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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


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
October 19, 2020 at 4:37am
October 19, 2020 at 4:37am
#996222
Signature for use by anyone nominated for a Quill Award in 2020

the blue markings

with coffee clutched --

by the wall
by the door
a story told with gentle markings
each rising to meet another
         one in blue
         the other graphite

these gentle notations
on satin finish
         darling with age
         an area no cleaning agent could scrub
until the day
I give this house up

         the first day
when you stood most obedient
the angling stick rested atop your head
         she reached beneath
         scraped the wall in permanent blue
your backpack idle by the door

your brother before
three years ascending
by graphite
gentle dark markings did install
now intermingle,
reside amid the rising blue

such hope sent
my eye's gaze reflecting
on inscriptions of each year
         the first days of school
imagining your noggin
from foggy mornings of yore

every marking I spy
as high as it would go
to the top
until the finish
until the final date, now
I realize

         the potential of you
         was in memory
         not in the future
                   anymore.


10.19.20
41 lines, free verse

It's sad (blue) when they grow up and rehashing (markings) in the present, reflecting on past and future knowing charting their height was the only true measurement..
October 19, 2020 at 4:32am
October 19, 2020 at 4:32am
#996220
Your mind --
chambers.
My mind, locked
in open rooms.
I could see you,
felt skin of your hand on mine --
so good the day we climbed,
took outdoors.

Oxygen couraged lungs.
Leaves on trees spatially hung
as I clung to rock.
Your hand lead me along, up.
Memory recalls
you were not at the summit
our first year.

I yearned only one peak
in a calm tree stand
where your heart and mine
went separate ways, year two.

Clouds dimmed my house, guarded
your fort stormed by another,
marking long trails alone
before year three.
One last time
we meet,
no mountain in view.
No man you once knew.

Familiar touch of a gentle hand
on my skin startled.
My heart found its chambers
in a divided room, splintering.

My eyes did not dare view
what once hoped true.
Absent of mind
to conceive we climb
heights I feared,
your face faded to the clouds --
dark all the days, but
bright leaves twirling,
soft skin now air,
as my chamber becomes
a fortress of lost leaves,
collecting.

And, there's you in my nights,
shimmering behind a wandering moon.





10.20.20
45 lines, free verse
11.11.22 re-edited/re-envisioned, finished, made public

I don't know how to title this yet. But want to say something the poem intentionally leaves out: year two.
October 19, 2020 at 4:29am
October 19, 2020 at 4:29am
#996218
My brain

Spin cycle
No water
No load
Vibration intensifying
Testing strength of bolts
Anchored
In cement
Shaking foundation
Dreams of flying
On hold
While in my
Inner orbit
Flesh heeds
Circuitry
Wired to
This fatal
Machine
In every
Ride mode


Oct. 2020


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/10-19-2020