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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/6-8-2022
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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
June 8, 2022 at 10:53pm
June 8, 2022 at 10:53pm
#1033632
Poetry and publishing are like how I love fishing,
but clueless where to drop a line in the water.
I could get pretty skilled at it, if I find some places. I could ask around
where to fish, but many won’t reveal their secret hole. Or,
just no good advice out there. Or, so far removed from the best places to fish,
you get stuck hauling sunfish/bluegill not big enough…
to scale, bone, cut up…to eat. Slightly bigger than your bait,
you could still haul one worthy to take home.

It’s the excitement of prepping, setting your pole to reel one in,
and tender wait on a temperate day, when trees shimmy turbulent leaves,
yellow, green, yellow, green and the blue fades into white billows
sketched on dappled glass that teases just enough to get you to grasp
and tighten that light line a bit before…reel back, cast and set again.

A red float happily bobble-spin dances before a little back and forth and round and down,
and the game begins! Hope she’s a beauty. The One. A dream.

Did I just make a poem out of that?

Day 4: "The Bard's Hall Contest

6.8.22

"Note: Revised and retitled poem [Link to Book Entry #1..."
June 8, 2022 at 9:52am
June 8, 2022 at 9:52am
#1033603
They found your love, hit the target.
I could not get within range.
So rare, other worldly, I connect as dust
to aria aura that bleeds melancholy.
On tides I ride our ocean apart.

Your Castles rise beyond my eyes,
Where empty I find myself
With warbled words harmonious,
Tracing the signature of my core,
A soul of rubble, rebuilding with hope
I could be as strong as I ever was.

You do not know you hold my hand
In this strange, beguiling land.
In waves of rhythms, I flow further
From where I’ve been, visualize
How my love could hit your target.
Heightened senses reel, knowing
What we share in your Castles.

With aim true, my slender words would echo:
(after my golden arrow struck)
to revel in your love…to revel in your love…



6.10.22

Aim seems a theme with me lately.


Thank you Freya, newly discovered Titian-haired goddess of song, with apparent genetic markers akin,
resonating in a captured boy’s disconnected soul.


© 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.

Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/6-8-2022