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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/6-28-2021
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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 28, 2021 at 10:04pm
June 28, 2021 at 10:04pm
#1012698
Like forests, childlike imagination,
comfortable, hides in my mind,
in yours and never comes out to play,
since real monsters:
mortgages, equitable income, taxes
and need for health insurance.

When do we peer out from behind these trees,
decide it’s safe to play in fields?
Some clearing from dank, moss woods,
glimpse spectacular mountain peaks,
daring blue sky compare?

Do we venture out, seek the tides
of moon-promise rolling,
let those wet dogs lap our weary feet?
Do we attune our ears, hear
wind whistling through bright foliage,
spy for denizens that would near
to harmonize with their uncaged melodies?

Where does sheltered love brave, risk
elements, venture as a curious child again?

Imagine, we could be alone in the dark
with no one to hold a hand.
Imagine, we are all alone in our forests,
not seeking one another, too afraid to play.

From behind those trees we are never free
from our daunting fears, with
true vistas calling, curtained from Hope,
partitioned from Dreams, only nightmares.

Childlike inspiration aspires
under the blackest mask, pierced
by a distant-calling in our forests,
yet white stars wink we're okay.
Let’s lay in the grass tonight.


6.28.21
33 lines, free verse
June 28, 2021 at 8:19pm
June 28, 2021 at 8:19pm
#1012693
Fast Forward: Post The Apocalypse

I was your lone survivor,
the one you called wicked,
still alive, still alone.

What game we played,
I do not know? In silver shoes,
wearing my blues, thought
I could sparkle on your bright horizon,
but only second to your gold,
left a spectrum from which to choose.

You knew it would be you,
tarnished bronze by your family sun,
memories of merciless times,
burnt skin before a cloud burst
sent me deep within.

Here I sit, legs wrapped,
feet in sand kicked, flying
everywhere from invisible eddies.
Shades donned. Lotion applied.
You could call on your lone, surviving bride.
Too many to bed with,
your lust sends henchmen with knives,
guns and veiled threats.

Just soaking up the last rays
of an apocalyptic fire, burning,
supposedly for you. I absorb
the dimming heat, grin.

Baring my breast on your beach front,
Inhale vision of gawkers who long to sin,
Fast forward…

6.28.21
June 28, 2021 at 8:13pm
June 28, 2021 at 8:13pm
#1012691
The Geography Of New Love

How many times
geography stipulates
the end of another
promising relationship

where he/she with
whatever dream more important
than he/she and their mission
yet to complete

meet on avenues
running through each heart
without a place to start
because of what would have to end

why not decide
serendipity the reason
for each to begin again
in a central world

each give up
old visions for bright adventure
to follow what each
honestly confesses in their heart

what do we implor? But
if one should waiver,
time to depart

6.28.21


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/6-28-2021