying, yet still somehow, free

ironic i'm dying
in room with a clear pane
facing east, sleeping past sunrise
please don't shine in my eyes
night is enough to help me remember

visions of her ghost
regret doesn't flow, now I know
I never had a hope, deluded
seeking the west window in dreams
night after night, spirit flows

down the hall, doors slam
to the annex, not allowed
down the stairs all alone
but green recliner outpost
strapped to incindiary device

you think I care? I noticed
that every night I flow to you
dark hell, deflecting demon lover
faceless, can feel judgmental glare
you think I should care

idyllic I'm dying
in a clear room with no pain
without facing fires of the past
shine your force into the hot shades
night is enough to help me remember

she is my ghost, not yours.
I'll never regret for having grown
I had hope and delusion, misguided
chasing a horizon to senectitude
even after glint particles depart

down these halls for so long,
light shines on the flourescent marks
to avenues leading only to you
to the green recliner outpost
where I could blow, but still live

need I care the unmaterialized
trapped in night chambers alone
fires that sap can't claims a soul
devoid, yet capable of a greater love
and you know, I might just care

about something, about this life,
about myself who is rising up
against, well, your machine, better
than a one horse-power engine, I'll admit
but on what fuel do you feed?

nitrous, baby! nitrous, baby!
vitriol and love can coalesce
in one savaged red organ bleeding
having been shown all the paths
by what you have not shown me...


10.10.23

I've rambled long enough

looks back up. what did I just write?
Something you'll forget later.
Yeah, that's right. I love reading that guy.
I just wish he wasn't so cryptic, and yet...

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