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Rated: 13+ · Book · Personal · #1300042
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on...
Trying make sense of life is maddening. Why do I need to know, when truth may not actually exist? Learning to accept would be a better pursuit. Flailing about in mediocrity, hoping to bust out.

Read me, don't read me. I'm going to dare you to read anyway.

I update my portfolio page as often as possible. Brian Keith Compton Go there to see new messages. You will always see me. I am visible. You can put a face with a name. I would like other writers to crawl out from under their rocks and post their pics on main pages. Fiction is what you write, not who you are.

I also encourage you to read my notebook, biography and more. I'm always updating, because I am restless.

THANK YOU alfred booth, wanbli ska for the ribbon and continuous support!

My blogging days at Writing.Com began here [FOR MEMBERS] >>>
My Journal  (13+)
This is my pulpit. I'm no preacher, just long to be heard like the rest of us.
#1149750 by Brian Keith Compton


Where I hide most of my poetry [FOR MEMBERS]. Warts and all, where I bare my chest and try to make sense of my craft.
Such Longing For A Blind Dreamer  [13+]
A journey through my life from early poetry to the present.
by Brian Keith Compton
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May 2, 2016 at 2:05pm
May 2, 2016 at 2:05pm
It's been a long time since I've had people to chat with daily on writing.com. Came close a couple of times in the last few years. I feel like I pull away, but not sure why. Everyone has been nothing but kind and helpful. Can't help but feel a sense of loss because of what I'm missing out on by not participating at this website more often.

Many writers and readers come and go and I have never been good with losing someone I depend on. I've had to quit acting the know-it-all that comes from my insecurity growing up. Feeling important mattered because so many put me down. I never put people down because of it, but sounding pompous didn't help my argument.

It's difficult to know what to do or to write some days, lacking direction. I've tried a lot of things and feel I'm looking for a unique experience that likely does not exist. I either want too much out of This writing life or do not want to give to it fearing rejection.

I also feel I've matured finally to accept that this is all there is for me. I've had a good life as a writer. I don't need to list accolades or measure my worth.

I recently extended my membership because I'm not ready to close this chapter of my life. I think when my first decade has been completed here in August, I can find some other hobby to fill my time.

My eyesight is failing. I need a backup plan, so I don't go nuts.
April 29, 2016 at 11:30am
April 29, 2016 at 11:30am
They're Growing Up

Do you lament the end before it comes, because it is inevitable? She will enter middle school next fall and soon will stop putting her purple stuffed moose in our bay window every morning before running off to the bus stop.

You want to preserve one moment, take a mental journey back to see what brought you here, knowing she's less mature than the others, knowing you may have held her back a little. You still tuck her in, make her PBJs and let her climb your back, though she's over 90 lbs now.

You rub and scratch her back, steal her nose, draw pictures with her during a lazy Sunday. You help her chase the baby bunnies in the back yard and dry her tears after skinned knees and elbows, knowing it will get much worse when the cruel world rejects her on occasion.

There are the photo albums and movies of the baby turned toddler aging at birthday parties and school events, while amazing you with all the beauty and wisdom she manages to possess. But not too much, not just yet. Slow down little girl. I'm not ready. I can't keep up and I know I can't keep you down.

So, I take a mental snapshot. Your purple moosey waits in the window. The air is cool. The sun is comforting. The wind chimes play. They will always chime in my heart for the little girl, an emerging woman.

Sentimentality has a place. Cherished memories fill a dogged soul with joy. I look to the future that has a past with an inspiring little one filled with promise. We'll grasp at hopes and dreams together, clutching it like a little purple moose in your tender arms.

"Learning To Fly & Love

April 27, 2016 at 9:33am
April 27, 2016 at 9:33am

"Can We Still Be Friends"
Singer / Songwriter: Todd Rundgren

We can't play this game anymore
But can we still be friends
Things just can't go on like before
But can we still be friends
We had something to learn
Now it's time for the wheel to turn
Grains of sand, one by one
Before you know it, all gone

Let's admit we made a mistake
But can we still be friends

Heartbreak's never easy to take
But can we still be friends
It's a strange, sad affair
Sometimes seems like we just don't care
Don't waste time feeling hurt
We've been through hell together

Can we still get together sometime
You know life will still go on and on and on

We awoke from our dream
Things are not always what they seem
Memories linger on
It's like a sweet, sad old song

Bonus Video

April 26, 2016 at 3:30pm
April 26, 2016 at 3:30pm
Seulement entre toi et moi
Notre #amour sera toujours être

April 24, 2016 at 12:45am
April 24, 2016 at 12:45am
April 2, 2016 at 2:57pm
April 2, 2016 at 2:57pm
A Better Love Tomorrow  (E)
An aging couple yearning for renewal, the nearer they draw to home.
#1162131 by Brian Keith Compton

I wrote "A Better Love Tomorrow [E] when I was in college (my second time around) and to this day do not know how I could empathize with an elderly couple and understand a true love in its waning years. I had a chance to revisit Better Love today, thanks to a reviewer. I responded:

"Death is beautiful, as with fall imagery. Comparative to the man who wants to still love his wife better late in their years, knowing he is going to die. Even though he sees the horizon (future), he is trying to stay in the moment, only looking ahead to tomorrow as another chance to love her better."

I didn't go over the top with comparisons, allusions or metaphors. I just set the stage as fall and had the couple wearily interact with it while he expresses his love for her in poem. It's sentimental but hopefully not saccharin. I had an awakening during this period in college and began to functionally relate emotion through images rather than spoken feelings. And sadly, one of my bluest periods as a poet.

I welcome eyes and responses to this, if anyone is interested in this transitional offering from my past.
March 30, 2016 at 12:26pm
March 30, 2016 at 12:26pm
I've had some interesting correspondence with others in my past and have saved a lot of letters. It got me to thinking it might be possible to publish what they wrote in a novel I'm writing to help me with establishing dialogue for a character.

Some people I've known have an interesting way with words or certain phraseology that I cannot create on my own. So, I decided to Google the subject to see what kind of copyright infringements there would be. Perhaps, as a fiction writer I can get around it. But, I do not have the right to publish words of another since anything anyone writes is their own, no matter what. The following is a message board I found on the subject that had some good back-and-forth on the subject...


It's not uncommon for me to cut and paste some information that I want to rewrite in my own words. I would not exclude using some correspondence that I have received that I could use as a character's style of speech. I don't see it as stealing as long as I am not directly attributing the words to the actual writer. Though, it gets sketchy if I quote them word for word, which I wouldn't do. There is something about putting my own spin on it that allows me ownership.

I also feel that as I capture their words and put them into my text I eventually find a way to get there cadence down, so to speak. I might start recalling their habits, mannerisms and inflections as these words sprawl out across the screen. Perhaps, I can bring the character to life, flesh it out a little more when I recapture these people who have written to me.

Even as I open up about this subject, I feel its controversy. Most authors would say what you write should be original and your own. However, we are borrowing (stealing) every day. I don't think there's too much about us that is original, because it comes from experience and outside influences. We might have memorized the words of people we've encountered and can conjure up their personalities in writing at a moment's notice. The same could be said of literature, TV, movies or any media. If anything, using correspondence as dialogue in writing can invigorate the process so that a writer can jump start a chapter or novel because they take this shortcut.

Writers are inspired daily by outside influences like writing prompts to take something you've witnessed and put your own unique spin on it. At least, that it what I am trying to do. I would like to create a framework for the people who have affected me as a writer and do their personal words justice.

March 19, 2016 at 5:48pm
March 19, 2016 at 5:48pm
Discovering new words has always been fun for me. I'm always interested in different ways to project images or feelings through something I'll come across in text or have never heard uttered before. Maybe, a word takes on new meaning. Unfortunately, for me, it can feel forced when trying new things. Some words don't fit with how I write or speak.

Perhaps, language is developed at an early age based on outside influences, starting with your parents and extending beyond that to friends, teachers and other people you regularly contact during influential times in life. Especially, with what you read and the movies that inspire.

But, I feel I never stopped trying to learn. Always grasping to figure the meaning of things, the sound of a word might grab me, send me to a dictionary or thesaurus. I want to understand how some words influenced others, the future or direction of language. Then, I try to assemble these things in a way I hope is unique but relatable. But, it can feel like anything one tries to mix/integrate into a particular style can get in the way or distort the language you're familiar with.

It's like serendipity, like going to the flea market/rummage sale not knowing what you come across until that thing strikes you. You bring it home try it out, try it on. Does it work here or there? Does it go with the room or what you wear? Maybe, your tastes are changing? But, you don't want to completely redecorate, throw an entire wardrobe out. And that's how I look at finding new words.

March 18, 2016 at 11:02am
March 18, 2016 at 11:02am
December 9, 2015 at 9:05am
December 9, 2015 at 9:05am
I reread this today and asked myself why am I labeling them snowflakes? Description should be enough to give the reader a sense of what they're seeing without being told what it is. So I want to go do a rewrite and see if I can work with this more to give more character to the snowflakes without saying what they are.
Although, the first line becomes sort of a throwaway. Have to seriously consider how I'm going to approach this without totally ripping apart the poem.

Ride To School...A Poetic Moment

Snowflakes from yesterday's flurries flock,
skitter; vivacious, wild troops reforming,
disbanding, rejoining
in flowing concentric patterns away from me,
faster than I dare drive, visor down,
with the milky, orange lamp glaring,
daring me, dimmed and sliced into spotty, pulsing rays
by disrobed, unruly masts.
As I navigate the obstacles to my visual delight,
my co-pilot pleads not make a poem of this moment
on his ride to school.
November 27, 2015 at 10:24am
November 27, 2015 at 10:24am
Writing lyrics again. Yearning to create music once more. I've always had this fire in me, just never found the right time to go after it. Maybe, I never will. Always looking for an encouraging word, another sign, until I have enough evidence. Always putting clues together, but everything remains a hypothesis for what I should do.

Listening to Chris Cornell Sing

Is it so hard to believe
at 6 AM, sitting at your breakfast table?
The coffee is cold
like the words unsaid on your tongue,

yet you can still dream.

Is it so hard to feel
when you're alone sitting in the dark?
No desire for the radio bleeding?

Yet, you can still dream.
Close your eyes and see.

Is it so hard to live?
She's gone from here, but her scent will never leave --
her light, haunting eyes that once helped you believe.

Yet, you can still dream,
if you close your eyes and see...

Of course, that is not the title...subtitle, maybe. Piecing together my feeling for music and pairing it with life to see if there is enough emotion to make sense of reality. Playing a game with words in my head instead of dealing.

Wish I could write music. Writing lyrics to songs I loved brought me here. I'm masquerading as a poet. Music and singing have been my life long passion. I've only been able to share it through writing up until now.


just riding the train and jotting down words emerging from my head...

Not Who I Was Meant To Be

I am the man in the mirror, just not the man I see.
They were successful in changing me
But suddenly I see...and I can feel
what's rising inside of me.

If I put myself out there, maybe I'll find me.
I will greet you with a smile, firm handshake,
but immediately you see...and I can feel
messages your eyes are sending me.

This is not who I'm supposed to be.

Caught in a game I wasn't meant to play.
Meant for more than this, repulsed,
I suddenly know...and I start to think
I need to slay the emerging monster.

It's not too late, while I still have breath.
Dismantling the machine after I take care of myself,
but immediately you know...and now realize
this brain cannot be toyed with.

This was not who I'm supposed to be,
and it's going to get ugly if you don't acknowledge,
back off, not who I was meant to be.

Not going to edit that one just yet. Need a break to prep my brain for another trip to gym.

Crank the Rage!

November 20, 2015 at 9:50am
November 20, 2015 at 9:50am
Ride To School...A Poetic Moment

Snowflakes from yesterday's flurries flock,
skitter; vivacious, wild troops reforming,
disbanding, rejoining
in flowing concentric patterns away from me,
faster than I dare drive, visor down,
with the milky, orange lamp glaring,
daring me, dimmed and sliced into spotty, pulsing rays
by disrobed, unruly masts.
As I navigate the obstacles to my visual delight,
my co-pilot pleads not make a poem of this moment
on his ride to school.

I started out wanting to comment on how snowflakes don't know their fate like happy children...seemed too depressing to go down that path. Just really fun to see them playing, waiting for more snowflakes to arrive to begin the winter season.

Was playing with the words outloud in my truck when my son implored me to stop making up poems. I was just inspired by the moment, nature, that big, round sun that wanted to obscure my appreciation, though it was equally as beautiful.

I could be a writer, I think.
November 18, 2015 at 12:15pm
November 18, 2015 at 12:15pm
Something I wrote after watching a music video that I am not going to edit, just yet…

Life, if not Love

I reach to touch your hand
but it's already gone
I hear your song

Another thud against our window
Unmoved, I know
it's another sparrow
Couldn't pass through here
And will it die?
I don't even know

Your song has ended
You were never near
I love, I fear

Merciless, death claims another
Dead in our bushes
or on the doorstep
to be swept aside
when I go out
to search for you again

Why do I fear I've lost
without ever trying
Somewhere you're crying

Autumn came while you sang
Clinging, tender leaves
wet from rain
want to remind me
of loss and all the days
you were alive

Why don't I cry anymore?
Somewhere you hide
I'm dead inside

I only hope the mindless sparrow lives
If not for me,
then for you.

November 18, 2015 at 9:59am
November 18, 2015 at 9:59am
Hindsight is great and all, but without do-overs what's the point? Learn from our mistakes? How about bound to repeat them?

You can have a positive outlook on life, but if you don't find the right situation(s) and surround yourself with the most suitable cast of characters, you're delusional scenarios for a happy life will not come to fruition.

I'm not sad about that. I'm becoming a pragmatist and putting focus on the things that give back to me. Family, sports, a few hobbies, but not much else these days.

As I get older, I look back at what I missed out on...what is in the past can never be. The shadow of time has lapsed into darkness. I'm spending less time thinking about what I don't have and what I have left to give.

I could take up drawing and painting again. But, I have been mostly about instant gratification.

Writing is my passion. But work ethic is low on my list. I have lots of great ideas and a lot of dust crowding out that chalkboard.

I don't have friends in my everyday life and can't get enough time or attention from my wife to give me the kind of input, motivation, cheerleading that I desire. I need too much. Probably why I feel abandoned by friends. I accept that. It doesn't bother me.

I'm a lifelong confessional writer...too real for most. Yet, not honest enough with myself...until now. Haven't been able to tone down my emotions enough in casual conversion. I turn to clowning around, a penchant for word play and observational humor to feel a connection with those willing to offer a laugh or smile. So, I do need human contact like medicine. I desire it more from those who can be like a drug.

Like always, I start these blog posts with one thought and follow it with more words to see where it leads. No conclusion seems apropos, though I believe all these open conversations with myself are leading me somewhere. Though, like a dog, I tend to chase my tail. But, I'll eventually tire or need to eat or something else will distract me and I'll be down the street after a car, digging up the neighbors bushes or trying to bite a kid on his bike, because it's all a game. I'm a dog. I seldom think about consequences until I've been snouted with a newspaper enough times to know where I shouldn't pee.

Okay, then...(humor, again)

November 13, 2015 at 10:39am
November 13, 2015 at 10:39am
Fun new tool I found on the Internet to help me with redundancy. I used it to see what words I use the most and get more analytical with my writing. Maybe this link can help others looking for a different way to improve their writing:


Have fun!

October 30, 2015 at 3:37am
October 30, 2015 at 3:37am
"...a not-so-accurate reality that is skewed toward butterflies and roses can actually be a solution to life stress and adversity...Optimism is not merely some kind of fantastical happiness bubble to hide within as reality crumbles all around. It can actually have concrete advantageous effects on reality. Optimism leads to hopefulness and engagement, which leads to greater social success and confidence, which, in turn, leads to happiness - real or perceived..."


On the other side of the coin, there are people who will get in your ear and tell you everything you long to hear. If you lack admiration from others because you lack it in yourself, you troll for anything that will help with affirmation. You need it like a drug. If you get too much of it, and doses aren't coming enough, daily, you start to act out. Maybe, feel you were lied to. Perhaps, you assume people of good intention were just snowing you. Maybe, they just drank the same koolaid as you. It has a bitter taste. You're running out of metaphors and examples. It's late and you're reaching.

A person might be compelled into restraint and compliance when they long to hear a word or two to help keep the delusion going. But reality has stayed too long. This is an unedited look into the mind.

September 23, 2015 at 3:26pm
September 23, 2015 at 3:26pm
I want my head in a musty old tent on an Indian summer day reading old comic books until I have absorbed the last ray of light. I don't know how to say it better. I will keep trying, as long as I have a pen in my hand and a muse in my heart.

This late in the year, the blooms don't need my help. I watch them grow with anticipation, each day hoping for some new, brilliant surprise. I planted those seeds and I moved the soil, supplied hydration and whatever else before letting the sun's rays direct it's energy to what I fathered. In my early years as a gardener, I was neglectful. Either I was ignorant of what I needed to do or too stubborn to try the proven methods.

With the light dimming and briefer each day, I hope God will shed extra light and rain to extend this final season. I've seen the ravaged leaves from blight and pests that I must protect against. What could be perfect and beautiful becomes a marred and mangled mass with unruly vines and half covered blooms. The dedication and talent it took to spawn my creations from fertile soil makes this shameful gardener fence himself from the world, allowing a peek here and there of what will impress.

I don't brag anymore. I don't boast of my potential. What I could have done is in the past. What I have left is only what little time and God's grace will give me. Some days, when I rise, I don't even venture out to see. I've become too distracted with the musings instead of appreciating what I have sown. Then something helps me remember and I take a gander. Usually I'm surprised. Sometimes disappointed. But it's always an adventure.

So, when I see the fragmented sentences and the untended words, I realize I could've done more. When I see an unedited poem that could've used more inspection, I realize I could've done more. And that doesn't mean they're still isn't time for me. But I have wasted most of it. I have mused about what I could do and what I could be more than putting those talents to use.

I am still happy with me. I don't have to be filled with regret. They say we are supposed to look beyond our own horizons and see what we can find for ourselves beyond where we stand. I have looked for a long time without ever moving. I know there could have been more for me but I do not have the tools to achieve and become accustomed to only seeing my shortcomings.

There have been my cheerleaders along the way. I disappointed most, if not all of them. When I look around I feel as though I standalone. That was my own choosing. Does not mean that people abandoned me, but rather I abandoned my dreams. Or ran around aimlessly trying to figure out how to find them until I had to give up and noticed no one else was around.

People have written books on how to be successful as a writer among other things. If I have to live by other people's books, then I am not living truly to my own needs. Who should I be like? I should be myself. There are role models that inspire us to try new things, but after the testing we should know who we want to be.

I could set goals for another year and say that this is going to be the year. But I would be fooling myself. I think as long as I am seeking what I truly desire to be, I am on a path. If I take myself off the path, I fail. I will go round and round trying to figure out what it is I should be doing instead of just doing.

Do I digress now from my rambling? Or should I continue to search in my heart and head where these thoughts take me?

More later...
September 18, 2015 at 11:19pm
September 18, 2015 at 11:19pm
I don't want to overthink a poem while editing to make it more meaningful. This poem wound up in this week's spiritual newsletter and got me to revisit the phrasing and form of the poem. It lacks little structure, has its symmetry, but used the word 'pass' twice I noticed. I gave it a more themed spin, referencing faith and the rapture. I don't consider myself deeply religious, but find some poems want to send a message as this....

Alone In The Cavern  (E)
Darkness comes before the light.
#1822242 by Brian Keith Compton

Thanks to those that recently took time to read and point out I had another featured poem. I would have to read each newsletter in anticipation, surprised that my offerings are so frequently noticed. Very humbling and pleasant that others would take the time to make my writing known to others here.


September 13, 2015 at 12:15pm
September 13, 2015 at 12:15pm
Cracked upon the watery rock,
brilliant, clear,
glinting in virtuous light,
spread out and cast beyond
with immortal waves of time,
each word growing, further apart,
from the impact.

I've never seen this place in my mind
but I know it's there.
One image, one memory,
fractured, fading into the recesses;
I cannot coax it out anymore
to love, cherish,
radiance lacking warmth,
without someone to help me remember.

September 8, 2015 at 7:48am
September 8, 2015 at 7:48am
The only thing I ever wanted from anyone was their love and admiration and I would give wholly the same. I have felt rejection, the denial, the scorn and more all my life for my mistakes, failures and misunderstandings. Too ashamed and hurt to own up to my human condition or try navigate uncertain conversations, I've sealed myself off from a lot of the world instead of seeking kindness or forgiveness. I do not come equipped with the ability to open doors to the past, but live in the present and look to the future holding dearly to the loves I have now and hope that I do not fail again. That doesn't mean I don't waste time wondering what would have been if I had been a more fully functional being in my past.

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