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, a slow burn now. Life is full of misdirects right back to the start, you still quest with a thirst. If they take time to notice, must be doing something right. Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent. scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies. hic honor, quem accepistis, non est operae pretium, sicut non est bonum. si hoc legere potes, gratiarum actio pro tempore. The beautiful mess you made. | Without knowledge, who’s to judge? | No gavel; no voice. I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me *Neurodivergent poet. *I yearn to love without that fart in the room. *Honesty without mincing words. *Stay clear of those surrounded by rules. *Real dialogue accepted. Diagnosed with new disabilities in 2020: On the spectrum/ADHD (it gets complicated by PTSD and brain trauma). Been suggested by doctors I might want another brain scan. As it is: 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, find boundaries, no clue why, 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. 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 t the next boob that walks by. Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. I dig deeper than I should, push boundaries. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets. Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations to write. No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got. My Pluggers: You are an icon here. You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue} It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches" Your poetic muse is on 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. Published four times with one a literary journal, including… "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. August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼ 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. 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 ▼ |
(With no cobbler) a broken heel like a heart I'll never walk again Keys depressing mark time -- moments streaming within the spectrum of color bleed out without refreshing rainfall or nourishment for soul capture by rhythm and harmony fading playing slower my waltz alone spinning through a lifetime of images damning these eyes to materialize -- harden the stiff heart a piteous organ burning all its fuel too fast for refuel to catch up with you stall 2.25.21 RW 2.28.21 |
random words i'll never reassemble a jumble a logjam in a river going asea (yet nowhere) before calamity the falls rushing, roaring reminding me before another precipitous water cliff consumes another eternity (in my mind) with each collapsing moment my beleaguered head drawn drowning to a puzzled image in the mirror becoming aware of me wading back to shore to dry on sand sprawling out before night claims my thoughts again 1.16.21 |
made for glass time scribbled flecks on my face rubbed out charcoal smudges remain in creases straying to the corners chased on yellowing paper skin the medium changed hiding words between the blue lines incapable of even, straightness a sun washes out reflectiontoo dull to reappear to remind the seasons it took for expressions to sag slow reckoning i suppose how i got here to wonder why or when im leaving to see duller surfaces turn my head away 1.20.21 rev. 2.14.21 |
questions designed collect pieces of your soul to reconstruct the main and pick apart the weaknesses questions so innocently framed capture the essence of you to reflect back on consumers of your pale flesh we cozy to dreams embracing the very heart of fools who want to be loved by demons who bedevil the waking hours spent remembering how your core was a tumbler picked an empty safe gemless 2.8.21 be careful what you share of yourself. your love is good, not the details of how a fire fuels a spirit robbed of dreams. |
stop etching in the frost visions in words waking in the gleaming glass -- thawing soon to reveal rolling drops captured and absorbed to warp a wooden frame eternal sunrises glaring rediscover similar seasonal views and others striking the windows for escape hands bleeding ignorantly not trained to lift the encasements, frustrated by evaporating dreams 2.8.21 brian keith compton |
you don't whisper to me anymore -- voice soft, words collecting on pillows surrounding my head you don't hint to me anymore like the winds penetrating windows surrounding my bed I lingered to listen, often closed my eyes to dream you; but time softly entered the room -- like gray clouds shadowing dry, pale skin longing wet kisses of your youth to refill this container bound for an oven. will my teeth rattle in the shaken urn? will peace come on some mantel? 1.20.21 revised 2.8.21 even if i contain you in stanzas, you escape to join fleeting words added in other gatherings.(about structure never performing perfectly) 6.20.21 edit (Is it? About that?) |
Nothing Journey Stab the pale to pierce the dark heart purge putrid blood befouling a blade of purpose left to rest in the slumped hump now guarding an entrance that all others be forewarned about aim in these journeys into nothing about how no thing became nothing. 1.29.21 |
more messages collecting...spinning...antithetical I don't want to be informed by you I know enough but not enough to listen to the sounds between us where we could unify if the right frequency found but who could know what I mean? 1.29.21 How long can I chase the setting sun on the equatorial highway before I tire to regret roses never witnessed in bloom (cliche?), the stillness magnetism affords as I lie on the spinning dirt gem. 1.29.21 edited 6.20.21 |
tiny messages accumulating brilliant wonder from above... crisp, white melts into a sour head... lightening for a jar repurposed... all contained comes to life... the lid lost long ago... filled hope dreams escaping... 1.29.21 added 2.3.21 6.20.21 edited 2.6.22 edited added ellipses like snowflakes to heighten messages of snow in disjointed messages, though not really clear what this is about, still reaching for something to make it pointed, cohesive? I could move the text about the page to envision snowfall, but only if I see purpose for this piece. More focused on 2.6.22 edit, the notion that snowflakes from the sky brighten promise, return us to childhood to realize previous hope and dreams in an instant, though fleeting; perhaps a serendipitous signal we can take for renewal or eventually treat like a cruel reminder we cannot complete our earlier visions...but at least be in the moment for once, remember, reminisce, before that sliding door, too, shuts. Maybe, one day, opens again? |
The Howling You forgot you were hungry since all the caressing -- yellow freedom re-envisioned beneath the window, ground anchored, before clouds interfere and the howling from within returns. Inevitable night awakening, renewal becomes hard, as a portion lives longer than the other. 1.29.21 added 2.3.21 6.20.21 edit who knows what the hell this is. Changed a bit from original. |