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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 ▼ |
Finality is the last season, how my heart fades, once absorbed in a soul that needed my fuel, fed itself until we extinguished -- a flame supernova-ed, in a black hole devoured. The extinguished could not rekindle embers, long since sparked alive by a lingering hope to live forever, now time-worn. 9.30.21 12.29.21 edit vaporized |
| Another dawn sneaked in at the foot of your bed where I wiggled those toes, once merry little piglets, hidden 'neath covers, protected from dread of dark. Nights monsters stirred but did not bite because I was at your side to chase away any fright, soothed. Every day that goes by, I wait by the hollow door for your return, again and again until you don't need me anymore. No monsters but me, I feel, stand in your way. Yet, I realize there are toes that need to be tickled, soothed. Futile, how long I wait until you cry out again in your monstrous night to chase away this fright. I can’t save you anymore. 27 lines, free verse We’re in the throes of something. 9.30.21 10.6.21 edit 12.29.21 edit |
| try too hard it hurts more when not good enough when it comes easy I have no control still fear rejection but something needs fill an empty poet's soul I could go insane so when I empty the red ventricles like pockets spilling out on your tables, I learn what was hiding what needs a purge and it's not the words try too hard and they will never understand my best is better but can't find it in a pile laid upon your bed-stand, because it's stuck in the beating vessel plying inward seas, crying for true souls who understand a poor poet like me. 9.28.21 3.28.22 edit a lonely boy/poet listening and enraptured by music from Cannons with new music hitting its stride. Fan forever because of Fire For You (on heavy rotation in my head). Other inspirations: "True Origins of Love Lost (Cannons-inspired)" "Quitting You (Fire For You inspired)" |
| In the sepia sea -- nothingness, but a cuttlefish amid clouds watching these thick masses thinning -- russets and golds covering my weary head, bury the green-bladed surface, dying with me. The glow intensifies one more time, before fading over the fence to hidden horizons. I scan the dusks' red warnings. Autumnal tides fumble toward white solstice, pale, decay a heart in personal purgatory, yearning a perfect season rewarm this soul with still-beating heart, aching. 9.24.20 9.24/28.21 rewrite 18 lines |
| Finality Is A Season Some float down, as if from heaven, twirling, mating with the air, bouncing on the invisible mattress, slow spin back and forth to meet a calm green scene fading, presenting to onlookers like me. Some tumble through like wild gymnasts frolicking, colliding with hard earth, dancing about obstacles on their course -- hyper, join a swarm of mates to meet a village of cloistered inhabitants fading, appear before bystanders like me. Some take their time, as if mother won't let them mature. Hanging lonely, a child absent after recess, crying for a purpose in this late season, fear natural selection that plucks them from despair, cloying for her arm, hide in her nest, never to meet true heaven on earth, feed sorrowful eyes of witnesses like me who long to join, but serve this perch by the window, now or for eternity. A dull heart fears go out, play, as a final day viewed this way. 9.24.21 rewrite 20 lines Shorter isn't better. |
| Sploosh! Bus!! Zipped in green nylon, my muffled world in persistent Autumn rain. Out the door into fresh morning adventure, sploosh the thickest, muddiest ones with tall, brand new rubber stompers, thick and black and dry. The dome of protection shrouded eagerness to clutch the brightest, prettiest castoffs, clotting verdant yards -- firm receptacles for the maples' disposal. How they shuddered in blasts twisting twiney branches. Not me. Unbending form, buffeting invisible persistence, would slow walk straight into rough gales, with chugging arms' exaggerated thrusts. I’d scream louder, a defiant storm in my own right, mightily slicing waves with ample form. Puddles divided, resected, circled back to reform, receive minuscule, rainy offerings in my observations in youth. Rain gear, like an observatory, made it all so distant -- partitioned, yet adjoined. A world I could overwhelm in hooded apparition each morning, with harrowing climaxes — yellow flashes in dim light. Helpless, when these seasons got the best of my joy, trudge home to her to confess, I need a ride. 9.23/25.21 27 lines, free verse I want to be more nostalgic, in this way…but it hurt. Every time I have a negative experience, I want to quit…until I can forget. But then, repetition makes/helps me remember. Life can be a bit much. I just have to remember (to a point, and then quit thinking). |
| a pale blue dot, an image from a voyage long ago -- in your galaxy caught departing a planetary neighborhood. from its fringes, I note where you are. one last look, my home planet. you could be a billion light years away. from this vantage, on my ecliptic plane, a portrait of a fading world captured -- caught in the center of scattered light. deflection, I suppose, from bright reduction. a tiny point of light, if you strain to see. home, with everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you've heard of -- every human who ever was lived out their lives where you are -- the aggregate of joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines -- every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, all creators and destroyers of civilization, king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher, corrupt politician, superstar, supreme leader, saint and sinner and followers -- the history of a species lived there -- on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena, challenged by a point of pale light, in the great, enveloping, cosmic dark. In obscurity, in all vastness, no hint help will come from elsewhere to spare pale blue insignificance. this dot spins on axis, fixedly, as if waiting for some deity come down from invisible heavens. a tiny world floating on the perimeter, daring near the center of all creation, functioning to give purpose to anyone who shall pass, miss one so minuscule as a pale blue dot. 43 lines 9.23.21 last two lines hidden because I added for contest and feel foolish now. borrowing a reference and book title from Carl Sagan about beliefs of the existence of God and what man could do to better himself, make this a better place for all who struggle. if it still speaks to me long after I write it, it must be so. |
| You've been fighting the chain so long, wrapped around the pole beneath her whitened load, lingering on a line, low. The tether tightens, restricts desire tarry yards among other leashed mongrels, hungry to meet nostrils between buttercups, belonging to neighbors on porches, rocking on chairs with firearms cocked that dare an underfed, blue-eyed mutt, who'd bite your legs if you dare near. You watch them all, idling through time, wondering if the doghouse would ride along, in unbridled thirst for freedom of the agony: wavering trees un-sniffed, the roses to dig, or puddles to slosh and gleaming wheels unchased. What can an animal like me savor from a vision of all scenes contained in limited purview of a punishing society? Set me free, I'll still bite your hand, before I chew the rest of this scenery hungrily, angrily until the catcher arrives, puts a bullet in the salivating head sneering, daring your wrath justify why I must sit and wait for my bones, ache for that pull of gravity to drive me down between the blades of pissed-on crabgrass. 9.16.21 10.6.21 edit 26 lines, free verse I'm not your animal and I can't wait for a chance to show you how sharp my teeth. Tethered so long, it begs the question: would I humbly lie before one who calls themself my master? |
| My gain of function -- informed by you -- are words that permeate this dense room Experimental with scientific leaning to understanding why a boy could get so hurt by playing amongst you -- innocent, now self-aware, how to take care with a pad, a pen, and a rescuing imagination for diseases sprung from spiteful tongues. Ever learning the cost, no longer feeling lost in this throng, a crowd that swarms a soul navigating, assimilating soon regulating a heart to beat a bit slower, to get to the end and exit this room with just a shred of dignity. 9.9.21 Something I made up, now that I understand the meaning of 'Gain Of Function' which really seems vague. As staunch as a stone in a moss-covered quarry, will anyone roll on their position if it's proved Dr. Fauci lied to Congress, lied to the world? Or, does he have an excuse from someone higher up? How many licks to get to the center of this Coronavirus lollipop? The world may never know. The poem was about me and not about Covid, just liked that scientific method as a metaphor about assumptions about how people apply their science to one who would dare rub elbows with the rest of the world, hoping to fit in. It could relate to how Jayne feels about those lame birthday wishes. Sorry I didn't send one, because I would try to make it meaningful, for what it's worth. |
 Why does it feel the last minutes in this long loping freedom I stride are the unaccompanied moments spared without you by my side? Why is this purgatory for one who wishes every moment of every hour be in your arms, two singing, yet the empty soul is being devoured? My eyes long for a vision to materialize in this vexing freedom I abide. I consume life with lust in this emptiness until the hour you re-arrive. Why must every moment we're together make me realize slow death nears, as you gently whisper your nothings into unrelenting, unnerved ugly ears? 9.6.21 breathe life into me, Sarah: |
কবিঃ আয়াস কবিতাঃ গীতসম্ভার (১) যা কিছু ঘটিবে তোমার জীবন তরে স্রষ্টার উপর আস্থা রেখো থাকবে তুমি ধৈর্য্য ধরে। নিরাশ হয়ে কখনও কভু দোষারোপ তাই করোনা হয় তো স্রষ্টা ভালো কিছু রাখিয়াছে কিন্ত নয় তোমার জানা। আমরা যাহা দেখি নয়নে হয় তো সেটি সত্য ভেবে আঁধারের পর আলো আসে জানিও তা তোমরা তবে। স্রষ্টার লীলা পারিবেনা বুঝিতে তোমার ও তাই ক্ষুদ্র জ্ঞানে বিন্দু হয়ে সিন্দুর খবর জানিবে তা কেমনে। ঝড় হয়ে আসিবে বিপদের ঘনঘটা তব তোমার চারিদিকে উদ্ধার পাবে নিশ্চিত জানিও তুমি সেখান থেকে কেবল ধৈর্য্য ধরে থাকো চেয়ে একমাত্র স্রষ্টার দিকে। 9.6.21 What? You don't know. |
He took aim at me with piercing blue, surfacing beneath a wrinkled scowl penetrating the core my timid humanity. His admonishing words, deftly crafted to scram! beat it! struck as arrows do, in a small child heart. Get out of my yard lifelong bellowed, by he, master of a manicured lawn with bright peonies as high as my eye. From daffodil trumpets in Spring to shady, symmetrical maples clumping gutters with a clutter: orange, yellow, brown, but especially purple, like my bruised ego where I wandered wanting to sample with greed a handful of flowery perfection beneath a wide window. When he died, so too his craft. Trees toppled, perfection excavated for the gleam of a bright swimming pool, now clumping from unrelenting Autumn irony. 9.5.21/ 9.24.21 edit 10.1.22 edit 19 lines Written for a Fistful of Nothing |
| What possesses me? I’m bothered by information flowing through me from room to room. No filter, nothing to deflect as it seeps through pores of thin flesh and into veins navigating avenues to ventricles of my heart that fuels an empty soul. These particles that fly through the air, a swarm. They are never ending, and insisting that they possess my impulses, as I hold tight to something, like you. That I should open my eyes and illuminate the world, that I should genuflect. This body isn’t the host, doesn’t need possession. But wants to ask, how did you know the lonely so well, would unwittingly open the door on the pretense I’d let you in? 9.3.21 I decided I like this. Usually dislike what I write. But only because of what it expresses, because it lacks what most pursue as poetry with clever devices to convey. This is more lyrical, straightforward, having a song's quality. Though, it is just the bridge. No chorus or repeated words needed. It is about feeling manipulated and confronting the abuser with wonder. |
| I would die with you now, alone. You throw your golden hair through this shared space. Me, incapacitated, cannot fully glance in my immunocompromised state -- that you couldn't possibly know how little I have left to live. But, I drink in your bared, sun-glorified skin -- hold tightly to a vision: the torso and one strong hand to lead, locked in our tango stance, dreaming dip, dip, dip me! from red lips. Our love echoes through unlit hours, before my frost finally arrives. And even if I didn't know I was dying, I would lie with you in your deathbed, enwrapped in my arms, synchronizing two hearts linked to the coming disaster -- that beauty in this life never lasts, but fades and crumbles into the dust that raises up another. In my chronic chair of conformity, I peek as those tresses fall to meet the arched back, black-tight leotard easily revealing form I long lock adjacent to a wretched husk of humanity, the withering, expiring skin, to lock eyes throughout each night and every dawn, sung by a throng of worshippers, who had a fraction of what we could have had, if not divided by a generational tide. And ignorance that an old man can still appreciate a figure publicly displayed, re-inspiring utopian dreams that could never materialize, or conceivably form because we're all dying, honey, and you should know that. Don't live like you're dead, like me, but don't hate me because you're beautiful. 9.3/26.21 Reconsidered to make edits. One last look later. sort of a response poem "⭐ Elegy" |
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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 
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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)
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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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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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A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.
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