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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
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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. 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.  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.  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 "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋"  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 ▼ |
 Metronome Love -haiku My metronome heart, Steadily beating, timing, Attunes with your love. 6.30.21 Three lines, haiku Open Prompt: Write a poem, 15 lines or less, structured or free verse, on the topic of your choosing for "The Whatever Contest" . I can't imagine a haiku getting nom'd for a Quill. So, this is me mailing it in. |
| Snowflakes latched like lovers laughing, twirling above a deepening twilight, Thick woods darkened the deeper we roamed. Our footprints depressed a winding trail beside blue spruce. Heavy bows held great, frozen weight amid a spiraling storm, piercing thin air all around us. You would have me press my pale flesh down into your spread sheepskin coat. Howls and bursts kissed our naked flesh heating the chilled white blanket below. Intertwined in a mountain valley, our love echoed in a barren winter. 6.30.21 13 lines, free verse Open Prompt: Write a poem, 15 lines or less, structured or free verse, on the topic of your choosing for "The Whatever Contest" . |
| This burden of what I am, its complex scenarios, complicated by assumption, how I should behave with your disdain or indifference for sharing drama, the day to day when reaching out for understanding, only to be shunned further, again. Want to feel whole, normal, but might not ever get there with something lacking in my DNA. I'll always be missing that certain something you take for granted that I try to patch with any love or assurance just to sustain. You are not strong enough for two -- unbound, not my glue. And those who struggle (like me) don't realize, we topple all of you -- those (around) who don't get out of the way. Not strong enough to bolster us or lift us back up. So, we (I) burden our (my) responsibility by not declaring in anthems all this pain -- be strong for ourselves, insulate from the rest, until we're no longer holding back sagging walls before collapse. Perfectly normal feelings, is what they (you) say. WE can 'relate'. Yet, it takes ALL of you for just one (like me) to get through this life, or make a day a little brighter -- sacrifice, instead of hoarding all the love. 6.30.21 31 lines piggyback off previous post |
"Every day is so wonderful Then suddenly it's hard to breathe Now and then I get insecure From all the pain I'm so ashamed" This burden, complex sets of emotions for feeling the way we do, complicated by what we assume is disdain or indifference for sharing our drama, when reaching out for understanding, only to be shunned further. People who want to feel whole/normal might not ever get there because there is something lacking that they'll always be missing that they/we think we can patch with love and assurance from another who gives the appearance they are strong enough for two. And what those who struggle don't realize is they/we topple all those around us who don't get out of the way, because they are not as strong as they seem to bolster us or lift us back up. So, we burden the responsibility by not declaring in anthems like this that we have to be strong for ourselves, rather insulate until we're no longer holding back those sagging walls before collapse. And then, it's really a mess. Song probably written by a highly-functioning 'whatever' until I have a diagnosis, can't say. These are perfectly normal feelings we can relate and acknowledge. It takes a strong support group for a person to get through life. Be there for them in person, if you know you can make their day a little brighter; sacrifice a bit of yourself. Stop hoarding all the love. That time, I was on a soapbox. Getting down now. Read more here about the curious history of this song that endears its creator to me, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beautiful_(Christina_Aguilera_song) . And what I truly get from Linda Perry, the author, is that writers really know how something should be performed, where artists seldom get it. The Wikipedia link has more. 6.30.21 |
| With their tongues out-- Sneering, dirty faces haunted, still mock me to this day. They used to say, ‘I know you are, but what am I?’ to stifle a squabble. Nothing’s changed. Heavy brows snarling, judge my indignance, as if to say, you're the crazy one and just walk away. It’s called gaslighting, though I wouldn’t have learned if I hadn’t googled to help in my predicament, realize I can’t get unstuck from a lifetime losing arguments to narcissists. 6.30.21 This poem could say more, but it's late, I'm tired and why bother? |
| I Lean Into It Hard I have so much to say and no one to tell it to. What 'it' is, I do not know. When you've been in captivity, unobserved, observed, you go a little stir crazy, wonder what do they think, when the words come. Constructed in their language, I lean into it hard, every complex emotion, feeling and things I don't understand, hoping a friend will come forward to illuminate a dark, caged world. The longer I prate, the quicker eyes dull, close and shadows depart from my den where I remain a denizen, pacing and speaking aloud to the wall, no one, but hoping for one ear to eavesdrop, maybe a reaction is all I need. A face that I can read for a sign, but my friends who could pantomime just appear indifferent, or maybe, I'm blind, can't read at all. I lean into it hard, a wall and nothing gives way to my brain. I'm done for now. 6.29.21 Type ramble. Because I googled the title words and had to write something to satisfying my annoying mind. You think you have it bad? I have to live with this condition.  |
| It's Hard To Bury A Friend, Alone Another Piece Of Me I set my foot on the flat of the shovel; dig. The blade slices the hard soil. My boot slips on the steel back, gathers, pushes deeper. The curved spade finds space, leads the handle to lean into my chest. Hands obey the lever's weight, as we lift earth from its grave to pile on sodden ground. By now, rain dampens the back of my neck. It's a fine mist. If I were in a different mood, I'd be cursing the gods instead of thanking for the relief. In rote manner, I execute the ground with a muddy blade, open an underworld and find a final resting place. A blue shoe box lays on the grass beside me, silent. I remove the lid and view a furry, limp friend I wish to warm again beneath sad, gray clouds hovering. Secured in a small cavern to be remembered, and likely forgotten, I pick up the instrument. My tool skips awkwardly along small rocks and mud, scrapes the mound over its former void. With a few pats from the tempered steel head, the long handle is sent to meet below my hands and chin, consider a few words, memories so humble, unrelatable to others; and think, I shall own no other. Because in passing, each will take another piece of me to the ground. 6.29.21 4.11.23 edit 39 lines, free verse I got out of bed to write something, this, so I can get back into bed, and hopefully find peace, sleep. Thanks to: The Knife Sharpener's Bell (2014) for inspiration...Free On Google Books (page:146) I googled the words: "lean into it hard" and this is one of the results I got (phrase never applied to poem. Maybe, another?) https://books.google.com/books?id=nDAQAwAAQBAJ&pg=PA146&lpg=PA146&dq=%22lean+har... There's an abundance of great, free writing out there to inspire. |
| Like forests, childlike imagination, comfortable, hides in my mind, in yours and never comes out to play, since real monsters: mortgages, equitable income, taxes and need for health insurance. When do we peer out from behind these trees, decide it’s safe to play in fields? Some clearing from dank, moss woods, glimpse spectacular mountain peaks, daring blue sky compare? Do we venture out, seek the tides of moon-promise rolling, let those wet dogs lap our weary feet? Do we attune our ears, hear wind whistling through bright foliage, spy for denizens that would near to harmonize with their uncaged melodies? Where does sheltered love brave, risk elements, venture as a curious child again? Imagine, we could be alone in the dark with no one to hold a hand. Imagine, we are all alone in our forests, not seeking one another, too afraid to play. From behind those trees we are never free from our daunting fears, with true vistas calling, curtained from Hope, partitioned from Dreams, only nightmares. Childlike inspiration aspires under the blackest mask, pierced by a distant-calling in our forests, yet white stars wink we're okay. Let’s lay in the grass tonight. 6.28.21 33 lines, free verse |
| Fast Forward: Post The Apocalypse I was your lone survivor, the one you called wicked, still alive, still alone. What game we played, I do not know? In silver shoes, wearing my blues, thought I could sparkle on your bright horizon, but only second to your gold, left a spectrum from which to choose. You knew it would be you, tarnished bronze by your family sun, memories of merciless times, burnt skin before a cloud burst sent me deep within. Here I sit, legs wrapped, feet in sand kicked, flying everywhere from invisible eddies. Shades donned. Lotion applied. You could call on your lone, surviving bride. Too many to bed with, your lust sends henchmen with knives, guns and veiled threats. Just soaking up the last rays of an apocalyptic fire, burning, supposedly for you. I absorb the dimming heat, grin. Baring my breast on your beach front, Inhale vision of gawkers who long to sin, Fast forward… 6.28.21 |
| The Geography Of New Love How many times geography stipulates the end of another promising relationship where he/she with whatever dream more important than he/she and their mission yet to complete meet on avenues running through each heart without a place to start because of what would have to end why not decide serendipity the reason for each to begin again in a central world each give up old visions for bright adventure to follow what each honestly confesses in their heart what do we implor? But if one should waiver, time to depart 6.28.21 |
The Constriction Method Of Love In lily lake, ladies gathered for a sacrifice. Muscled snake, constriction coil looping regulates her heart, fertility. Will you have her until death, when true love parts its mate? But...wait, don't keep living in this poison lake. This is not love forever, if he takes you to the depth. In decay, maggots thriving on her harvest. Muscled man, applies weight to her angelic waist. The taste inside your mouth isn’t her; self-necrotizing, woman bait over-feasts on bones of dead, lies in wait. Don’t you see? She can’t love you like you could love someone else forever. She lies in wait; don’t take the bait. That snake is her mate! Coiling up all around you, too. No super human could separate from her demonic fate. 14 lines, free verse 6.27.21 original ▼ |
| 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 into your 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 in 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 square pegs don't fit in round holes, just like me, who dares nibble fare at your mediocre table. Questions aim, while looking in your eyes, sequestered so long in a dimming room, divided by the maddening wall from what you believe is best for me, and what I know is right I'm a sucker, your bastard child, alone divided. A round peg in your square hole. You never knew me all along as I'm to learn beg forgiveness for my acquired possession. 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? Just the beginning of a new fight, roughly done for now. Fresh eyes tomorrow. 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 Thank you Rilo Kiley for singing me through this.
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| now here you come -- my bright-blue, bulging veins exposed, plied by your yellow-tipped needle deep beneath tender, scarred skin. now here you are to hold, coaxing me, cry, cry it out, embracing the way I wanted to be held. I look in your eyes, but this is not the vision I thought I'd see when I dreamed a perfect love. you tell me inhale, ingest, decompress and it will be alright to share every inch of me, angularly strap to hips, your core and implore ever more, fill me with the love you bring. because I'm empty and have nothing else vital to sustain a tender poet soul begging for love like mercy. now that you have left, I'm in a heap on the floor, wondering ever more how many depend, rely on you for this hollow kind of love. what price each has paid, because you are godless and by association, I guess, I have lost my way, too? In your fields, in your dark, making my way out of woods into woods, dreaming I'll see the sun in my eyes, for this dream of longing for one love to end. 6.27.21 36 lines, free verse I have felt what you have experienced, dear Bethany, as you still won't near me, realizing I'm the result of all that you continue to seek. Written to Godless by The Dandy Warhols, though I was already there and just needed the song for further inspiration. And think ironically, when you hear this song, like ending credits to what you've just watched: |
She last saw him on a rainy afternoon — a doormat pelted during a stormy June, when her screen door whined, hard-slapped the frame. the last glimpse — heel of his well worn shoe beside a torrent down galvanized aluminum, neck to spout. gushing water carried away down the street to the corner, iron grate — sifted vagrant sticks, leaves and rock wanted to go with, disappear into the earth. drained, elusive fluid flowed away unseen, meeting new origins, lifted to the clouds, hopefully to return again, when a heavy rain meets withering concrete. and, what would the next storm bring to the doorstep, to that porous, metal drain, a constant refrain emptied at her entrance? she lowered her cup, looked upon the sky's intent. clouds reappeared, and realization -- she last saw him on a rainy afternoon. 6.26.21 40 lines, free verse for Writer's Cramp with same prompt beginning and ending poem.
Not good enough for the Cramp last known edit from deleted static She last saw him on a rainy afternoon — a doormat pelted during a stormy June, when her screen door whined, hard-slapped the frame. the last glimpse — heel of his well worn shoe beside a torrent down galvanized aluminum, neck to spout. gushing water carried away down the street to the corner, iron grate — sifted vagrant sticks, leaves and rock wanted to go with, disappear into the earth. drained, elusive fluid flowed away unseen, meeting new origins, lifted to the clouds, hopefully to return again, when a heavy rain meets withering concrete. and, what would the next storm bring to the doorstep, to that porous, metal drain, a constant refrain emptied at her entrance? she lowered her cup, looked upon the sky's intent. clouds reappeared, and realization -- she last saw him on a rainy afternoon. 6.26.21/9.18.21 40 lines, free verse for Writer's Cramp with same prompt beginning and ending poem. |
| I could sing you a fire, rage, lick your skin but never burnt, because I simmer beneath your heavy lid, placed on the back burner. I'm charred, hot and a mess you don't consume, soon to be dumped in the can. I boil over when my words riot, until your ears combust inside, but I'm not that hot, because you control the temperature, while I clearly sit on the untended stove. 6.24.21 just rambling a few metaphors to see where it goes. sharing this just because... |
| you remind me, tell me the narrative over and over. but, somehow I can't learn the story, because I have lived what is real. on your autumnal trails traversed, what seems a lifetime ago, I looked for you in the trees, clutched what you gave the ground. on my autumn harvest, remnants of decay fed a fool looking for truth, now only despises your lies everlasting. what could I know about what you know, if you keep spinning on an invisible axis, rotating away from one true fire? you remind me, I'm ignorant of the truth you hold away from my prying eyes, unable to detect any true evidence. at the solstice, washed in enveloping ice, I persist throughout many cruel winters, dreaming love, how my life would be re-inspired another equinox. 6.24.21 What do I know: raw feelings with description but no true aim to understand why I feel this way, still learning as I am investigating your truths to separate the fat from the good, lean meat (truth). |
| from the bath, the fog yielding a thin, white vapor, a clear path lays before a fumbling boy, a dreaming child, not yet fully born -- meets a mirror for reflection, only sees what he wants, returns to bed to dream again and again. from start of time, or around five AM, eyes open to the same scene, returning. to the same mirror he lingers, bemoaning time's infinite winding, winding a soul. from the eyes that held visages of old he see time to time the past emerging, rather than opening doors to the future, as he keeps returning to the death bed, waiting for the day he won't re-arrive. 6.24.21 |
| My Rote Models Isn't it sad? Actor taught me How to behave As if true Is it true? Mannerisms I lack Eventually rote learned Eyebrows raised I take a cue What result From that scene Did I elicit? The right response? Intentions awry, Your expressions contort No answers No follow up To appease you I run away To fill up On seasons, now I can binge Eyes burn dull Store it all I come back Can we play? You're not sure, I can see But actors teach The right way For me to behave So, you'll like me After trust earned, Then I'm really lost How to follow up? Need more stories To carry me forward To the end -- A hollow life On what actor To depend? My rote models? 6.23.21 I'm still learning...I wrote this. Approval needed? |
| Think something, forget something. Think something, forget something. This add in, add out life has me trapped, spiraling through a boundless funnel. Always collecting information and purging information, as if it’s important to something or someone or to myself. And then I forget -- what I was doing; what am I doing? and on to the next distraction. Thought something, soon to forget something. Think of another thing to do, idle, addled boy. 6.19.21 I'm glad my growing dementia funny to you. Looking for purpose before I'm fully vulnerable better make light of my plight since I can't do a thing about the direction I'm steered now viewing an equatorial scene in awe like a child |
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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)
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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)
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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)
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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
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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)
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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)
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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)
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Congratulations on being our Honorable Mention in March of 2022 at [Link To Item #2216416] !
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![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)
