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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/6-19-2021
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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 19, 2021 at 3:43pm
June 19, 2021 at 3:43pm
#1012172
Now that I’ve learned all the dance moves (that I care to know), I freeform rather than conform.

Rhyming structured poetry is conforming.
Free verse bends
the minds of simple analytic into
places you’re mind won’t go,
attempt,
conceive because...because
you need the
one, two, three, four, step!
measured time, dip your sweetheart
on that dime,
spin her back again
dosey-doe, though
you don’t know,
you don’t know

where I could go.
I call;
you fall,
check yourself out and wait
for the next band playing a rhythm,
some harmony, and you think
you'll give it a try, but
you're out,
leave eventually,
because this is not your kind
of poetry party.
Keg -- tapped -- out.

I built this place and this
is the way I like to dance the best.

6.19.21

That's how I do!
Justin, take it home...
June 19, 2021 at 3:41pm
June 19, 2021 at 3:41pm
#1012170


I’ve got summer in my hair.
tiny deposits, infinite and microscopic
stones of sand leave remnants of you,
mix with a humid Coppertone and coconut
infusion inhaled, harkening me back
to a distant beach we claimed our own.

a golden body gleaming inspected
your guarded, framed eyes deflecting
while reflecting a diligent sun straining.

propped on your elbows, your
immaculate teeth bared grinning,
as I shadowed him from you --

yearned to know how to

hard press you on that soft cotton
covering a square yard -- crumpled,
fluttering confusion
that would be swept away if not for you
in the invisible insistence encircling us,
waving my summer flag of blond hair,
straight and unkempt.

just a boy standing in front of a girl.

how could we keep messing it up,
return to shore, dock on
'what ifs' distant starlight --

the hours later, hotter every night,
knowing a black sky would shroud,
envelop and drain every last ounce of summer
for the rest of life.

I inhale this essence on pale, hard skin.
follicles cling for dear life,
yearn tempting youth notice a vibrant man
on one more trip to park on summer sand
with dreams unrequited,
mussing me up.


6.19.21
34 lines, free verse

I'm torn sometimes which way to edit, punctuate and break up lines in a poem, because one method changes one tone where another need apply and vice-versa.

So, I keep hacking at these things without thinking, make two poems of it. Keep the original in a dropnote and see what comes out on the other end? Maybe, I'll give that a try someday.

Lord knows, I do enough pushing of words about these rooms. I could just give myself a rest and stop obsessing with unachievable perfection, go for a sloppy baseline with tight vocals instead...metaphorically speaking, if I lost you.




My Summer Hair Original ▼
June 19, 2021 at 3:40pm
June 19, 2021 at 3:40pm
#1012169
Return Again

storm at 3 am
a distant dream

morning light yields

encompassing humid, summer plight
melts
quiet

visions inspire
that tender, yellow field crossed
receding at the elm

tender bodies sheltered
souls washed

toes first dip in swirling stream
gentle arriving

cattails witness your form undress
we lie on the bank

round, firm
you tan

cool bodies bared
bake in sun
cool in breeze

open to the world
seek no forgiveness

innocent, sweet
play, earning
break from judgment

burn daylight
time still
before the invention of a clock

night calls
we promise to return again

but summer ends
for all seasons

I recall.


6.19.21
June 19, 2021 at 12:37am
June 19, 2021 at 12:37am
#1012129
I want a Mata Hari to infiltrate my life.
If someone's going to rob me blind, my privacy to conduct
as if some criminal flying below radar, suspected,
tailed, subjugated to your seedy,
low-life underworld that would dare compare
a morality exceeding, greater than mine,
because I've made my share of mistakes, then
give me the red dress femme under street lamp,
lit cigarette.

I look my foes in the eyes, some shudder,
blink, back away while I think
where is my temptress to undress in haste,
lay waste to dirty little secrets,
get me spill what little I know for her show --
eyes sparkling like gems hidden in summer sand.

When she balances a petite, garnished drink in hand,
I’m her mark, her man. We dive, drown
in each other’s eyes exchanging passionate kisses.
Her brand of lipstick for my teeth pleasure in her flesh --
all in the name of our love of the badge,
double agents, penetrating intentions by fire,
dishonestly entangled, she in myth,
you in yours watching through blinds,
and me enjoying the game, get your womanly agent
to convert to my side.

Mata in my corner, on the inside, danger courted,
as true criminals pass through the night
while a diversion ensues in empty vocation.

I need some Mata Hari,
if I am going to live this kind of lie.
I'm an unsuspecting Cary Grant who's gotten wise.
Why don't we compromise and have her shave her legs tonight
with a tiny razor. *Wink*


6.18.21

don't read the following catch line, if you're easily offended ▼

Written for my employer, who doesn't trust me. I figure I should gets some perks out of our association, if I have to put up with their blatant, arrogant ignorance. They've unnecessarily put too many good people through too much.

I want another shot, B.K. I wasn't ready. I've made my mind up.

going in another different direction with these poems.


© 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/6-19-2021