May     ►
Archive RSS
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3
Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
Quill nom'd stuff, if that makes it good - what inspires, words cast to a world wide wind.
What’s NEW
New 2021 Quill Nomination for this blog (best poetry collection):

Signature for those who are nominated for a Quill Award in 2021
2021-22 Poetry Highlights  (E)
Quick links from 2x Quill nominated Collection (2020-21) + other awards, should it matter.
#2251239 by Ephemeral Memory of BK Compton
I'm not deserving.

"The Tender Core (Sedona) Merit Badge in Taboo Words
[Click For More Info]


Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659]. 

I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*


SuperNova Afterglow: New Zenith To Hell  (18+)
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#1300042 by Ephemeral Memory of BK Compton

No specific aim going forward

What I used to say: 'Maybe, I just don't get it. Watch me fumble with my version of reality, expose ignorance as truth. You don't have to get me, either. But, wish someone would explain me to myself.' Now I say: *Cool*

"A War Of Youth {Psychology) "Prose And Dead Men

Merit Badge in Taboo Words
[Click For More Info]


Congratulations! You won 1st Place in  [Link To Item #2139468]  with your beautiful poem, Time-Wrinkled. This brought tears to my eyes. So well written!

"Time-Wrinked (Relationship)
Blog Won 2020 Quill for best poetry collection:
                    Signature for those who have won a Quill Award at the 2020 Quill Awards                     Merit Badge in Quill Award
[Click For More Info]

Congratulations on winning the 2020 Quill Award for Best Poetry Collection for  [Link To Item #1149750] . *^*Delight*^* This award is sponsored by  [Link To User lighthouses.37] .  For more information, see  [Link To Item #quills] .

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 #freeverse #contest #free #award #bestpoetry
Previous ... -1- 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... Next
May 15, 2022 at 12:01pm
May 15, 2022 at 12:01pm
Prose and Dead Men

Tiger-striped flannel and matching ball cap,
if slid askew, would remind you
of the old man sitting on the tailgate of his blue Ford,
sheltered amid flocked customers
and other vegetable growers. Cracking wise
in the corner parking lot of the local farmer’s market,
his hat true, angled in the locked position.
A habit I suppose from serving in military.

Big John missed death as a sentry in Guam
by just one hour, relieved of post before another throat slit,
some nameless brother in arms.
A story you were not privy until a man.

I scribble these musings in secret journals --
hollow words spun from a corner booth for hours
at mic’ed readings where no one peruses
the printed commitments amid pregnant pauses.
My endless voice scratchings echo an arena choked,
with tears in my eyes not for him but
some liberal heart bleeding, pleading
actualize the purpose of my prose.

"Prose And Dead Men
May 15, 2022 at 11:48am
May 15, 2022 at 11:48am
When he scooped you from the earth,
carried you
to the speeding car that brought you down
to the gulch
where dutiful bees stung the small flesh,
he realized war again —

nothing like he ever fought
but was prepared for.

meanwhile, I
obsessively plucked petals from white daisies,
blissful, unaware
how brutal life could be
until rubber complained
to the hot blacktop —
when I heard his true love in wails echo
above stubborn birch, pine and hardwood
that every aware animal could witness.

at seven, I believed
he loved a small, bloody boy more,
whimpering in clover
with the yellow and black, and
fractured leg to set.
glowing white angels would bathe
and tend contusions and abrasions,
cheer a freckled chin.

in my designated corner,
a toy for distraction
did not deter wonder —
if I hurt myself,
would he love me more?

"A War Of Youth {Psychology)
May 15, 2022 at 11:36am
May 15, 2022 at 11:36am
On a dust plain, you see heat rise,
distort dry fauna fading green.
Bones ache, but your blooms distract,
help me heal in precious, amber light.

In porch shade we rock, glide
side by side in silence
all these years. A moment arrives
so perfect, I kiss you,
passionately, again, feel
the cicadas unrest and tremor.

We could strip to salt flesh I long to devour.
You stand to refill our lemonade.
My hand brushes the tender underside
of your boot cut denim.
Not long is dinner, sunset in Sedona.

We will afford the loss of sunrise.
Cayenne canyon of soaring rock
fences us willingly within.
No taste for dinner but soft cotton.
Aroma of sandalwood encircles
cooling limbs entwined. I feel
beating beneath breathing
and hold the tender core
like a baby.

Thankful, all these years
absorbing color of sunrises
and the view across a shared room.
You could be a memory,
constant in dreams,
my soul’s red canyon.

"The Tender Core (Sedona)
May 15, 2022 at 11:25am
May 15, 2022 at 11:25am
Ordinary as oatmeal,
a collared dog that must walk,
sunshine that arrives
when you first get up,
we still burn behind the mask.

Free as that morning dove
that builds a nest in our gutter,
leaves, gentle, obey the wind
falling, falling, falling
down to this ground
as we lay --

our lips embrace forever.

Brittle twigs commingled
lay broken, once green, swayed
in our soaring tree. A warm canopy shelters:
two children, three cats and
her hamsters, content clucking,
chittering like raindrops in our heart.

Small hands tenderly wrap ours,
typically calling,
calling, calling 'come',
knowing innocence, true beauty --
how we heal them in the night,
unjust pain from fright,
growing sickness inside,
where we lay safe
to dream.

We are typical love,
share stories together
so others know how ordinary,
as oatmeal.

Typical Love  (E)
The most beautiful story is ordinary
#2111251 by Ephemeral Memory of BK Compton

May 14, 2022 at 9:01am
May 14, 2022 at 9:01am
Isn't enough to sit, and just listen?
What I learn, voiceless, I long
to belong to something
that does not wish to reciprocate.
I long to remember the purpose
of this aching container
in a maze of avenues I once knew.
It's all new, or
are the maps spun so
a boy cannot find home?
Isn't enough to watch a parade
pass me by, ignore yearning
to participate, sound a horn
for loving spectators, when
it's just a spectacle I'm viewing.

Lost in a crowd of strangers,
the strangest of all
acts like a fool, wanting.
When the street hides in black,
snow gently falling,
I wander out to find youth.
Memory of where I've been
suddenly becomes true.
And because you haven't learned
the secret of a pale moon
hovering my cold avenue,
ears connected to a heart
hear again
without the din of you.


as is, for now
May 12, 2022 at 11:17pm
May 12, 2022 at 11:17pm
I witnessed you at your round table; your eyes and slight curvature called smile addressed me (without word) as if to say I know everything. But, what I now realize: Satan acting like Jesus, protected by an ever changing cast of apostles until you are ash. In future time, I’ll witness that empty table to possess and order service for one. No glass will raise. Just a simple supper and feint recollection of indifference.

Quill Nominated Best Poetry Collection two consecutive years, 2020 and 2021.

"Poetic 📝 Jottings by UnReknown Poet
May 12, 2022 at 1:51pm
May 12, 2022 at 1:51pm

My noise:
just disturbance to you,
from what’s more important,
needs attention.

But, wait!
They don’t love you like I love you.
My noise,
you’ve been canceling, lives
for you.

White noise,
you press the snooze on me,
as muffled walls absorb my story.


If it’s the last words you’ll hear, hope then, loudest…if not, best.
May 12, 2022 at 1:39pm
May 12, 2022 at 1:39pm
Hand Wash Only

With delicate cycle selected,
trusted to a fine fabric,
I fell into a wash with you.
Turbulent times have been
sometimes torn,
always mended, but
never the same as before.

I slipped in this bath with you.
Soft cells sluffed away, sent
to a hungry drain
eager for more of our skin.

Turbulent it could seem,
memory washing from life.
With delicate cycle selected,
let a fine fabric spin, again.

5.14.22 last two lines add
May 12, 2022 at 10:50am
May 12, 2022 at 10:50am
Amid love’s lonely and austere offices
         reserved for you,
         giddiness of a child restrained.
yet, a heart would chase:
red tendril tresses flowing behind your form,
lay gently down your
ruffled blouse, pleated summer skirt
in a wild weed, yellow sanctuary.

Vibrant blue vistas gaze upon me,
         unhesitant pursue a boy,
         lonely and austere listening
to release of those tender notes
from coiled lips' charm.
Youth lost years ago revived, longs
lay beneath the red tendril tresses,
a canopy for our shadowed love.

Restrain my giddiness -- hollow --
yet pursue reservedly an echo.
Vibrant essence, a tempting harmony, lingers
like channels to caverns,
inside castles of everlasting youth.
Release those coiled lips with charm,
framed by your hovering form.
         A boy lays longingly in our wild weed.

5.12.22 many revisions in private until public on:

Who is Freya? Read the rest of this blog. I also borrowed one line from a famous poem, also previously mentioned in blog, I think?
May 11, 2022 at 10:40am
May 11, 2022 at 10:40am
what should I write next? do you dare
my muse compare, respond to the core of you
standing over, shadowing someone who
has yet to stand up, compare
to the size of you?

I played your game; you ignore mine.
that's fine. don't have time to learn
rules forced upon me, not convenient
to some like you, who abuses
any structural thing.

what should I do next? Should I dare
mess with this muse and likes of you,
someone who doesn't respond, indifferent,
never reacting to a game of my words
that could send you down?

I'll have a few things to say
before you open that mouth.
I'm prepared. Be afraid, or
find someone else to fuck with, unless
there's no one else?
I guess, no more games.

5.14.22 last edit

yes, all these words written in haste one day that you collect, pretend not notice, to throw back in my face, when I smile, because I know I got to you.

I could love you like no other, yet wonder, who's more afraid.
May 11, 2022 at 9:54am
May 11, 2022 at 9:54am
Remember the camp creek, spying for frogs
on weedy banks? You were freckled, and I
was not. Buttercups captured our wonder,
applying those soft, yellow heads to skin --
happy makeup to show mother.

Under shaded apple, black and yellow --
graceful, dutiful. Pollinated pink buds bounced,
freely inhaled, while chasing ourselves
in spaces behind that blocked-up trailer.

Serenaded by insistent, deep-hued violets,
torn by small hands from their beds,
amid sparse, bright green blades,
brief bouquets we collected with grins,

handed a silent woman on her patchwork
in shade. Our commotion, her daily devotion,
she remarked of our luck. With thirst, fed them
in just the right mug, dipped in well water.

Small, slithering grass snakes grasped
on edge of tall, thick fern, you did not near.
Bright white trillium would appear, thrived
early that summer, she instructed us leave,

let stray in forests like me, naturally. But,
that mower gassed, smudged oil on red paint,
roared to life. He let you take the handle.
Running ahead, dared dandelions speechless,

I spared any yellow friend you could not send down.
Age-puffed, the wisp spores flowed like wild bubbles
blown wayward from stick. Like me, soaring up
lonely hills and trees, before gentle falling.

Wildflowers meandered forgotten rust rails,
more color than could be collected alone,
dead and alive. Simple serendipity
captured, their cost afforded smiles from her.

Before maturation, I loved you, and you stopped
loving me. Nature inspired the young dreamer, hope,
nostalgically spares summers when she thrived,
loved equally, but adored one child’s wild love.

37 lines free verse

Left out:
Innocence near power lines hidden,
revealed strawberry under red-tinted leaves.

Last edit:
May 11, 2022 at 8:45am
May 11, 2022 at 8:45am
I tease with words, not the components actual
that compel the clock of me to tick.
If I tell you I'm just a bunch of springs and gears
clicking off time, the years, how long
until you walk up to another for the time?

I tempt with a tongue that knows embellishment
from the lies, can keep track of the truth,
where it wanders in a room we share.
You can lay your ear to the skin of my clicking,
know we're wasting time here, beautifully.

You could reap every thought, uttering conceptual
that compels me to ignore the clicking.
If I tell you that I love you, it's as honest as truth,
if a timepiece like me could ever be serviced,
unattuned, lying in your shop, bleeding time.


fictional as anything else and still yearning to be real.

Words are information and I feel like I've spilled a billion of them without being discovered as true self. Good thing they're scattered and mostly lost to time, because I still need revision. Even when I die.

I 'dis' the honest in myself to guard the truth, not wanting to tell a lie, be forthcoming without capture by something lying in wait to steal my soul...

who's gone too far with this now?
May 11, 2022 at 8:39am
May 11, 2022 at 8:39am
I cannot crave you skin, the container,
while light inside is disturbed,
as our moon glows perfectly.

You envision me hungrily, on platter,
while a light inside fades cool.
A color-draped sun perfectly sets.


how you know you've lost the feeling, cannot feed on love anymore, while remembering life is still beautiful.
May 11, 2022 at 8:30am
May 11, 2022 at 8:30am
Just trying to feel something, anything, while
I listen to you warble your anthem, this song
that has haunted me for what feels
life long, lingering.

I peered in many windows, prying, searching anything
sounding familiar like your voice, inflecting feelings
haunting me, and scares with emptiness I miss,
yearn to feel.

Disconnected by a life I'm in, but cannot reach, there's you,
visionary, echoing and inflecting words barely recalled.
Inserted into a world I've never learned navigate,
there is one beacon.

No light, nothing to touch like a stone, a hunger for ears
I cannot sate warbles about airwaves my wonder
seeks with fuzzy head, scanning blinding skies
lost on the ground.

I cannot even clutch this pain inside myself, when you
open your mouth. If I could finally ask, should you
be found, would you answer a foolish boy,
my disembodied captor?


there's no true comfort in words, only actions of a woman who tempts me to hope, believe, aim
to try to figure out what this disconnectedness is all about.

your voice has wings for you
and if I could clutch you
before you fly
would I know
be happy that I possess you
they way you own me
love like this can reciprocate

May 6, 2022 at 6:45pm
May 6, 2022 at 6:45pm

I know gaslighting, fire blazed
before eyes numbed in my youth.
Their aim could subvert me from truth,
proves ignorant purveyors employed,
brother against brother. Dystopia delivered
through our open doors, hidden beneath the rug.


Something I went after, not finished.
May 6, 2022 at 5:35pm
May 6, 2022 at 5:35pm
May 5, 2022 at 2:14am
May 5, 2022 at 2:14am
How do you move an empty wheelbarrow,
no luster left and empty, stored to stand on
deflated, lone wheel centered on winter ground.
Vinyl on wood handles gripped firm, fading.

Swirls of orange stains eat a purposeless tray,
hollow from another season of neglect.
I’m shaken by feelings of my own worth,
rusts a salt soul fading from gripped youth.

Idle hands could rough in a new season.
No soil or budding love in garden to move,
remembering his mud-filled pushcart,
purposed to mix a gravy of gray cement,

sliding a supply in spaces of a ravaged walk.
It never held for long. He used too much rock.
The grass grows up and around a friend
that my hands have yearned utilize.

5.16.22 edit

Man bonds with idle implement, momentarily
May 4, 2022 at 11:08pm
May 4, 2022 at 11:08pm
Cars And Trucks (2017) revised

I am not gay in your world, but gay enough.
I am not black, either. Yet, black
Wherever I roam without you.
I am not an immigrant but a stranger
In an even stranger land,
Watching their cries like infants —
         Helpless little babies I refused be,
         Since I grew up, took my medicine.
         Gut full of the stuff soothes what rumbles within.

If I am not right
Or left, I am wrong           and alone,
Watching beer-guzzling hunters haul
Bloody trophies on trucks like freedom --
Mud on oversized tires, bedazzled grilles,
With tow hooks, pulling tiny, two-wheel drive cars
From ditches in dark blizzards.
         The babies drive off with meager thanks
         And expressions of shame.

I go home to the goth girl,
Attracted to friends who daily reject her —
Shaves her head, pumps that brain
With Korean anime, K-Pop and rants repression:
From schoolwork to plight of LBGTQ.
         Thirteen-year-old, newly professed,
         Bisexual transsexual, with lips and face
preparing even more metal piercing
Than tender kisses of lost innocence.

         Her His brother -- tall, brilliant,
Master of piano, brass instruments,
Tops state ranks in testing:
Math, English and Science.
In dark, befouls basement couch,
head strapped, controller aimed
At a glowing, green Xbox.
         Too tired to remember hand in
         Missed assignments, our cause to track…

Two parents who'll be damned these babies
Don’t make the grade, land on feet to struggle
With something akin to virtual reality:
         Our foggy existence, find time to ponder --
Politics? What's this about 2017?
         Are you trying to get me to feel
Something, Mr. President?

Fabric of an already torn, nuclear family tugged.
A tapestry too thin. Must we scrap it,
Create another? And just how
Are we supposed to do that when
Babies bury shiny cars in ditches?
Will the muddy trucks come?
My sensible SUV can't save us.

5.4.22 revised poem
50 lines, free verse

Cars and Trucks  (13+)
We seek freedom differently, yet dependent just the same.
#2173927 by Ephemeral Memory of BK Compton
April 30, 2022 at 4:08pm
April 30, 2022 at 4:08pm
By the camp creek, spying for frogs,
On weedy banks buttercups captured.
Child wonder applied soft, yellow heads
To skin, happy makeup to show mother.

Under the shaded apple tree, viewing
Black and yellow, so gracefully dutiful,
Pink buds burgeoning pollinated. Below,
Serenaded by persistent violets deeply hued.

The most vibrant colors contained, collected
In small bouquets, handed a scrub woman
Who remarked while she helped find
Just the right mug, dipped in well water.

Where small slithering grass snakes chased
Into thick of fern, bright white trillium thrived
In late spring. She instructed me to leave be,
let stray in our forest meadows naturally.

His mower sparked to life, gas and oil
Smudged the red paint, when I roared.
To and fro, sent sparing every friend,
Dandelions clotted a dry, dusty field.

Yellow specter seldom seen age puffed
Wisp spores, sent like wild, summer bubbles
Blown off a stick from that old front porch.
Wayward, wildflowers in alleys, behind shed,

Roaming hill and dale, floated away down
Railroad tracks, where lonely I flowed, too.
Collecting every bit of color, dead or alive,
A busy woman was allowed time to smile.

Serendipity captured by innocence along
Brush-cut power lines, connecting rugged
Properties, revealed blooming strawberry,
Patches hidden beneath red and green leaves,

In those early days before full maturation.
Nature inspired a young dreamer with hope,
Nostalgically spared summers of memory
When a woman adored a child’s wild love.

36 lines, free verse

What do (you) choose to see?
The weeds or the flowers?

April 30, 2022 at 9:08am
April 30, 2022 at 9:08am
She’s ‘fallen victim to flickering lights’
In our small room and ‘I’m sorry’
But, ‘it doesn’t matter now’.
Then why confess these feelings,
Darling? My morning Starling,
When black drapes do not douse
Insistence of a morning byway?

I’ve fallen victim now to my regret —
Early search in lobby of bland coffee
That I must take issue with,
Dump in three creamers to mix
With four packets of Splenda,
Cloaking a bitter, caffeinated flavor
That does favor morning regimen.

Does not soothe regret, night spent
On a lump mattress unbending
To a tender man’s low end.
No hot tub available yet
To soak the night’s restless bones,
Now tensing on the edge
Of our shared bed. And the point

Of telling me your disturbance,
Rolled back over to sleep three hours beyond
A weary head that gets no rest
In a flea trap or away from
A lifetime of expressed disgust
Of my insistent presence by your bedside
With so much as
A chew, leg twitch or mutter.

Nowhere else to go, not home.
I freeze, tense, reside in pain
So you can regain your beauty rest.

713 Entries · *Magnify*
Page of 36 · 20 per page   < >
Previous ... -1- 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... Next

© Copyright 2022 Ephemeral Memory of BK Compton (UN: ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Ephemeral Memory of BK Compton has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3