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(117)
Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
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, slow burnt. Full of misdirects, right back at the start, but still quest with thirst.

Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent. If they take time to notice, must be doing something right.

scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies.

(hic)

The beautiful mess you made:
I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost
         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me

Neurodivergent poet seeks love without that fart in the room between us. Honesty without mincing words has come with a price for those juggling the hot my takes on what’s ‘truth’ (here’s some oven mitts). Best to stay clear of those surrounded by moat rules.

Real dialogue is accepted.

Wasn’t as open at first about recent diagnosis on spectrum with ADHD (complicated by PTSD, life of brain traumas). Been suggested by doctors of late I might want another brain scan (since 12/4/17…blogged).

This poet’s words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The experience of discovery through writing is the truest reward that has allowed me to grow and learn who/what I am — what other people get naturally, immediately, while I stomp around in it.

Been blessed, but pushing it — envelope, world and all inhabitants away. Push buttons, find boundaries to trip traps. No clue why cat curiosity, living in your dark. (Bored, perhaps?)

Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me how I need to be viewed (if I knew what that was). Cryptic, yes. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid strange, virtual, wonderful walls that tower above, tempt me to scale.

Been more than I could imagine or expect here. But, achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall *Think*. I dig deeper than I should, often without forethought. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets? Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations here. Not fair?

No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do best with what’s in hand.



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

It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Poetic Referendum(s) On Life"
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 Brian K Compton, Machinehead


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 ▼
February 20, 2022 at 7:25pm
February 20, 2022 at 7:25pm
#1027115
I try to smooth the steel edges and then hop back in. Mirrors adjusted, I see where you are, a pilot in hind view (backseat).

In the throes of January, it’s a mystery why she’s deceased. We looked through the obituary for clues. Someone just like us, but different in one way: dead. Really dead.

Our vehicle is getting warmer. But soon your distraction is well seen, and settled in my cockpit I go.

The mirror is clean, yet from this vista I get a dim view. For 60 long years an immaculate machine in and out of repair always attuned to you.

As my engine revs, all I notice is a lonely horizon. How many times when you exit this cabin did I consider a journey alone? Instead, I wonder aloud, should I turn here? You say, try again.
Should I drive straight, I ask. Again, try again.

All my life wondering how’s my driving, where are we going, I wonder why you don’t sit up front or take the wheel.

I start to question the need for repair, tune ups or even a garage. I forgot the true purpose of this machine I’m steering through sleet on arctic snow.

I think of the words that will be chosen and paid for print. Dying is not free. This whole life and stubborn machine are wrought with cost.

Under the hood, I rewire and rewire until I don’t know what goes to what anymore. An entire life trying to perfect something I did not create, overhauled and rebuilt…to go in direction that is meant.

But in order to not be a lonely traveler, I accepted you as navigator and reluctant co-pilot. And from the backseat, you seem to have directed me. Request you take the wheel, you deflect.

Maybe, I’ll steer this thing into the river. No. I forget the cost. The sun is directly in my eyes as I dream sundown into lonely, equatorial senectitude.


2.20.22

I plead for understanding in the midst of my own ignorance.
February 20, 2022 at 7:00am
February 20, 2022 at 7:00am
#1027087
I don't think e.e. thought to ponder why WE might think ourselves important while feeling diminished in an endless plight to overcome. weak, sometimes, yes. but, I am undeniable. yet, I fail, or feel as if, unrecognized.

someone out there has leveraged power. I am unsuccessful as yet at lighting my lamp on their flame. maybe, I will get a spark of my own, as yet. maybe, I have flint. but, tinder? then, firewood? and, keep it going? now, i feel tired. I'll be back later to try again.

sharpen those pencils. and light that screen. I'm coming inside again and again until I'm dead.

2.20.22 (dated)

and yes, I realize what I just said. it's a process. and if it gets you nowhere but chasing yet another metaphor, then yes, like that.
February 20, 2022 at 6:28am
February 20, 2022 at 6:28am
#1027086
what am I thinking about now?

sometimes, I'm in that place
when I realize the chair back lean
with hands enlaced behind head,
view angled toward the north wall.

mid-process is where I land.

sometimes, you don't get answers
but more questions to ponder.
what is real is how much time spent
in consideration of life's machine.

what is eating me now?

I may continue to ponder in this place,
resolute to stare at peeling paint.
I may dream of a beach from time to time,
knowing it's just erosion caused by time.

mid-process is where I'll stay

until I'm buried in my own sand.


2.20.22
17 lines, free verse
Edited 2.26.22 with a new leaning.

Just caught myself thinking about the potential for a poem after edit and how the words might appear to others. then, realize how much time is wasted on things that give little reward, these little mysteries of curiosity openly composed, seen from here to that wall where my eyes suddenly focus on reality.

I could sell this house and sit on the beach next to her.

But, does it (the poem) always have to end in death with you (speaking to myself): another thought.

I either live in the past or in the future. the present can only be assessed in past. then, dream of what the present could be like. I guess, I'm not really here, uncelebrated.

Disclaimer?
clarification not needed. for the few that read, use your imagination or your own personal taste. these words I pen are never mine. I do not own a thing, literately (as we are in and then out of this world). I might bullshit you, figuratively. perhaps, as I look in your eye and see a gleam. aha, yes, I see you are on to me.

We have that in common.

This will tie up somehow, someday, when I re-read. Or not. and, move on to the next...


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/2-20-2022