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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
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I’m disabled by more than blindness. Writing: Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance in life. Pretty medallions sought for words/my soul, a slow burn now. Life is full of misdirects right back to the start, you still quest with a thirst. If they take time to notice, must be doing something right. Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent. scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies. hic honor, quem accepistis, non est operae pretium, sicut non est bonum.  si hoc legere potes, gratiarum actio pro tempore. The beautiful mess you made. | Without knowledge, who’s to judge? | No gavel; no voice. I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me *Neurodivergent poet. *I yearn to love without that fart in the room. *Honesty without mincing words. *Stay clear of those surrounded by rules. *Real dialogue accepted. Diagnosed with new disabilities in 2020: On the spectrum/ADHD (it gets complicated by PTSD and brain trauma). Been suggested by doctors I might want another brain scan. As it is: 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, find boundaries, no clue why, 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. 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 t the next boob that walks by.  Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. I dig deeper than I should, push boundaries. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets. Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations to write. No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got. My Pluggers: You are an icon here. You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue}  It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches"  Your poetic muse is on 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.  Published four times with one a literary journal, including…  "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.   ![Merit Badge in Taboo Words
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Brian,
Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659].
I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Taboo_Words-2139481_13.gif) ![Merit Badge in Poetry
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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](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Poetry-2180.gif)  August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼  Now: I was such a whore.  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.    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 ▼ |
We've been beside the gulch, eager to climb a wooded bluff. Obstacles below and high got in my eye. But, I could see you by my side. Right now, I'm pressed to a thick pane of a steel train gliding flat through a soothing plane. You, with your book enjoyed, I, with liquor I've longed to try, subside. Rolling, a bump or two reminds you to look up, catch a blue gleam. Restful, on a long journey to the other side. I wonder if we'll part before destination. I see a billow, pale sky. No answer. We've been deeper before. We've been high, eye to eye. Nothing in our way now, descending. I see clearly you here with me now. Gliding down a lonesome track, I won't look back. You smile and I realize the climax satisfies. Foam on creamy glass dries. Rolling, I'm reminded of a blue gleam. Restful on the other side, I wonder if my destination soon arrives. Do I dare wonder if any will cry? One view cherished an entire ride. 5.28.22 original title was going to be "Why Do I Do This?" Yeah, I don't know either. Funny, memory. Sad, inspiration fleeting. |
| They’re all Eve. If wrong for you, It must be right. Oh, they know. That’s what makes it so good? Must I act depraved, too? Forbidden? Like poison, and antidote, ingest me. Take quickly, skirt back on. I’ll kiss that lovely frown. Then, Walk your shame through the center Of the unsuspecting town, project Every judging look, as knowing A woman with no self-respect Crawls out of her bed, into my window, Surrenders at night, never Putting up a fight. Like an apple, Bitten to her core, poisoned pleasure, Call her dirty names. She loves it more. I’m her poison now. A man of deceit Who does not cheat, just lonely. Does not tell her no sin was committed — That not a soul stares back to glare At a woman who wants to steal and got A good man for a bargain. She would leave For something cheaper, she calls golden… If she knew. Haven’t saved her, or myself. “Sooner or later in life the things you love you’ll lose.” 5.25.22 Made up to Poison, F Ridings, knowing we don’t value something if it doesn’t question our morality. |
| Still in progress… He lies in the tub in his clothes In the dark when I dare knock, Fearing to ask when I can brush my teeth. He decided vodka tastes best straight from bottle, Learning how to numb, bathe In moon glow, sleep with tv on (sometimes Until dawn) in a makeshift bedroom, dusty, spider-infested, next to that creepy boiler in our basement. I wondered how long a soak could last in tee and underpants. Told not to worry, but worry during this phase of dysphoria. She wasn’t caught early enough. He wants to emerge before 18. Can’t wait too long — even if I hide liquor — nothing is strong enough To stop self-hate until he’s a man. 5.20.22 I love you Myles! I’m coming. If I only knew how to save you from my own ignorance. |
| I don’t look crippled. You walk past. Blind, I don’t look lost. No cane, shades. You walk on past. I don’t wear my wounds On the outside. You don’t see Inside my soul. You, angel, have love For somebody. Not me. I could block your path, plead. My words mean nothing Visually. I’m a weathered soul, Bleeding within, blind from journey, Not knowing where to go. Frozen, can’t traverse another avenue, Without you to help me cross. Dear angel, I’m dying. You’re flying Leagues above me. Don’t know The true s*rr*w that I Can’t express in distress. I’ll manage. Walk on by. 5.20.22 |
| Winged girl could worry for me, Doesn’t see inside a container, Deceptively cool, acts a child, Reliving happiness when her hands Fussed with his Sunday outfit, Brushed the blond shock of hair -- A wild boy aiming fiery blues Contrasting crimson cheeks. Winged beauty full of tender notes, Navigates air out of reach. No plea will she hear from me, Aged and remiss for life not lived, Regaining focus inside a beast, Devouring every second like Molecules, disintegrating. I'm not the savage, you know. 5.18.22 |
| On a dust plain, you see heat rise, distort dry fauna fading green. Bones ache, but your blooms distract, help me heal in precious, amber light. In porch shade we rock, glide side by side in silence all these years. A moment arrives so perfect, I kiss you, passionately, again, feel the cicadas unrest and tremor. We could strip to salt flesh I long to devour. You stand to refill our lemonade. My hand brushes the tender underside of your boot cut denim. Not long is dinner, sunset in Sedona. We will afford the loss of sunrise. Cayenne canyon of soaring rock fences us willingly within. No taste for dinner but soft cotton. Aroma of sandalwood encircles cooling limbs entwined. I feel beating beneath breathing and hold the tender core like a baby. Thankful, all these years absorbing color of sunrises and the view across a shared room. You could be a memory, constant in dreams, my soul’s red canyon. "The Tender Core (Sedona)" War Of Youth When he scooped you from the earth, carried you to the speeding car that brought you down to the gulch where dutiful bees stung the small flesh, he realized war again — nothing like he ever fought but was prepared for. meanwhile, I obsessively plucked petals from white daisies, blissful, unaware how brutal life could be until rubber complained to the hot blacktop — when I heard his true love in wails echo above stubborn birch, pine and hardwood that every aware animal could witness. at seven, I believed he loved a small, bloody boy more, whimpering in clover with the yellow and black, and fractured leg to set. glowing white angels would bathe and tend contusions and abrasions, cheer a freckled chin. in my designated corner, a toy for distraction did not deter wonder — if I hurt myself, would he love me more? "A War Of Youth " Prose and Dead Men Tiger-striped flannel and matching ball cap, if slid askew, would remind you of the old man sitting on the tailgate of his blue Ford, sheltered amid flocked customers and other vegetable growers. Cracking wise in the corner parking lot of the local farmer’s market, his hat true, angled in the locked position. A habit I suppose from serving in military. Big John missed death as a sentry in Guam by just one hour, relieved of post before another throat slit, some nameless brother in arms. A story you were not privy until a man. I scribble these musings in secret journals -- hollow words spun from a corner booth for hours at mic’ed readings where no one peruses the printed commitments amid pregnant pauses. My endless voice scratchings echo an arena choked, with tears in my eyes not for him but some liberal heart bleeding, pleading actualize the purpose of my prose. "Prose And Dead Men" |
| Isn't enough to sit, and just listen? What I learn, voiceless, I long to belong to something that does not wish to reciprocate. I long to remember the purpose of this aching container in a maze of avenues I once knew. It's all new, or are the maps spun so a boy cannot find home? Isn't enough to watch a parade pass me by, ignore yearning to participate, sound a horn for loving spectators, when it's just a spectacle I'm viewing. Lost in a crowd of strangers, the strangest of all acts like a fool, wanting. When the street hides in black, snow gently falling, I wander out to find youth. Memory of where I've been suddenly becomes true. And because you haven't learned the secret of a pale moon hovering my cold avenue, ears connected to a heart hear again without the din of you. 5.14.22 as is, for now |
| I witnessed you at your round table; your eyes and slight curvature called smile addressed me (without word) as if to say I know everything. But, what I now realize: Satan acting like Jesus, protected by an ever changing cast of apostles until you are ash. In future time, I’ll witness that empty table to possess and order service for one. No glass will raise. Just a simple supper and feint recollection of indifference. Quill Nominated Best Poetry Collection two consecutive years, 2020 and 2021. |
My noise: just disturbance to you, distraction from what’s more important, needs attention. But, wait! They don’t love you like I love you. My noise, you’ve been canceling, lives for you. Wait… White noise, you press the snooze on me, sleep, as muffled walls absorb my story. 5.12.22 If it’s the last words you’ll hear, hope then, loudest…if not, best. |
| Hand Wash Only (Gentle) With delicate cycle selected, trusted to a fine fabric, I fell into a wash with you. Turbulent times have been sometimes torn, always mended, but never the same as before. I slipped in this bath with you. Soft cells sluffed away, sent to a hungry drain eager for more of our skin. Turbulent it could seem, memory washing from life. With delicate cycle selected, let a fine fabric spin, again. I cling to you, just as you have clung, sometimes separate to inhale tender fragrance. Dry, we reassemble folded, another day adorned, softly worn. 5.12.22 5.14.22 two lines added 6.20.22 last stanza added 20 lines, free verse For your consideration, edited anew this month: Did not place in top 5 of Shadows and Light (Round 109) |
| Amid love’s lonely and austere offices — reserved for you, giddiness of a child restrained. yet, a heart would chase: red tendril tresses flowing behind your form, lay gently down your ruffled blouse, pleated summer skirt in a wild weed, yellow sanctuary. Vibrant blue vistas gaze upon me, unhesitant pursue a boy, lonely and austere listening to release of those tender notes from coiled lips' charm. Youth lost years ago revived, longs lay beneath the red tendril tresses, a canopy for our shadowed love. Restrain my giddiness -- hollow -- yet pursue reservedly an echo. Vibrant essence, a tempting harmony, lingers like channels to caverns, inside castles of everlasting youth. Release those coiled lips with charm, framed by your hovering form. A boy lays longingly in our wild weed. 5.12.22 many revisions in private until public on: 5.14.22 Who is Freya? Read the rest of this blog. I also borrowed one line from a famous poem, also previously mentioned in blog, I think? |
| what should I write next? do you dare my muse compare, respond to the core of you standing over, shadowing someone who has yet to stand up, compare to the size of you? I played your game; you ignore mine. that's fine. don't have time to learn rules forced upon me, not convenient to some like you, who abuses any structural thing. what should I do next? Should I dare mess with this muse and likes of you, someone who doesn't respond, indifferent, never reacting to a game of my words that could send you down? I'll have a few things to say before you open that mouth. I'm prepared. Be afraid, or find someone else to fuck with, unless there's no one else? I guess, no more games. 5.11.22 5.14.22 last edit yes, all these words written in haste one day that you collect, pretend not notice, to throw back in my face, when I smile, because I know I got to you. I could love you like no other, yet wonder, who's more afraid. |
 Remember the camp creek, spying for frogs on weedy banks? You were freckled, and I was not. Buttercups captured our wonder, applying those soft, yellow heads to skin -- happy makeup to show mother. Under shaded apple, black and yellow -- graceful, dutiful. Pollinated pink buds bounced, freely inhaled, while chasing ourselves in spaces behind that blocked-up trailer. Serenaded by insistent, deep-hued violets, torn by small hands from their beds, amid sparse, bright green blades, brief bouquets we collected with grins, handed a silent woman on her patchwork in shade. Our commotion, her daily devotion, she remarked of our luck. With thirst, fed them in just the right mug, dipped in well water. Small, slithering grass snakes grasped on edge of tall, thick fern, you did not near. Bright white trillium would appear, thrived early that summer, she instructed us leave, let stray in forests like me, naturally. But, that mower gassed, smudged oil on red paint, roared to life. He let you take the handle. Running ahead, dared dandelions speechless, I spared any yellow friend you could not send down. Age-puffed, the wisp spores flowed like wild bubbles blown wayward from stick. Like me, soaring up lonely hills and trees, before gentle falling. Wildflowers meandered forgotten rust rails, more color than could be collected alone, dead and alive. Simple serendipity captured, their cost afforded smiles from her. Before maturation, I loved you, and you stopped loving me. Nature inspired the young dreamer, hope, nostalgically spares summers when she thrived, loved equally, but adored one child’s wild love.  5.11.22 37 lines free verse Left out: Innocence near power lines hidden, revealed strawberry under red-tinted leaves. Last edit: 5.16.22 |
| I tease with words, not the components actual that compel the clock of me to tick. If I tell you I'm just a bunch of springs and cogs clicking off time, the years, how long until you walk up to another for the time? I tempt with a tongue that knows embellishment from the lies, can keep track of the truth, where it wanders in a room we share. You can lay your ear to the skin of my clicking, know we're wasting time here, beautifully. You could reap every thought, uttered conceptual, that compels me to ignore the clicking. If I tell you I love you, it's as honest as truth, if a timepiece like me could ever be serviced, unattuned, lying in your shop, bleeding time. 5.11.22 fictional as anything else and still yearning to be real. Words are information and I feel like I've spilled a billion of them without being discovered as true self. Good thing they're scattered and mostly lost to time, because I still need revision. Even when I die. I 'dis' the honest in myself to guard the truth, not wanting to tell a lie, be forthcoming without capture by something lying in wait to steal my soul... who's gone too far with this now? |
| I cannot crave your skin, the container, while light inside is disturbed, as our moon glows perfectly. You envision me hungrily, on platter, while a light inside fades cool. A color-draped sun perfectly sets. 5.11.22 how you know you've lost the feeling, cannot feed on love anymore, while remembering life is still beautiful. |
| Just trying to feel something, anything, while I listen to you warble your anthem, this song that has haunted me for what feels life long, lingering. I peered in many windows, prying, searching anything sounding familiar like your voice, inflecting feelings haunting me, and scares with emptiness I miss, yearn to feel. Disconnected by a life I'm in, but cannot reach, there's you, visionary, echoing and inflecting words barely recalled. Inserted into a world I've never learned navigate, there is one beacon. No light, nothing to touch like a stone, a hunger for ears I cannot sate warbles about airwaves my wonder seeks with fuzzy head, scanning blinding skies lost on the ground. I cannot even clutch this pain inside myself, when you open your mouth. If I could finally ask, should you be found, would you answer a foolish boy, my disembodied captor? 5.11.22 there's no true comfort in words, only actions of a woman who tempts me to hope, believe, aim to try to figure out what this disconnectedness is all about. your voice has wings for you and if I could clutch you before you fly would I know be happy that I possess you the way you own me knowing love like this can reciprocate |
| One by one, sashes thrown up. creatures come down. the world just continues spinning on, doesn’t notice ignorant interest sitting in frames. Noise of a busied world was such a nuisance, so long sealed out, haze-windows tight. we didn't notice disinterest grow in stale rooms sitting. Winter cushioned mechanized groans, abusive cold of a world still spinning ever on, in our dying. So, Summer arrives through screens, hints hope of something green. We’re natural, just lazing about these wood boxes, wait for white, taking each to dirt promise. Unnatural not to revel Summer renewal, as furry beasts lodged like survival. 5.11.22 6.9.22 re(in)visioned Winter Thru Fall Oh, would you look at that! Spring is arriving and leaving and Summer nearing and we can throw open these windows to admire the felines laying in those boxes, inhaling scents and sounds and scenes we just accept are there day and night, winter thru fall, and not give a rip about it all. |
I know gaslighting, fire blazed before eyes numbed in my youth. Their aim could subvert me from truth, proves ignorant purveyors employed, brother against brother. Dystopia delivered through our open doors, hidden beneath the rug. 5.6.22 Something I went after, not finished. |
| How do you move an empty wheelbarrow, no luster left and empty, stored to stand on deflated, lone wheel centered on winter ground? Vinyl on wood handles gripped firm, fading. Swirls of orange stains eat a purposeless tray, hollow from another season of neglect. I’m shaken by feelings of my own worth, rusts a salt soul fading from gripped youth. Idle hands could rough in a new season. No soil or budding love in garden to move, remembering his mud-filled pushcart, purposed to mix a gravy of gray cement, sliding a supply in spaces of a ravaged walk. It never held for long. He used too much rock. The grass grows up and around a friend that my hands have yearned utilize. 5.4.22 5.16.22 edit Man bonds with idle implement, momentarily |
| Cars And Trucks (2017) revised I am not gay in your world, but gay enough. I am not black, either. Yet, black Wherever I roam without you. I am not an immigrant but a stranger In an even stranger land, Watching their cries like infants — Helpless little babies I refused be, Since I grew up, took my medicine. Gut full of the stuff soothes what rumbles within. If I am not right Or left, I am wrong and alone, Watching beer-guzzling hunters haul Bloody trophies on trucks like freedom -- Mud on oversized tires, bedazzled grilles, With tow hooks, pulling tiny, two-wheel drive cars From ditches in dark blizzards. The babies drive off with meager thanks And expressions of shame. I go home to the goth girl, Attracted to friends who daily reject her — Shaves her head, pumps that brain With Korean anime, K-Pop and rants repression: From schoolwork to plight of LBGTQ. Thirteen-year-old, newly professed, Bisexual transsexual, with lips and face preparing even more metal piercing Than tender kisses of lost innocence. Her His brother -- tall, brilliant, Master of piano, brass instruments, Tops state ranks in testing: Math, English and Science. In dark, befouls basement couch, head strapped, controller aimed At a glowing, green Xbox. Too tired to remember hand in Missed assignments, our cause to track… Two parents who'll be damned these babies Don’t make the grade, land on feet to struggle With something akin to virtual reality: Our foggy existence, find time to ponder -- Politics? What's this about 2017? Are you trying to get me to feel Something, Mr. President? Fabric of an already torn, nuclear family tugged. A tapestry too thin. Must we scrap it, Create another? And just how Are we supposed to do that when Babies bury shiny cars in ditches? Will the muddy trucks come? My sensible SUV can't save us. 5.4.22 revised poem 50 lines, free verse
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— 21
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— 29![Merit Badge in Shadows and Light
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A huge congratulations, to you!
You have won a very deserved Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #shadows] , round 112 *^*Smile*^*
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_and_Light-1936078_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Shadows & Light II
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Brian,
Congratulations! You won 1st Place in [Link To Item #shadows] with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1037176]. Fabulous writing!
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_=38_Light_II-1936078_14.gif)
— 9
MAY 
37![Merit Badge in Coffee Award
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Congratulations on placing 2nd in [Link To Item #2182602] with your poem, [Link to Book Entry #1031722]. *^*Coffeeo*^* Kindest Regards, Lilli](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Coffee_Award-2149524_14.gif)
APRIL 
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Congratulations on the third place win at [Link To Item #hpc] for your poem: [Link to Book Entry #1030482]. Thanks for making me laugh, and keep writing the funny stuff! *^*Bigsmile*^* ~Lornda A.K.A. The Queen of Comedy *^*Crown*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Humorous_Poetry_Contest-1875103_14.gif)
MARCH 
![Merit Badge in Contests
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CONGRATULATIONS for winning 2nd place in [Link To Item #2254385] !!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Contests-235.gif)
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Thank you for your participation in the 48-HOUR CHALLENGE: " Thank You by Dido ." Media Prompt hosted by [Link To User support] March 2022! We appreciate that you tackled this challenge... *^*Smile*^* *^*Thumbsupl*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/WDC-WDC_Media_Prompt.gif)
![Merit Badge in Good Things Take Time
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Here's to a world where we wouldn't have to keep reciting the words woven in your excellent poem [Link to Book Entry #1027990].](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Good_Things_Take_Time.gif)
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Thank you so much for your poem [Link to Book Entry #1026670]! Please don’t ever stop being you, both as a writer and a visionary of love!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Gay_Lesbian-680.gif)
JANUARY 
18
![Merit Badge in Quill Award
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Congratulations on winning Best Medium-Length Poem, Free Verse in the 2021 edition of The Quills!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Award-1375927_6.gif)
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Thank you for your generous donation to [Link To Item #quillhome] ! *^*Quill*^* Every donation is used to celebrate WdC while recognizing quality work and acknowledging community involvement. Kindest Regards, Lilli](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Sponsor-1375927_6.gif)
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Congratulations on winning 1st Place in the September 2022 round of [Link To Item #quotation] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/WDC-Quotation_Inspiration.gif)
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Congratulations on winning day 6 of The Daily Poem Sept 2022!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Artistic-125.gif)
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From [Link To User jayne] : With my apologies for the Redaction Poem prompt mishap. Thank you for taking on the challenge! I hope to see you next time for a redaction-free week of fun at [Link To Item #dailypoem] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Problem_Solving-210.gif)
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Congratulations on being our Honorable Mention in March of 2022 at [Link To Item #2216416] !
Blessings, Sharmelle](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Inspiring_Love_For_Poetry-2259846_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Action Adventure
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CONGRATULATIONS for [Link To Item #2229211] winning place as an Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #2254385] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Action_Adventure-100.gif)
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For placing 3rd in the Bard's Hall Blogging Contest, June 2022](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Bard=s_Hall_Blogging_Merit_Badge-2094227_12.gif){kind=icon}
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Congrats Team Pedantic Poets Platoon on winning [Link To Item #1803384] during WDC's 21st Birthday Festivities!! Well done!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-30DBC_Winner-2064535_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Every Moment Matters
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A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.
― Paul Cezanne
Thanks for your participation in my 'art' challenge via my notebook feed.
Keep on being inspired! *^*Bigsmile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Every_Moment_Matters.gif)
![Merit Badge in Brilliant
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CONGRATULATIONS on [Link To Item #1145690] winning a place in "Honorable Mentions" in [Link To Item #2254385]](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Brilliant.gif)
