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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/6-10-2021
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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 ▼
June 10, 2021 at 11:45am
June 10, 2021 at 11:45am
#1011608

Snippets of memory left,
bits of film I cannot restore
or set to motion in the projector.
So, I stare at negatives filtered through light,
aimed to discern the small details, consider
what beauty still remains and how much
was lost since you said
my best wasn’t good enough.

The creases and cracks of memory
perfectly preserve pain,
of loss, especially
without you to help remember the shame,
and what revealed exasperation meant about us,
recalled perfectly only by outcome,
how you moved on. I still reside with pain
of never really comprehending your rejection,
unabsolved of the shame of my ignorance.


6.10.21

To Elinor B. who I thought was on my side, as mentor.
I think the pain from your overreaction forced me to spill a life of ink without true discovery on my misguided journey to self-worth before realizing you didn’t clutch it in your own ignorant hands.

Is unabsolved only an adverb?
June 10, 2021 at 11:02am
June 10, 2021 at 11:02am
#1011603
I'm always quitting you
like the pencil and the pad
like the shaded elm
where i summered alone
in the quiet of a day
when all passing
were on their way
to some destination
and i had you
and those words, scrawled
etchings lost like carvings
in a tender tree

I'm always quitting you
when I come back for shade
with a smart device
that knows the way
to collect my utterings
on a bright screen to stay
One day, maybe
I'll quit you because
no one else can see the dreams
at play, hidden
from the light of day

Why must it always be this way?
With me, with you?
Reverse it, walk away.


6.10.21

IDK, just something I had to get down after the title phrase, thanks to the music by Cannons.
Poetry is a temptress that has offered little in return, or do I fail see her true rewards?



Like a smart lad, i capitalized I in second verse to show growth as a man. Who am i fooling?
Truly, the poem reveals I'm at conflict and fighting with myself, since she/poetry are concepts of this mind.
June 10, 2021 at 9:14am
June 10, 2021 at 9:14am
#1011596
So Much Depends On The Rain

a dark deluge pelts
the chicken coop

nesting hens long for

a red wheelbarrow
to warm claws

dry feathers fluff

sunrise crowing
no longer echoes in memory

after the seeded ground

after the small hands
busied with play
running and clutching

paint gleams hope

long into meditation

singular
solitary

dreams of angling rays
somehow
penetrate a thick head

before

back to bed to lay
in fresh straw

sleep away
the afternoon


24 lines
legit free verse

how like a chicken my life has become, dreaming of gleaming work implements to station my heart and soul for a glimpse of warmth after the rain.

6.10.21


This could have gone several ways. Not trying to sound like WCW fully, but idea is a prequel to his famous poem.

Time/Dream element might be confusing. More thought later.
June 10, 2021 at 12:49am
June 10, 2021 at 12:49am
#1011582
Lack of Rain

The mirror reminds the seconds past, but not yesterday.
Fans absorb quiet in the hall to the window and below
where I huddle in a growing chair of despair,
without some version of you there,
when we first held hands
and I learned the flavor of cherry chapstick on more tender lips,
our legs and torsos becoming dangerously entangled.

Too old to reawaken youth,
I smile at the couple strolling our lane,
past my window to the park.
They don't know these trees will lose leaves,
not like experience has taught one
who can't recall the sapling
but appreciates bloomed shade,
hiding a sun glaring that wants to know
why don't you play like the boy?

I would weep but I'm dry and ashamed,
as I gaze out the summer window,
no longer worry about the foreboding fall,
but the lack of rain's deliverance.

6.9.21


© 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/6-10-2021