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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’yearns to love without that fart in the room between us. Honesty without mincing words comes with a price for those juggling the hot take on my version of truth (here’s some oven mitts). Find it best to stay clear of those surrounded by moat rules.

Real dialogue accepted.

Diagnosed with new disabilities in 2020: was obtuse in beginning, frank now…on the spectrum/ADHD (complicated by PTSD, much brain trauma). Been suggested by doctors of late I might want another brain scan (sincev12/4/17…blogged).

As it is: My words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The true experience/acknowledgment of my writing seems yet to come...long after I’ve left WDC, am dead, or both?

Truly been a blessing, but been pushing it — envelope, world and all inhabitants — away — push buttons, find boundaries to trip traps. No clue why, where I've lived in your dark. (Life boring?) 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 strange, virtual walls that tempt me to scale/escape).

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 KC


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 ▼
January 31, 2022 at 11:50pm
January 31, 2022 at 11:50pm
#1025769
When you’re small,
trees shadow you,
buildings,
the tall boys and parents.
When you seek inner strength,
they ply that highway, too —
mind and soul and heart.
Long shadow on you,
block light, look down,
those faces don’t let a small boy up from the dirt.
But, the trees, you climb
closer to the sun, filtered,
legs strong, with arms and hands that grip —
before long realization supplied
by nature informed —
the strength to jump down,
ready for a fight and see fright
as they flee.
Now alone,
an eternity in mind
with a crown of leaves.


1.31.22
January 31, 2022 at 8:31am
January 31, 2022 at 8:31am
#1025730
Merit Badge in Taboo Words [Click For More Info] Brian, Congratulations! You won 1st Place in [Link To Item #2139468] with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1025730]. This poem took a different direction from all the other entries, and I loved its originality. Rachel 1st Place, January, Taboo Words

The whitest, palest dreams drift
on this medium staring up at me, as if
'when you gonna go?' Taunting.
The world waits for no dreamer,
cast adrift on past memories,
'when you gonna quit?' Reliving.

Hollow clouds furl, separate, reform
on the palest vault staring down, as if
'you waste too much time here.’ Idling.
Plucky birds that dare winter in trees
fly away, as if mocking me in song,
'when will you soar again?' Mimicking

all the songs, all the horizon's offerings,
all the world spares, every dream dreamt.
Where's motivation, can't compel these limbs?
Where's desire, can't feel the beating thing?

The whitest, palest scene is adrift.
The medium on flat surface decays
every moment this world spins further away,
as the clouds reconstruct no matter what.

Nature is outside waiting, no one to play.
When will you search, reach. It flies away?
Blank as a page.

1.31.22
23 lines, free verse

For Taboo Words:
A Blank Page
fresh
clean
new
promise
resolutions
or any derivatives

I have no purpose if I don't employ it.
January 31, 2022 at 7:59am
January 31, 2022 at 7:59am
#1025728
Colorless,
my brain seems to tattoo images and symbols,
expressions of beliefs.
Yet somehow, I cannot stain you,
but stare and dream of original expressions
they would witness, that would move them.

But how to move others, when I cannot move?
Your purity like snow draws my eye,
my ache fingers idle.
You could be my canvas
that does not invite the chalk etchings of my mind.
I am better than clichés
and yet not creative enough.
Before I can write, I must walk.
And when I walk I must go outdoors.
But instead I look out this window and imagine,
dream of myself in another world dawning.

That is where this page needs to begin.
Maybe, this life was wasted?
I look into my heart and see if I can write this.
I pick up my instrument, purge.


Made public 2.21.22 without edit, still rough, lacking detail
January 31, 2022 at 7:24am
January 31, 2022 at 7:24am
#1025726
Merit Badge in Shadows and Light [Click For More Info] Hi Brian, Congratulations! You placed 3rd in [Link To Item #shadows] with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1025726]. Rachel
I dreamt in snow,
one thick sock curled under heel,
sweat skin absorbed inside brown, thermal boot.

A lone child bundled in winter gear
drew the coldest, freshest air, puffed
like a wingless dragon. A small body

rejuvenated by winter, realized a blank sky devoid --
nothing staring down at nothing staring up.
Silence. White drifts cradled a tender body,

play-acting some miniature, mental drama.
Endless, small eyes, sheltered and blinded,
viewed a small sun skittering across the horizon,

lowering in noticeable increments if you dared.
Gray particles crept amid bare, frozen ghosts,
hid beneath heaped eaves, seeped vapid, dry air,

as if unsuspected by a child wanting to know
where colors of autumn were buried, while yearning
her firm yet loving call to action: Dinner!

I dreamt warmth,
heavy garments peeled to the rug, unfrozen,
slogged, seeping into the uneven planks of a paler house.

Joy in winter fluff, merely fantasies remembered --
bone-chilled rejuvenation saturated a growing, red heart,
still throbbing echoes lifelong, and still dreams her call.


1/31/22
24 lines, free verse

celebrating 1969-72, the true wonder winter years, in absentia
January 28, 2022 at 12:04am
January 28, 2022 at 12:04am
#1025523
Two sides —
one often unused,
one soiled and crumpled
with bad aim
lies in dust gathering
near a steel receptacle.

I grasp a discarded truant,
smooth and recycle
a forgotten, partially used master,
rebuild the dream
with black slate honed and angled,
plying the thin blue lines.
Elegant cursive dances
with a poet’s eye agleam,
fashion these thoughts again
on a new stage, new scene —
begin again,
write this vision true,

with the other side
bearing your weight,
graphite singing best
a new song.


1.27.22
26 lines, free verse

For Taboo Words?
January 27, 2022 at 9:31pm
January 27, 2022 at 9:31pm
#1025514
Awake and snoring
Every word boring, I know.
Blathering, is that me
Or the television quaking
Disaster after catastrophe?

Should I get up,
Put pants on for you, at my door
Uninvited?
And now who's the bore?
Uncouth, trouserless,
Have I brushed my teeth, my hair
To welcome you near?

La, la, la, la
Lah-lah
Blah, blah, blaw, bla...
Better get up, get to bed.
I have an appointment with death.
The borrowed become cliche.

1/27/22
Five minute write to another, nameless song, artist
January 27, 2022 at 9:19pm
January 27, 2022 at 9:19pm
#1025512
Sound reflects
Echoes in the learned soul.
Feelings long ago lost
Reanimated, pleasantly replayed.
Thank you yesterday.
Born again to
A parentless nucleus,
A lone atom hums
Looking for further proof
I once existed
In another body,
Bonded by a bed,
Reverberating generational.

Nothing
To clasp with
Two empty, withering hands.
Purpose?
Reason to write?
Send electronic notes
To the void
I call my universe?
Lay in my crib,
Close ailing eyes
Begging,
Dream another day?


Written to Glass Animals 'Gooey'
Finished by song's end.
Dare edit later?

Who dares disturb this groove...?
Oh.
January 27, 2022 at 9:07pm
January 27, 2022 at 9:07pm
#1025510
It's cement
Cast and anchored
Over my head
Forever or until
A planet squashed
By a big boomerang
Snap back
Crush these bones
In an instant
As I clutch you
In frames adorning
A vision
I cannot reanimate
But in dreams
And who needs
The 'what ifs' anyways
Turned sideways
To the carpet
Then down deeper
Digging my hole
Before the boomerang.

1.27.22


Written in the time it took Fisher to sing, "I Will Live You"

You won't know where to pause
Unless I edit
But then
It wouldn't be the same
Would it?
January 27, 2022 at 9:08am
January 27, 2022 at 9:08am
#1025475
Pot Of Hope

I know we're supposed to whisper -- but
we left him
in the hall.
why spend $9.95 to have him when
we don't think of him at all.

Midday,
lone shaft of light angles
to reach
over the rail into the corner where
he lays alone,
you on the phone,
me in my mind
wandering to and from this place.

He could be be so pale,
no love
but neglect of a dream of ownership,
the promise
in a bucket with a brilliant,
little sticker adorning
his crib,
now coffin,
in this less cozy, little home.

Did my dream become his,
to produce and reproduce,
give love we had,
serve a couple in need of
a little more ambience,
like potpourri burning
nasal passages to connected brain,
no memory
just credit to buy
an affordable, middle class
pot of hope?

Death was long before
adoption, a struggle
for light, and taste for
a drop of tap water
in nutrient-rich
dirt -- lifelong nap,
not a rare colored iris
will wink awake
in the dead of these nights.


1.27.22

I think we're all destined to dream of something unrealistic for just $9.95, today... delusionally waste time, invoke it into mind-f'd reality.

A little dream of ownership with no skills to cultivate life.

It sounds harsh: but, fuck everybody for imposing their reality into mine... especially, the ignorant sentimental fools who are not awake tonight. (Sad I must disclaimer: metaphorically, not literally...if you even know the difference from...nevermind. Point made?)
January 20, 2022 at 1:09am
January 20, 2022 at 1:09am
#1025052
The tender heart of you bleeds for a purpose.
My ears ache to savor labored Words pain.
My hands want to feel the dark heart throbbing.
My eyes aim penetrate the most guarded soul.

You solidly look up. Steady, I do not shudder.
Your pain lives in me now in deepest recesses.
You can access any part of me, share our blood.
Resistant, you do not trust the likes of me.

I'll sing my sorrow for another tomorrow knowing
I absorb these disturbed visions with no egress out.
My arms would wrap you like blooming vines, but
Nothing grows in the dark where you are now.

A little sunlight will creep over the hedge between us,
One day, hopefully two flowing through one another.

1.20.22

Just stream on consciousness with discipline to craft a hopeful poem.
January 20, 2022 at 12:44am
January 20, 2022 at 12:44am
#1025051
I could write you a eulogy every night,
Pack away those tiny words in tiny type --
Click, click, clack away a story
Hidden from all those redirected eyes.

The steel writer gathers dust, rust.
The black ribbon unspooled stains
a blank page like murder scene clues.
The detectives all look the other way.

I'm dead here anyway, tall grass grave
With interlaced daisies bright on dry blood.
I had many years, many chances,
But chose to piddle it all away --

A brain masturbating itself into decay,
The rotting gray in numb skull withered.
I scrawled my random messages on walls:
White on white, black on black, now blue,

As green layered by white seals my fate --
A corpse on this hard lawn, composting.

When spring arrives, words fully absorb.
You could ask anyone, I was never here.
An obit didn't run, a toll for words spun, unpaid.
Ask the editor if he keeps me in a Manila file.


1.20.22

I really don't know. Tap, tap, tap and then...
January 8, 2022 at 6:06pm
January 8, 2022 at 6:06pm
#1024377
Images hammered on the canvas, dark.
But not good enough to attend.
Devoid a life promised, I bust the medium.

Reimagined words spurred by rampage
Stain all who near the re-creation.
Why didn't they tell me, no wit,
You cannot change an atom?

Blood purged -- collected and flushed.
Hands bandaged -- heal with time.

One day the sun re-arrives
From perfect vantage in glowing pane --
A perfect instant -- and I knew
Hopeful creativity had purpose again.


1.8.22

Never say never, just maybe, later.
January 5, 2022 at 10:30pm
January 5, 2022 at 10:30pm
#1024250
I’ll be dead tomorrow.
Give me a ride aboard
your flaming craft, kicked away
from silent shore, adrift
wherever the tide should go.

Vacuous elements
in observance soothe a scene.
But absent, a shadow of soul
in grey-fog reverie.

I could die tonight
on starched-tight linen
where I linger many weeks.
Scoop me up in your arms at dawn.
Hope the sun appears.

Soak me in kerosene.
Burn me with oars beside.
Give an old tub purpose
first glimmer of morning light.
Singe my last hair, cast adrift
for any horizon until sunk —
flamed out, black ash, lead weight.

In hidden harbor, buried there,
I’ll be dead tomorrow.
No eulogies sung or needed.


1.5.21
1.7.22 and 2.3.22 edit

Made up while listening to Frou Frou in my Covid quarantine funk, day three.

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