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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/month/12-1-2022
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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 18 year


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
December 30, 2022 at 11:08pm
December 30, 2022 at 11:08pm
#1042378
From “Weirdly Poetry” (yet to be published)

Easy On The Petals

She loves me
I love me
She loves me not
I love me not
She loves someone else
I’ll love myself
eventually
or not

Though I’m no prize
please take a chance on me
so I learn to love for two
me as well as you
buttercup

I’ll never tear petals again
because that’s childish
Love is a tender, fragrant flower,
imbued joy in small hands
before gleeful carnage.

My lips will wet your damage
already done, sealed
with these kisses
of what love…
what love.


12.30.22
12.31.22 last verse added

love damages, repairs
but not like new;
experienced
will hurt less or more
by love, or no love.

Better to have loved
and live nostalgically ever more?

I don’t know if I’ve loved but desired the salve of her bare skin on mine.
With passion, I think good enough. Yet, not my best. Yet to come?
December 29, 2022 at 8:36pm
December 29, 2022 at 8:36pm
#1042339
You fell from heaven like a feather.
I devilishly witnessed dainty descent,

tried to field you, whirring event,
elusive, before your rest, gentle
on the green mass.

What point of picking you up now,
unless breezes should stir,
send you heavenward?

In all your glory, twisting,
spinning, I’d try again,
calculate with more fervor.

Heaven loves a wild dreamer
chasing its cloud castoffs.


12.29.22

It started with initial notion, cultivated from there. Poem gave way to how we love chaste, available dreams that we win (men, I supposed).

Still considering
December 25, 2022 at 1:16am
December 25, 2022 at 1:16am
#1042127
like flitting words casually floating
through an electric fence.

some crackle.
some singe and simper.
some sail past
deconstructed without the rest,

and still floating, aiming,
seeking to find true meaning.

words informed
fasten like seat belts.

look out!
here we go again!!


12.24.22


December 24, 2022 at 1:18am
December 24, 2022 at 1:18am
#1042096
Chance favored me without preparation.

Trailed hazardous life stumbling
over serendipity
near the turbulent waters
lapping my ignorant shores
ready to consume a fool.

What were my odds?
the chance I'd survive ordinary existence
to reach its inevitable end
with fortuity?

Manifest destiny or fate
life seemed to be lived by accident.

Found love.
Periled lips still savor kismet.

Was it providence,
coincidence,
happenstance?

or did I just get away
with cheating life
because of dumb luck?



12.24.22
20 lines free verse

"Invalid Post"  
12.5.22 PPC Prompt: Luck

"Invalid Post"  
Kerf form


December 23, 2022 at 11:28am
December 23, 2022 at 11:28am
#1042067
thank you
for unnecessary commentary
in this shared theatre

I shouldn't push play
why don't I learn?
is a poet supposed to get to the point?


thank you for the unprovoked remarks
in the din I live in

Should've worn my headphones

Why don't I insulate?
is a poet supposed to self-edit?
for you?


you've been kind to give your opinion
in my shrinking domain,
a condition
where little space can be sought
to self-isolate

Where is the acceptance I yearn?
Is a soul supposed to dry its pen?

What am I living in
that walls don't echo my thoughts?

The vibrant messages could soothe
aching ears

Where am I living if
I cannot go from here
without you on my mind
vigorously absorbing all of my soul's light?


thank you for choosing me to hear you out

A chamber envelops my lungs,

heart pushed to the glass

How can I unpin and ask for my breath back?

Let a poet grip
foolishly again
his words flung to a non-dimensional wall
expanding to infinity

and all I’ll not capture


thank you.



12.23.22
12.26.22 added 3 end lines
4.9.23 added punctuation, more capitalization and last line.


it's about sharing music i love in shared amphitheater, and have to hear her say she doesn't like this song or that artist, or thinks the volume too loud or when will it end?

things like these attach to my heart, she severs with her blunt knives
December 20, 2022 at 9:31am
December 20, 2022 at 9:31am
#1041958
your mother had to knit you cool blue mittens
to hold my red hot heart
when we enmeshed in snow
melted and froze
into ice

spring did not thaw you
i was a puddle
cars drove through
sent skyward
blocked promise land
above heartless sun

a heavy rising

you were saved by my freezer
i can still open the door
gaze in that dark refrigerator
and wonder how long
you'll stay in tact
if i could hold you one more time

my mother didn't knit mittens for that


12.20.22
18 lines
December 17, 2022 at 1:37am
December 17, 2022 at 1:37am
#1041867
tell me to stop writing poetry
this useless mind-fuckery
the all consuming journey
to self-discovery through artless muses
crafted by idle hands
from a troubled mind
as life could suck the yolk from a man

aiming and pointing his words
at the world like shooting at woodpeckers
that go round and round the bark
while i blasted a stubborn tree
with a hand-me-down 4-10 gauge-
whatever-shotgun i'd be given one winter
to drive deer toward his blind

in a white out i fired and fired
at the annoying bird echoing his labor
in that pine edging my trail
pristine morning path to shack
where he sat and drank coffee
read porno magazines he thought hid
probably wondered about that firing from
a flannel fifteen year old without
a red trappers hat to call his own

feet dry because of sandwich bags
to protect from holes in tight boots
damaged from kicking too much snow and ice
my invisible march clomped toward him
he with loaded, high caliber rifle
his long, metal casings could pierce an animal
my size and put me down
put him out of misery from a meandering boy
bored with his fires, bees collected
in Bell jars, severing brother's thumb
with hedge shears

took way too long to arrive
dispensing every shell before deciding
throw the gun away before i kill someone
and returned to camp to clutch the pen
circle and combine jumbled letters into visions
i would find my own way to put meat on the table

life's not as easy as a gun.



12.17.22
42 lines - poem, prose, story, puzzle

or something like that. took less time to explain with this notion.

did i mention if you understand a poem after one read it's not good?

I had to stop editing this after nearly completing poem, assisting wife with car after my son drove into a snowy ditch.
no worries. i got the poem finished better than expected.
oh, he's fine. so's the car. *Think*
December 16, 2022 at 4:40pm
December 16, 2022 at 4:40pm
#1041857
We would really like to know

If ever I'm perfect
they'll dismantle me
maybe, study me
but mostly, do away with me
We lost paradise once
Tirelessly, must settle for imperfection?

I hand her the correct change
she says perfect
I complete their application
submit, he looks it over
perfect
Making an appointment
I respond to need of contact info
Verbal utterance echoes on the line
perfect

You can't call me back
Unable to process my application
I passed counterfeit bills (coins I can't mint)

You don't know me
I could be the person trying to undo
all that is perfect, "functional"
within the frequencies, communes
of coexistence, governed society,
aiming with just one word —
perfect

Perfect? Do you hear yourself?
What's perfect about correct address?
You've never been here
I could live in squalor
police sirens blaring, cars jacked —
a militarized zone, mortar shells
perfect bullets rip past down my street
as I take the car out again

and it performs as it should
on journey to my next 'perfect'
when I stop (while it rolls independently)
to consider, then pat the fading dash
from my leather-creased, captain's chair
inside a rusty hull, bumper cracked
radio-sometimes-working, beaut of a machine
and say
'you're what's perfect'...

even though, you aren't.

If I don't appreciate all imperfection
and what functions, necessitating a weary life
keeping me going
up this hill we're on
before the six foot drop off
or crusher, then I must admit
between here and where eternity ends
I might make it to perfect...

Envisioning a white cloud
airily lifting me close enough to touch bluest heaven
and no one will see
I'd keep it to myself
between me and the Chevy
We'll both drive off that cliff
before we'll let anyone dissect us.

We are what we are and it ain't perfect

Okay, good, thank you, I have all that I need...
unless there's something more?


12.16.22
62 lines (free verse}

Best Long poem I've written in sometime, if ever.

a little, annoying word on the lips of many little minds, more functional than me.

and you know what else I don't care for? indifference.

3-Time WDC Quill Nominee: Best Poetry Collection...2020-22.

For quill 2021 winners
December 11, 2022 at 10:44am
December 11, 2022 at 10:44am
#1041682
don't want to be too
sing-songy

avoid the stunted syllables
grinding out

each unsubmitted manuscript
that light these pages
unseen by the main

don't want to be alone
pitchy singing

avoid the top of stunted chords
grinding melody

each retracted utterance
could light still hearts
unheard by that main

untested but willing
singing in rain showers
puddle splashing, hopping
over hearts inside windows
in my yellows like spring
sop-wet with the sky's tears
for a little man inside
unloved by her

who'll not be
if I don't get outside
a foggy dream
get seen, heard and loved.


12.11.22
December 5, 2022 at 6:16pm
December 5, 2022 at 6:16pm
#1041438

the flaw in our beauty

a broken heart holds together in its sand,
its ancestor
until that final heap topples a fractured vessel,
ice glass bleeding.
         tides try claim the mess,
                   wash remains to sea.
some pieces hunker in grit,
hold on, wear down.

you don't see,
unobserved from dark space
separating
a billion miles a second,
                    speeding away
           away
   away,

down to bottom of this shared ocean,
middle of our galaxy.
you didn't glimpse
while your heart was cracking,
too.

but I noticed,
and noticed
you didn't see
me.

we share sand –
blown, mysterious, special
fish bowl or flower vase people,
each of us
fragile.

not adjoining on shelf,
we'll not ocean together
at the same time,
aweigh on this life
forever and ever
and ever.

don't say amen.
i already hate me
for being impure.



12.5.22
12.7.22 some major edits

could suffice as lyrics; what chorus?

written to:


men have feelings
we're taught to access the part of our flawed DNA that doesn't allow us to show it, or
feel shame if we do

slightly altered version
December 3, 2022 at 2:47pm
December 3, 2022 at 2:47pm
#1041337
Decades long
I still cannot metabolize you
(It’s been) a lingering death
Memory is still here
(falsely) disguised
Nostalgia lingers in shadows
Dementia swallows
regurgitates in dreams
(Your face) the same
in hollows
(which eludes) my enzymes
consuming (my love)
of any other

Period…

The approximation of exclamation since I couldn’t form the proper interrogation to get to the end of our story…

Antacids aid in this digestion



12/3/22

Could title (Read Between The Lines) but that’s not the point.

You could say I’m weird again…but on closer inspection…

Maybe they should Quill ‘Poet Of The Year’
I would concisely conceal that tattoo somewhere on my body before doctors sever the afflicted appendage.

Simply: I’ve not been worthy of it, if not her
Travel back in time with me to win Her love?

When we know Who she is??

(What do you suppose antacids could be?) 🥃🥃🥃🥃🥃

December 2, 2022 at 6:36pm
December 2, 2022 at 6:36pm
#1041260
Subtitle:
I know why you’re alone, Brenna

Untested Conversation

It’s familiarity
familial
people they see daily
talk to

but not me

who sits in the corner
as would a lonely puppy
trying not give that impression
avoiding pity inside the distance

can be - engaging
enlightening
frightening

sees what conversation you prefer
rather not intervene
send to a rocky ledge
but would embrace you
against my field of abyss -

hold against this untested world -
kept from your known safety
from my discourse

sees eyes avert
empathizes with that discomfort
fragile soul
fleet animal
must forest within denizen’s kin

spares the approach
from a cur at your tables
spared from an observer who knows
fear and loneliness
and true survival
as one against the void
in a din

incipient space fissured wide open
closed
by a constant, linear soul


12.2.22

It’s not poetry you fear, but what weight words.
R-E-L-A-X

But, in other words: I get it. I can be too much.
A growing affliction with some unknown/undiagnosed social condition:disorder since I was 7, walking down a road in my pajamas because I thought my mom abandoned me in another state.

…now Brenna. A work friend of my wife (statement in 'work friend') who is 32, attractive, opines about not getting married, but will have a baby with or without a husband (and the three bedroom home), operates safely in her domain, her confines. I see, like me, she won't get out of her comfort zone because the unknown isn't easy to approach, as with that sound in the night behind the door in that horror movie called life. Brenna, poor, poor, girl. *sigh* I am safety? I have to wonder.


Now…this pompous announcement…

                   2-Time WDC Quill Winner: Best Poetry Collection, 2020 and 2021. NOMINATED for 2022!

For quill 2021 winners

BOOK
Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋  (18+)
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
#1149750 by He’s Brian K Compton 18 year
December 2, 2022 at 4:02pm
December 2, 2022 at 4:02pm
#1041254
They floated me out
on dinghy
upon a tumultuous tide
rode
soft, swift, deft
atop highest wave
to the swell sucking
sweetly
down

I wanted to fly
looking on blue sky
Why a watery surface
with its unknown depth?

They sang to me from shore
too gently
Bird and bee dimensionally
sung
It hurt. Skirts flirt
motion from an ocean
for a willing, wanton clown

Will it come back around?

I needed oars to row
envisioning sought, brilliant horizon
Why does it escape day to day
unable to paddle
back
time?

No chorus, nor melody now
for an ostentatious fool

in his common vessel.



12.2.22


It needs work, but I’ll brave eyes upon it.

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