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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/3-22-2022
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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 takes on what’s ‘truth’ (here’s some oven mitts). Best to stay clear of those surrounded by moat rules (not my attempt to disrespect, shame or shun. Just doin' me, which has come with its price [I've accepted.])..

Real dialogue 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 is a Streaker Try2StopMe


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 ▼
March 22, 2022 at 7:35pm
March 22, 2022 at 7:35pm
#1029353
Out The Bay Window, We Roam

Where wildflowers will wander, yet unknown.
Sun streams and chills chase a winter room, ending gloom.
In recliner, fully cocked, renewal absorbed.
A chick yellow-hatched, hides within the white lamb.

The good sun seeks another yard. On padded plane,
I dream a lad spring clad, weatherproof rubbers, and mad.
In a crush, murk-brown vaults eternally splashed.
Frozen time glistens a reflection fading fast.

Safe signaled, dry eyes toss up the sash.
Cardinal and blue jay flit to and fro, feather from feeder,
as felines watch below. Screened fragrance flows
freely within. Dust-lungs deep inhale, exhale soft

memory of the lost, sweet and youthful.
A panorama once a haze, now a glint of hued blaze.
No clouds clasp a quiet horizon sunken deep.
Bones seep in sinew of this quiet regeneration.


16 lines, free-flowing, free verse
3.22.22
3.28.22 major edit

Abridged, edited from this month's epic output on Spring: "In The Lamb (spring into inaction)" 
March 22, 2022 at 3:06pm
March 22, 2022 at 3:06pm
#1029341
Not out of the woods yet, where birch peel
black scrolls, yield novels dream-carved.

Ferns snap back, lash my bare thighs. Toads
flit further along, trail toward a calling rush.

Metaphysical memory visually runs ahead,
beneath a canopy. Spry legs hasten to the bank.

Tethered crafts of colored rubber heave! ho!
Shouting swimmers, splash, cavort to and fro!
They hold hued bottles high, like a toast.

Finding no footing, black mud guards a creek,
raging like a river. Moss stone, cedes a spot
to put in my float, tube a rocky, hairy scene.
Most play hooky like me, to stream unfettered.

Yoke-free in hidden scene, on currents we roll.
Happily sprayed, foot navigate jutting stumps.
Legs up, or scrape skin. Arms shove, twirling,
when we spy that serene opening. Sun smooth
settles on glass. Bugs skitter across, fish mouth
bubbles, plunge our surface. The gushing gone
in a chasm of sunlit dreams, slowing time unseen.

I spin my craft, dunk toes, gulp and belch amber.
Silent, not a croak, nor whisper, we scan trees,
tasseling leaves topsy-turvy. A crow leaps down,
swoops from dead branch. Flung again, ears recall
a rush calling, beg lonely and forgotten, sail free.

Warm, eyes heal. Chest scarcely heaves, when I breathe.

Cresting toward the sugar shore, ahead they carry
wood for fire. My watery mouth craves smoked meat
and whatever else exhumed from styrofoam coolers.

Limp, we dry, settle in heaps on sand to sleep, filled.
Summer season’s cures never-ending, we regale.

Jet black dome, specked bright white, shutters
watery eyes. Red skin cools beneath an eve spread.

Downy and exhausted, we scale access to gravel lot,
load up, fight off insistent mosquitos, shove off.

Anchored, I’ll dream my body stream a hurling rush.


3.22.22
36 lines, free verse
2nd place @
Poetry Contest and Inspiration  (18+)
Contest Cancelled due to Lack of Interest.
#2253936 by bearbit




BOOK
Poetic Referendum(s) On Life  (18+)
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
#1149750 by Brian is a Streaker Try2StopMe
March 22, 2022 at 3:05pm
March 22, 2022 at 3:05pm
#1029340
Half Past Moon

The Shape of the Mind Does Not Bend Correctly

I live in the great green room
for years on end, when
I paint it dark colors in dead of night.

Monsters lurk about my head, do not dine
on gray hairs and wrinkles,
but lick my wounds
warmed by their reptilian flesh.
Whiskers tickle,
spike shadows against
windows, curtains, walls
and down the hall --

where a bunny sleeps sound,
many years now; not very small,
no longer creeps in my bed
between my big, snoring head
and the silvery woman wearily calling,
calling, calling.

And I dread
morning light will reach before
this years-long fight will end
with me and the choice of colors
streaming through my mind
in this bed,
where I shed my sweat.

No mushy, crusty bowls remain,
nor ticking clocks that spell time;
no oval drifters float to ceiling,
by morning fall.
Just refractive error in mediocre light.

In ten by eight, dressers stack high,
creaky closet door ajar,
a mussed-up mattress rests, trapping
a worrisome dweller.

I see a glint of orange spy through glass,
when I begin relax,
and the ghosts drift out to meet the moon,
not seen for hours on end.

On which to depend, my body,
in the kitchen leaning, into
a cup in hand, half past noon?
Not true.
I’m dead.


3.22.22

This Blog: Quill Nominated Best Poetry Collection two consecutive years, 2020 and 2021.

"Poetic Referendum(s) On Life" 

Just reading about the author of Goodnight Moon, wondering, if she had just lived past 42.
March 22, 2022 at 2:45pm
March 22, 2022 at 2:45pm
#1029339
Wrote this one month after joining WDC, 15 1/2 years ago. How much have I grown as a writer?

 
STATIC
Lovely Lobelia  (E)
Alliteration inspired by a contest. Added, personifying the groups of flowers.
#1155615 by Brian is a Streaker Try2StopMe




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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/3-22-2022