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(117)
Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
I’m disabled by more than blindness.

Writing: Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance in life. Pretty medallions sought for words/my soul, slow burnt. Full of misdirects, right back at the start, but still quest with thirst.

Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent. If they take time to notice, must be doing something right.

scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies.

(hic)

The beautiful mess you made:
I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost
         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me

Neurodivergent poet seeks love without that fart in the room between us. Honesty without mincing words has come with a price for those juggling the hot my takes on what’s ‘truth’ (here’s some oven mitts). Best to stay clear of those surrounded by moat rules.

Real dialogue is accepted.

Wasn’t as open at first about recent diagnosis on spectrum with ADHD (complicated by PTSD, life of brain traumas). Been suggested by doctors of late I might want another brain scan (since 12/4/17…blogged).

This poet’s words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The experience of discovery through writing is the truest reward that has allowed me to grow and learn who/what I am — what other people get naturally, immediately, while I stomp around in it.

Been blessed, but pushing it — envelope, world and all inhabitants away. Push buttons, find boundaries to trip traps. No clue why cat curiosity, living in your dark. (Bored, perhaps?)

Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me how I need to be viewed (if I knew what that was). Cryptic, yes. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid strange, virtual, wonderful walls that tower above, tempt me to scale.

Been more than I could imagine or expect here. But, achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall *Think*. I dig deeper than I should, often without forethought. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets? Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations here. Not fair?

No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do best with what’s in hand.



My Pluggers:
You are an icon here.*BigSmile*
You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.*Heart*

It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Poetic Referendum(s) On Life"
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 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 ▼
July 11, 2021 at 8:32pm
July 11, 2021 at 8:32pm
#1013480

Breathless Start --

Throbbing heart,
ruby-throated romance
hovers above the hummingbird feeder.

From a bay window viewed,

amid evaporating dew,
a field of daisies tremble
when summer breeze stirs.

Will you depart?

How we're apart;
my heart near yours,
separated by clear pane.

Hum, flutter --

I hear myself mutter,
don flip flops,
gather a picnic lunch.

Chase a dream?

I'm trapped in a scene
inside a foggy head
by this vision of you.

Hum, thrust --

How you must
notice me, too, arriving,
vibrant, green angel?

I'm not whole.

Muse, heal a poet's soul,
given flight as morning yields
to a white sun burning.

A sky so blue,

I must join you
in the pleasant shade
of evergreen to write.

Hum, flutter --

Wings melt like butter,
fade to the backdrop --
a steadfast soul inspired by summer.



36 lines
you name it, rhyming verse

Writer's Cramp prompt 6.24.21

with thoughts of poetic inspiration from a rare sighting.

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#2133185 by Not Available.

Also, Another failed poem from Stormy Poetry Newsletter contest of yore.
July 11, 2021 at 8:25pm
July 11, 2021 at 8:25pm
#1013479
The whole world filled with suckers
looking for something to follow.
Here I am at your doorstep,
a basket-baby reject by those
who would not raise a demon.

Will you rear me, let me stray
onto your carpet of philosophy?
Pleading, tell me how and
what's right. Why do I bear
such shame in helpless plight?

You take me in, your odd duckling
who blindly follows you deep into night,
sure to belong, never wrong
to carry on your purposed fight.

A world full of suckers live by rules,
sometimes recanted philosophy.
You say they fit as a round peg
in a square hole, just like me, who
dares nibble fare at your set table.

Questions aim, looking into gray eyes,
sequestered long in a dimming room,
divided by maddening walls of doom,
and what you believe best for me,
from what I know is right.

I'm a sucker, your bastard child, alone
divided. A square peg in this round hole.
You never knew I could be so bold,
as I'm to learn now beg forgiveness
for this acquired, unfit obsession.


6.27.21
29 lines,
your may hear rhyme, but mostly assonance in this free verse piece.
You didn't think I'd conform, did you?

Writer's Cramp prompt in bold, though as to the actual idiom, as a quote:

Kenelm Chillingly asks, "Does it not prove that no man, however wise, is a good judge of his own case? Now, your son's case is really your case —- you see it through the medium of your likings and dislikings, and insist upon forcing a square peg into a round hole, because in a round hole you, being a round peg, feel tight and comfortable. Now I call that irrational."

The farmer responded, "I don't see why my son has any right to fancy himself a square peg ... when his father, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, have been round pegs; and it is agin' nature for any creature not to take after its own kind."

— Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Kenelm Chillingly, His Adventures and Opinions[

from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Square_peg_in_a_round_hole

On any day you can learn something, unlearn it, learn correctly and move on. But, who's going to correct us? - Brian K. Compton
July 11, 2021 at 8:20pm
July 11, 2021 at 8:20pm
#1013478
little bird who took shelter in your welcoming tree,
the innocent one drawn
into the open wood
in a chill at dawn, spied by me.

speckled plumage, fresh feathers multiply,
she squawks an awkward tune,
found your seed meant for prettier prey,
colors illumed in your yellow space,
warmed by currents in a soft bed.

ugly, it crows from shadows
of judging branches unyielding,
hops limb to limb to seek your love
afforded to inhabitants preening in view.
not meant for you, little bird.

Hope ruffled by cold.
Hope shrill in winter.
Hope soils the ground,
as little bird spent too long
refining an awkward song.

Hope can't fly
as a thing of joy should,
with a heart planted by your seed scattered,
follows the wrong dream,
confined now in a dry, dark wood.


24 lines
free verse


Wriiter's Cramp entry 6.15.21 unedited with this blog entry
prompt: use the title 'a chill in the air'. Hmm.
July 11, 2021 at 4:02pm
July 11, 2021 at 4:02pm
#1013470
Water Symphony

A lake symphony set to begin,
my ears cleared by green bassos,
single notes gulp an opening silence.

Brown minstrels grasp surface air,
whoosh water, vacuum twilight wings
skittering a surface.

Pinholes in ultraviolet horizons
gasp, as last rays angle, strike
the silvery surface.

in my yard, lawn chair erect,
violinists in the green pit harmonize
instruments in unison, lay
undiscovered, build a sound-bed
consuming ears harvesting
a cacophony of familiar notes.

Eyes trust a rising moon clear-cutting
a path to the dock, stretching
across dimpled water.

A water symphony punctuates
from glistening, dark cellos snapping
a delicacy of movement repeatedly.

Metal creak of my woven seat, reality.
I ease back to wonder if this calm
allows a mind to dream, forget
mosquitos masqueraded arrival is
an unexpected banquet I prepare to pay
with my flesh.


7.11.21
27 lines, free verse/vers libre

WC Loser 7.21-final version ▼
July 11, 2021 at 7:58am
July 11, 2021 at 7:58am
#1013451
Tears burned his eyes
when he realized
in earnest he had learned,
despite the repression,
how to use his voice,

when he finally could memorize lyrics
to his favorite song,
part his lips to loose
a song upon
a stunned family gathering.

Silent, carefully listening,
he had them, knew it, and
like a cork it bottled him
lifelong, unable
to sing again before anyone.

Tens of years pass,
earning his stripes,
multiple, menial jobs that buy his bread,
he tires of being alone. Quiet,
he vocalizes feelings again.

Sung with headphones strapped,
silences a crowd all around.
He parts those still tender lips,
having relearned the lyrics,
sings his favorite song,
stunned.

Only this time, he doesn't look,
imagines the sweetest melody
plays through his soul
to mountain tops his remaining years,
wherever he goes

and gently whispers thank you
to his brave heart.

7.11.21

How I imagine it might feel one day when ready to share love of singing to a broader audience.

It takes a lot of courage to be a part of a social community where one is only willing to share so much of them self, fearing reception, fearing rejection. Moreover, tied to self worth, it stings when people don't get him, or want get him, because he doesn't bring to the table what they think he should. Though, he does lay bare his soul of it's gifts. And when that's deemed only partially good, it might as well be all bad.

He's honest. Maybe, that scares you. He knows the difference between people who speak real words or use them as a mask. But using real words as a mask will take much longer to discern.


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/7-11-2021