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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/5-11-2022
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Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
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 ▼
May 11, 2022 at 10:40am
May 11, 2022 at 10:40am
#1032243
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.
May 11, 2022 at 9:54am
May 11, 2022 at 9:54am
#1032242
Quill Nominee Signature 2022
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
May 11, 2022 at 8:45am
May 11, 2022 at 8:45am
#1032241
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?
May 11, 2022 at 8:39am
May 11, 2022 at 8:39am
#1032240
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.
May 11, 2022 at 8:30am
May 11, 2022 at 8:30am
#1032239
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
May 11, 2022 at 8:12am
May 11, 2022 at 8:12am
#1032238
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.


© Copyright 2024 He’s Brian K Compton (UN: ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
He’s Brian K Compton has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/5-11-2022