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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
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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.   ![Merit Badge in Taboo Words
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Brian,
Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659].
I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Taboo_Words-2139481_13.gif) ![Merit Badge in Poetry
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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](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Poetry-2180.gif)  August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼  Now: I was such a whore.  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 your paint stripped I see a jug, corked Dark hair, golden-sparked You glittered in our dark With the morning draped your body twines in linen so perfectly wrapped, yet fuss over a harsh sun Within your ceram catacomb you confine for hours at a time Green eyes mirrored softly speak Flecks like neon fish float With the day we embark perfectly attired, collared Ruby lips spearhead movement but fuss over scuffed pumps Don't you know? With your paint stripped, I would pull the cork, drink every ounce of you, night long if trusted with that container Night returns, and we to heaven entwined in my capable arms Weary head streaked, rough sex for one who doesn't love herself Put the crayon down, darling Let's not scrawl on perfect paper Let's not draw outlines of shapes on a jug sent by the Gods Don't you know, my eyes can be your morning mirror of love? 3.30.22 listening to Cannons: |
| I'm reposting this here, even though posted in another blog, to add a more appropriate title (not wanting to alter the original "Why The Bother? (Less Than 200 Words of Your Time)" They always say, 'if you bother to read' indignantly to which I equally respond (mind my language) who's got fucking time for that? If you read every over-worded warranty to indemnify as they deify themselves, I'm over in the corner sorting stacks of papers they know I don't have time to read. They suggest ignorance is your own if you buy into that truckload of shit they shovel onto your doorstep and lawn, and you'll be reading well past dawn. Hopefully, there is comprehension well before completing some contractual obligatory agreement, but the old expression of over a barrel could easily be depicted as naked, 'tooned wearing a wooden one, and just how does any of this matter, as these words scatter down the screen, a lighted word wall that no one will likely read and concur to agree that we are all just hostages of conformity? Like an open editor to the boss, any overlord, to the espousers of this logic who can't read between the lines, get beneath the surface, triggered by the mind talk conformists ideals of a systematic society steeped in dystopian traits to cultivate mediocrity among under 25 minds still growing, uploading new versions of thinking about life and themselves while feeding the words streams of memes and selfies with inane, isolated feelings that don't connect, plug into the greater good. Hmm, before a second cup of coffee? Think what another will do. Linear, time is not my friend right now, as I'm gaining speed toward an experience that with supernova me into purgatory oblivity. And now, I've made up a new word. Brian Stop! Brian Stop! Brian Stop! break time, I guess. Refill the boosters. |
| Something is burning right now... have to revisit this, even though the two-line poem stands on its own: "With A Fire Burning For Something Else" coffee first and more music by Cannons, and we'll see... But, afraid to get up, thinking all morning, 'please don't disturb this groove.' Hoping coffee doesn't sober me to another realization after reconsidering my poems in this hollow dome. 3.28.22 |
| When your eyes narrow, I see limited window of opportunity to take my shot, but not to kill, and not to maim that tender, inflating ego, but hinder just enough. When those slits stay open, I still see a chance how little missiles widen those whites, inject knowledge like some serum you’re denying. Fired, point blank, in your direction, you might run and shelter, cast dispersions like hurled rocks. I don’t have Holden's hunting cap on, not riot gear, or a madman at some mall taking aim, gunning for a hapless victim. But, can’t be Cupid with these tiny, slender arrows to induce love, nor shame innocence as a parent could, and with little game to chase a brightly feathered chicken clucking like a feather-flippin' hen on fire. I’m no flannel farmer shouldering an axe. Just sit down there on that block and from someone you can depend, hear what I really intend -- truth in time-tested fables, if you’ll hear and not coop up. Pry open those beady eyes that I once roused with song and see it’s just me, nothing to fear; I'm just not wrong. 3.27.22 34 lines, vers libre When the world wants to put a fence between kid and entrusted parent, one has to speak soft and very slowly. The failure to communicate has been corrupted. I'll point the finger first at people who need to sell stuff and don't whose palm they have to great to build empires within empires while families are slowly isolating, torn apart. in a nutshell-ish they came at us sideways with mind speak = cancel culture and PC police and politics with aisle-dividing, hot button topics. Who do you root for? Ignorance, I think. This is my soap box, but I'm off it now. |
| This was announced once in newsfeed about four days ago....but... Have I mentioned by now? Why haven't I boasted? Anyway:
that earned me my second title in three years. The middle I had off to help judge the contest in 2021. And even though it's linked in the above item, I post below my winning 'shape poem' from 2020, purely to gloat? No.
The shape poem, in itself, was a much more impressive feat. I've had metered poetry drilled into my head so much since a lad, it tasted like caramelized candy clamped to my canines. I still enjoy the lyrical, rhymey stuff from time to time, but was steered right into the arms of dear vers libre (free verse). 3.27.22 Now, I can't just blog and newsfeed post all these little ditties, and play the contests. Got to spread my wings through this community more, get back to reviewing and other activities. I'm like a ghost these days. |
| Title Prompt: Balancing Act Vernal Equinox arrives. If you sneeze all day long, you'll miss it. Balance like an egg, fall to the ground. We crush into earth, bound by celestial motions. Like an Oreo, split on two sides, the season eventually, equally divides. Our heart not center, but lungs and eyes symmetrically coincide inside a body's window, unless you have that one hanging ear lobe. Even our beauty seeks an equilibrium. The extremes of winter cede to new disorder while a sun directly spies perfectly our equator. We yield to perpetual tides, rolling out to black, Perfect balance might seem 12 hours of light and 12 hours of night. But the sun makes it bend, adding a few minutes goodbye over our horizon. Days from one equinox to the other, not identical. Autumn-to-spring is shorter, imbalance perpetual. Earth’s orbit, not a circle but ellipse, spinning a persistent planet on axis, not uniform or fixed. Just a world divining its place in a larger system. We're wobbling motion that's existed for ages. You can swim out and seek that perfect spot, or accept that balance is not perfectly achieved. Balance may take infinity, bound by time. So wherever you roam, find the sun and shine. 2.20.22 24 lines unworthy wcrampentry One of the originals: Returning to Equilibrium Balance like an egg, fall to the ground. We crush into earth, bound by celestial motions Like an oreo, split on two sides, the season eventually, equally divides. Our heart not center, but lungs and eyes symmetrically coincide inside a body's window, unless you have that one hanging ear lobe. So, when the sun crosses that equator, predictable, know it's not perfect either. The extremes of winter cede to a new disorder while a sun perfectly spies our equator. We yield to perpetual tides, rolling us in our night, falling back from sight. perfect balance might seem 12 hours of light and 12 hours of night. But light does bend, adding a few minutes to that goodbye over the horizon. With daylight that persists after sunset, our equinox day is longer than night. the days from one equinox to the other, not identical. autumn-to-spring is shorter. imbalance exists because of Earth’s orbit. not a circle but ellipse, spinning planet on axis not uniform, nor fixed in space, just a world divining its place in a solar system. We're wobbling motion. No wonder we tumble down like an egg. differential gravitational forces from the sun and the moon, phenomenon that has existed throughout the ages. shifting and moving forward, a struggle between that pull and momentum, perpetually we rotate. a restrained and controlled pattern. You can swim out and seek that perfect spot or accept that balance is not perfectly achieved. And though the night is black, in the day we can clearly see. Balance may take infinity, bound by time. So wherever you roam, find the sun and shine. 2.19/20.22 |
| Dad with the blinker on We just noticed as kids, maybe once, now eternal, Dad drove everywhere the same speed — 45 miles per hour. The highway north to the camp. Through town, 10 miles over the limit. Mom: “Slow down John. Do you want to get a ticket?” He scoffed, mildly, derisively. On the cut off road, twists, turns, belly flops from dips — forty-five. It didn’t matter if gravel or blacktop, cruisin’ speed, steady-set, boot to pedal in that flat-green, Ford pickup, weighing needle scoring number 45. His ball cap tilted up and back, sweat on brow, breezes flew through the cabin — blowing my blond hair south, and east, and west, briefly north drifted. He leaned into a hard wheel, shouldered a skinless frame. A few times, gave that brim a wiggle. And there were sighs. We asked if we could hang our arms out the window. He’d point to an old guy in a wagon passing, stub of arm hung on the frame. “That’s how he lost his.” We didn’t believe, but didn’t question, and so, behaved as children ‘seen, and not heard'. He’d still stop at Tastee Freeze, probably wanted ice cream too. He gave me my dime, dropped on the white, weathered counter to order a chocolate cone. He preferred vanilla. To my brother, I low-whispered, “He probably lost his arm in the war,” and with darting tongues gathered a brown melt, quick slop rolling down the waffle. The freckled shrimp spit through two holes in his beat-red, wicked face — he already knew that. 48 lines, free verse 3.25.22 4.13.22 final edit story poem: not for the short-attention-span-theatre-set #breathless #poetry #story #nostalgia #family "Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches" Quill Nominated Best Poetry Collection two consecutive years, 2020 and 2021. |
| I’m just walking through a tunnel when I talk, when I write, just walk further inside, my mind a flashlight, eyes reading walls, my space, some tight fits, contorted, I wriggle within, minding to remember where I started, with confidence where I’m going, thinking, I’ve seen that and that before — remembering, and yet discovering the nuances of a maze ever funneling me here and then until I hit the dead ends, walls, chasms. my light gets dim, goes out. But, been through it before, feel brave as I journey toward light, possibly conclusion, until I look up and see it shining down from above, not releasing me from the cavern, but a temporary guide. and, I think about rest. but challenged, keep moving on, puzzling, hoping some serendipity, revelation worthy, as I speak my truths, ever-the-more evidentiary; yet, want to clamber the hard confines, clear my ears, trust to taste water dripping down walls into a bath, when I double back. This journey alone in my mind started with a comparative metaphor, I think. But nothing is perfect in what I accept as a beautiful mind. Now, where was I going with this? Another Spelunking might help, once I’ve had time to rest, if I can remember the purpose of these adventures. 3.23.22 4:51 AM Three days to another milestone. Roll a boulder over me. As yet, unedited |
| In Storm Garden Grey tears fall in a silent garden. A hollow scene shivers. Potential Flowers yearn bloom beneath Failing eyes, clouded. She sighs, Doesn’t see renewed limbs wave At masses furling in skies bluing. Her rage trembled tender tassels, And yet, April surprise; they burst Despite her worse fear of frost And icy, white ghosts gobbling Undeterred, a shinier spring. Caught in stormy fury, spun, Innocent denizen scatter From frightful tears, raw emotion. Who she hurts doesn’t matter. Love lost in pearly nights before Bouquets of timely color, aroma fills Flowing fields behind her red cottage. Shutters tight could still sway. Will she glimpse out one day, Weed wonderful bounty, Lost quick to another season? Her static bolts and jolts ignore a sun Showering sunlight on the obedient. Beauty-blessed. Loosed tears in soil From a goddesses’ regret excite bound roots that stretch in clay. Storm on, but look to the horizon. Plentiful seed blaze a path of serendipity, Perfectly, randomly spread, divine a way To return to humble, grey eyes that see, Lay a head in that sweet, tender bed. 3.26.22 32 lines, free verse w/ rhyming, alliteration Stormy Poetry Newsletter Words: grey skies April showers garden flowers spring surprise |
 Deep in the yellow, wild winds scuttle, scurry. Mellow meadow does heave, flow, ripple, rush and thrust, while magical music plays. Can you see me down here, pink- eared as I devour scenery, humbled, fed, nose-led where the last white drifted away? Mix of aroma holds much wonder, faith in dreams settle here. From Autumn frost, vibrant remnants in clutch obey, stayed. Spear-pierced earth cedes renewed delight, nibbled goodness. Charmed pleasure, low! Behold, four-earred hat, in gold field today! Pink-white, dense-sphered, they sway. Nose twitch inhales a bouquet waving spindly arms, fresh, but won’t go to waste by May. 16 lines, rhyming free verse Taboo Words: CLOVER luck, fortune, promise, green, leaf or any derivatives of these words |
| Out The Bay Window, We Roam Where wildflowers will wander, yet unknown. Sun streams and chills chase a winter room, ending gloom. In recliner, fully cocked, renewal absorbed. A chick yellow-hatched, hides within the white lamb. The good sun seeks another yard. On padded plane, I dream a lad spring clad, weatherproof rubbers, and mad. In a crush, murk-brown vaults eternally splashed. Frozen time glistens a reflection fading fast. Safe signaled, dry eyes toss up the sash. Cardinal and blue jay flit to and fro, feather from feeder, as felines watch below. Screened fragrance flows freely within. Dust-lungs deep inhale, exhale soft memory of the lost, sweet and youthful. A panorama once a haze, now a glint of hued blaze. No clouds clasp a quiet horizon sunken deep. Bones seep in sinew of this quiet regeneration. 16 lines, free-flowing, free verse 3.22.22 3.28.22 major edit Abridged, edited from this month's epic output on Spring: "In The Lamb (spring into inaction)" |
| Not out of the woods yet, where birch peel black scrolls, yield novels dream-carved. Ferns snap back, lash my bare thighs. Toads flit further along, trail toward a calling rush. Metaphysical memory visually runs ahead, beneath a canopy. Spry legs hasten to the bank. Tethered crafts of colored rubber heave! ho! Shouting swimmers, splash, cavort to and fro! They hold hued bottles high, like a toast. Finding no footing, black mud guards a creek, raging like a river. Moss stone, cedes a spot to put in my float, tube a rocky, hairy scene. Most play hooky like me, to stream unfettered. Yoke-free in hidden scene, on currents we roll. Happily sprayed, foot navigate jutting stumps. Legs up, or scrape skin. Arms shove, twirling, when we spy that serene opening. Sun smooth settles on glass. Bugs skitter across, fish mouth bubbles, plunge our surface. The gushing gone in a chasm of sunlit dreams, slowing time unseen. I spin my craft, dunk toes, gulp and belch amber. Silent, not a croak, nor whisper, we scan trees, tasseling leaves topsy-turvy. A crow leaps down, swoops from dead branch. Flung again, ears recall a rush calling, beg lonely and forgotten, sail free. Warm, eyes heal. Chest scarcely heaves, when I breathe. Cresting toward the sugar shore, ahead they carry wood for fire. My watery mouth craves smoked meat and whatever else exhumed from styrofoam coolers. Limp, we dry, settle in heaps on sand to sleep, filled. Summer season’s cures never-ending, we regale. Jet black dome, specked bright white, shutters watery eyes. Red skin cools beneath an eve spread. Downy and exhausted, we scale access to gravel lot, load up, fight off insistent mosquitos, shove off. Anchored, I’ll dream my body stream a hurling rush. 3.22.22 36 lines, free verse 2nd place @
 
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| Half Past Moon The Shape of the Mind Does Not Bend Correctly I live in the great green room for years on end, when I paint it dark colors in dead of night. Monsters lurk about my head, do not dine on gray hairs and wrinkles, but lick my wounds warmed by their reptilian flesh. Whiskers tickle, spike shadows against windows, curtains, walls and down the hall -- where a bunny sleeps sound, many years now; not very small, no longer creeps in my bed between my big, snoring head and the silvery woman wearily calling, calling, calling. And I dread morning light will reach before this years-long fight will end with me and the choice of colors streaming through my mind in this bed, where I shed my sweat. No mushy, crusty bowls remain, nor ticking clocks that spell time; no oval drifters float to ceiling, by morning fall. Just refractive error in mediocre light. In ten by eight, dressers stack high, creaky closet door ajar, a mussed-up mattress rests, trapping a worrisome dweller. I see a glint of orange spy through glass, when I begin relax, and the ghosts drift out to meet the moon, not seen for hours on end. On which to depend, my body, in the kitchen leaning, into a cup in hand, half past noon? Not true. I’m dead. 3.22.22 This Blog: Quill Nominated Best Poetry Collection two consecutive years, 2020 and 2021. "Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches" Just reading about the author of Goodnight Moon, wondering, if she had just lived past 42. |
Wrote this one month after joining WDC, 15 1/2 years ago. How much have I grown as a writer?
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| Brown, smooth as summer sand, should reach my lips, belly flat, on a sun-starved beach swept by eternal evening tides. My shadow marks minutes that last, erase memory of winter white. Warmth of a lamb, spread on the sparkled brown land, nestles as a chick from worrisome egg, finally hatched. Eyes lift to sparse green sprouting under stout oak, spy 'neath a waving willow, while reaching for elder and elm. Wildflower seedlings prepare, popping pesky yellows, purples, orange and pink, poking, clambering about. Inhale sweet silt agleam again. Filmy, foamy bath laps a shore clean. Spring beach brims with casual folk on leashes, treading, sun up to sundown. 20 lines, free verse 3.21.22 3.29.22 edit |
Oft considered, a process of regeneration As frozen time glistens a reflection, dry eyes seek signals it's safe to toss up the window sash. Cardinal and blue jay flit to and fro, feather from feeder, as felines watch below. Screened fragrance flows freely within. No clouds clasp a quiet horizon deep. Sun insists sugarcoat a scape glowing green, that tired toes might yearn entreat. Shadows, swept up, seep slowly back. Whisked clean, a wind-washed scene unfolds. Where wildflowers will wander is yet unknown. In receiving recliner, I dream of a lad in spring armor, weatherproof and mad. In a crush, murk-brown vaults splashed. Wheels spin the corner fast and start this drowsed, pale, sagging man in leather, prying to peek for perennial tender. A chick, yellow-hatched, unseen, I hide in warmth of the soft white lamb and shelter. The good sun, thankfully, seeks the backyard. 3.19.22 3.28.22 21 lines some lyrical, alliterate, rhyming free verse Spring Verdant Words: REGENERATION, WILDFLOWERS, LAMBS, CHICKS, EGGS (implied here), WARMTH throw away line: No longer savored, coffee steeped bold. |
| The Perils Of Childhood Freedom I skipped over it. The way a creek bubbled up, blazing my trail in shallow wood, half past spring on weekends outdoors, mounting to summer freedom to explore unguarded, when they wanted you out, didn’t care where you were unless you weren't back for before a dinner yell — and dark insisted to them the sun visited another lost boy past the horizon. You could have fallen. I skipped over it, again and again, learning. And, if the sour truck came rolling up bitter gravel, you crawled from the ravine and skipped over it, until lying in bed, woke by a dream. It wasn’t summer: 13, 14 or 15, but driving his truck into the marsh, hunting and screaming, flashlights playing tag with snoring pine to find myself tethered to the sap… and skipped over it… until 40… bound and gagged… in a trunk of something speeding, fast. Brakes squealed, foot steps reported from telltale gravel. Too black to realize a lid lift, a world gashing silence free… and the struggle… I skip over. Water rush deeper than a creek, when I’m forced up, face a moon’s deflection… reflection on that ledge… a small boy bleeding… thick trails mixed with an eye’s creek… they screamed, ‘I wish you would’! Nope. I didn’t skip over it. I slumped. I didn’t find a ravine or the bottom of a lake. I woke to wake, eventually, skipped over it to teach a small boy the perils from ignorance of early innocence. 3.18.22 We could be traumatized by something our whole life and not know it, but feel it deep in those creeks we explore in dreams. |
| my heart is in my head, bleeding black, seeping through sockets of dead flowers that bloomed when I first saw you. golden visions cascaded over slumped shoulders, as you pouted in my general direction. something stabbed me that day. my bloodied shirt dried crisp, removed to bare my chest. but after so much loss, how could I see you undress? not a man anymore, foolish I wept to the night alone, as you drifted from room to dark room, stabbing every victim, dead. Yet somehow, I lived on to retell how a scarred woman stole life from a meager soul, received blood but not the flesh of an observer. You're just a ghost of a woman who I could devour now in one bite. So small and withered in my sight, as I start to glow and shine. For all the pain, from all the years, I grew strong, could not be killed. You're ashen and nearing a mantel urn. I avert my eyes as your body burns. 3.16.22 Listening to Chris Cornell, mainly. |
| Honorable Mention ~ Stormy’s Poetry Newsletter 3.23.22 Headstones (We Walk Home) In a sea of headstones, hands clasped, we mark future journey to our destiny, remembering mother and father, on their anniversary. Fires they built to burn our food, teenage years, eternal love, and a roof over our heads, until we graduated from school, and went to work. And when that home came toppling down, from aging and all the love inside, we had an idea to replant their perennials at the grave. We've done about as much for them, as they could do for us, in our early years. Now in tears, shoulder to shoulder, we walk home, too. 3.15.22 12 lines, free verse
Oldest living poetry contest that means a damn at WDC. Keep it alive! |
| Rubber zucchini will not do from a supermarket zoo, where I load a basket of ingredients. We've got the blues and a manufactured sleeve of black cookies would not do. Smudged recipe card in her handwriting greets me on a floured counter, amid the grating and grinding. Tablespoons of cinnamon, allspice, powders and salt all need minding. I butter and flour the pan how she taught me. From mixer bowl, I slide in the batch. Two pans even must be. With the proper fire from a faithful oven, hope to get it right. We'll see. Hour later, they marvel crisp, brown perfection. Her aromatic bread, spied through glass, risen. This was her favorite selection. In thick divides, we plate each slice, butter, and gobble Mother's confection. 3.15.22 20 lines, rhyming Second place, April 2022:
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— 21
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— 29![Merit Badge in Shadows and Light
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A huge congratulations, to you!
You have won a very deserved Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #shadows] , round 112 *^*Smile*^*
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_and_Light-1936078_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Shadows & Light II
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Brian,
Congratulations! You won 1st Place in [Link To Item #shadows] with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1037176]. Fabulous writing!
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_=38_Light_II-1936078_14.gif)
— 9
MAY 
37![Merit Badge in Coffee Award
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Congratulations on placing 2nd in [Link To Item #2182602] with your poem, [Link to Book Entry #1031722]. *^*Coffeeo*^* Kindest Regards, Lilli](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Coffee_Award-2149524_14.gif)
APRIL 
![Merit Badge in Humorous Poetry Contest
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Congratulations on the third place win at [Link To Item #hpc] for your poem: [Link to Book Entry #1030482]. Thanks for making me laugh, and keep writing the funny stuff! *^*Bigsmile*^* ~Lornda A.K.A. The Queen of Comedy *^*Crown*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Humorous_Poetry_Contest-1875103_14.gif)
MARCH 
![Merit Badge in Contests
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CONGRATULATIONS for winning 2nd place in [Link To Item #2254385] !!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Contests-235.gif)
![Merit Badge in WDC Media Prompt
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Thank you for your participation in the 48-HOUR CHALLENGE: " Thank You by Dido ." Media Prompt hosted by [Link To User support] March 2022! We appreciate that you tackled this challenge... *^*Smile*^* *^*Thumbsupl*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/WDC-WDC_Media_Prompt.gif)
![Merit Badge in Good Things Take Time
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Here's to a world where we wouldn't have to keep reciting the words woven in your excellent poem [Link to Book Entry #1027990].](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Good_Things_Take_Time.gif)
![Merit Badge in Gay Lesbian
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Thank you so much for your poem [Link to Book Entry #1026670]! Please don’t ever stop being you, both as a writer and a visionary of love!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Gay_Lesbian-680.gif)
JANUARY 
18
![Merit Badge in Quill Award
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Congratulations on winning Best Medium-Length Poem, Free Verse in the 2021 edition of The Quills!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Award-1375927_6.gif)
![Merit Badge in Quill Sponsor
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Thank you for your generous donation to [Link To Item #quillhome] ! *^*Quill*^* Every donation is used to celebrate WdC while recognizing quality work and acknowledging community involvement. Kindest Regards, Lilli](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Sponsor-1375927_6.gif)
![Merit Badge in Quotation Inspiration
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Congratulations on winning 1st Place in the September 2022 round of [Link To Item #quotation] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/WDC-Quotation_Inspiration.gif)
![Merit Badge in Artistic
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Congratulations on winning day 6 of The Daily Poem Sept 2022!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Artistic-125.gif)
![Merit Badge in Problem Solving
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From [Link To User jayne] : With my apologies for the Redaction Poem prompt mishap. Thank you for taking on the challenge! I hope to see you next time for a redaction-free week of fun at [Link To Item #dailypoem] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Problem_Solving-210.gif)
![Merit Badge in Inspiring Love For Poetry
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Congratulations on being our Honorable Mention in March of 2022 at [Link To Item #2216416] !
Blessings, Sharmelle](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Inspiring_Love_For_Poetry-2259846_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Action Adventure
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CONGRATULATIONS for [Link To Item #2229211] winning place as an Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #2254385] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Action_Adventure-100.gif)
![Merit Badge in Bard's Hall Blogging Merit Badge
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For placing 3rd in the Bard's Hall Blogging Contest, June 2022](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Bard=s_Hall_Blogging_Merit_Badge-2094227_12.gif){kind=icon}
![Merit Badge in G Specials
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Congratulations for winning 1st Place during the April 2022 round of [Link To Item #2268646] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-G_Specials-2271325_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Chapter 1
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Congratulations on your 1st Place win in the April 2022 Round of Chapter One! Great entry! *^*Smile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Chapter_1-2251918_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Accuracy
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Congratulations to our 1st Runner Up of [Link To Item #2254385] Round6.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Accuracy.gif)
![Merit Badge in 30DBC Winner
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Congrats Team Pedantic Poets Platoon on winning [Link To Item #1803384] during WDC's 21st Birthday Festivities!! Well done!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-30DBC_Winner-2064535_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Every Moment Matters
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A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.
― Paul Cezanne
Thanks for your participation in my 'art' challenge via my notebook feed.
Keep on being inspired! *^*Bigsmile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Every_Moment_Matters.gif)
![Merit Badge in Brilliant
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CONGRATULATIONS on [Link To Item #1145690] winning a place in "Honorable Mentions" in [Link To Item #2254385]](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Brilliant.gif)
