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 |    Poetic 📝 Jottings got the virtual hardware w/ inspired words cast to a world wide wind. |
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“You are an icon here.  ”“You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.”  It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Life’s Little interruptions ✍️ 16!"  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.  ![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)
August 28, 2006 ▼
No specific aim going forward ▼ 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 |
| I grew concerned she would send slivers to my hand if I touched before my skin became rough from handling lumber 9.30.22 I could add to this, continuing metaphor naming various species of trees from an innocent cherry to the mossy oak. Perhaps, she did not lie in good soil… blah. I’m sick of myself. |
…at any given moment… The medication will kick in shortly now…mindfulness, don’t forget…it’s a tireless treadmill we’re on…the sky is a maw swallowing colors…if you look to the East…log on…don’t forget to pick up…what’s so funny?…your meds…waiting…laughing boy… is a tireless treadmill…with waves higher than the Empire State Building… hey, there…get in the fox hole!….Arrrggghhhh!!!…tireless…waiting… are you listening?…look to the North…polar ice caps melt… did you take your meds today???…wait, what time am I supposed to be there?…mail, did you get the mail?…tireless…treading…hear… what I…just said?helloooo…meds?…super position…echoing… repeating…new location…same…in the South…hurricane surge is ripping into the coastal region…area…no, region…correct!… your prescription is ready for pickup…Ding! Ding! Ding!… did you get all of that?…your Zoom conference begins in four minutes…take cover! Hide!!…it’s okay, honey, I’m here now…incipient..void…why did he walk two miles in the dark?… don’t leave me here!…looking to the West… does auntie know you left?…the horizon peaks like the plumage of an atom bomb blast…nu-nu-nuclear Winter…he’s running a fever…discontent..of…I ate all the cherry pills… freezing…tireless treadmill…woozy…catching a train on the fly… haul it in the yard…he’s coming to!…America Wins The War?… concentrate…only a minute left…Just need that billing address… perfect…what? what’s perfect?….I remember you and you…but, I wasn’t there?…don’t hang up…lines crossed…treadmill 0:00…yes, I’m here now…how are you doing?…loaded gun…question…hope I didn’t keep you waiting…ground zero…I’m fine…namaste. Just luggin’ that big ole brain like a gun, hey son?…If I die before I’m born…here, burn the manuscript…postscript…re… re…that’s supposed to go first…can’t kill what’s already dead. 9.29.22 can’t { justify} oops! got left out — Maa-omm!! running it all back between two atoms Human formatting can be a bitch keeps you up to 2 am when you gotta be to work by 5. Still aiming for a bullseye, when it gets dark Fling the arrow Let’s go home When did the po-em end? Begin?? It’s always running P.s. for real now: This is the stuff I wanted to write, experiment with, (still do) when I was discouraged by my writing instructor, who would go on to be a poet laureate and have a poetry prize named in her honor. I know about all the don’t listen to critics stuff, now. I was young and hung on every word of feedback I could get. It’s what jams my gun, sometimes. Words could be weapons I could be using them wrong How am I to know the difference, then? Than? No, then. Correct! |
| Heaves words like logs into a fire Feels the warmth, hears a crackle Smell piney, smoldering ash stoked, glowing yellow, red, blue, orange chilling, retiring gray and black, hissing at the last of a drink flung Scoop the remainder up again start fresh tomorrow Drawn into lungs under stars glimpsed Such a dreamer Burn through so much wood bountiful, wonderful, burnable wood sectioned, split and stacked Pull up a camp chair and join in 9.29.22 I really write for me. Contests, etc. do little lately to fuel me. Not that I don’t try. Have to heft that wood to get it going. |
| Aim At My Tower? Inhaling the good, clean air up high, I stood between two wrecking balls, and I was their tower. Full of vitriol, their fuel, indifferent words hefted, aimed, flung from sky-loft, low-swung, missed and catapulted higher. At apex, slow motion atom bomb force-landed on each others head, because I had the good sense to duck. 9.16.22 Where'd the month go? not sure how to frame (correct) works and break lines to reveal apex, pendulum force within lines while a delivery in the most impactful fashion. just to say, I stand between two that will take me out with their words if I don't get out of the way. I can be the focal point. it could be a three way war with only two armed. I don't come prepared for these 'fights' between the two hormonal objects I'm obligated to love? |
| At least she had the decency to run after him with palette knife to express her passionate plea. I get 30 years of whittled bone from carving words sinking deep beneath my brow producing a Poe-pendulum fate. 9.10.22 |
| "There's no agony like bearing an untold story inside of you." --Maya Angelou and it won’t be told today agony snowballing in gut knows the void expressed and never understood story isn’t truth retold no words capture this void shaded by elms cooled hovering above roofs untethered ghosting your walls Impenetrable feint horizontal flecks unwitnessed it won’t ever be told to a soul risk the misunderstanding of black illuminating only within no suffering inescapable blanketed dark dreams unfolding refolding in cavern just echoes painted on a canvas you pass in narrow passage between two indifferent hearts one bleeds just, not for you 9.10.22 21 years tomorrow — a misdirect, I confess |
| Links to authors below... Like bamboo sprouts, we bend WakeUpAndLive️❤️pumpkin  Day 1in clockwork mechanical dance Beholden  Day 1Beat down the sand with happy soles Wraiths Whirling 'Round  Day 1It passed me by so fast, somehow LeJenD' The Bogey Queen  Day 1cracks are showing and fear is growing Itty Bitty Scaredy Kitti  Day 1whispering through the autumn trees Snow Werewolf  Day 3the wind smiles and collects lost leaves Elle (she/her)  Day 3Twisting weightless in some glorious lie Buddhangela, Ghost Of Coraline  Day 3I imagined the sunlight in your hair Ned Dreadful  Day 1Wish we'd talked long into the night 👑 pumpkin princess wheeler  Day 5Bringing love and joy to each moment Boo'ful Sonali in October  Day 1For the lonely and the sad 🐺Hunting Wolf's Moon  Day 5The air still heavy in the night Miwli  Day 3stoic practicality possesses this melancholic calm The Ghost of Jayne's Lost Sock  Day 6future leads to a frying skillet. Kåre Enga going to 🇹🇭 Day 79.10.22 15 lines, Cento-American Style Thanks to all the great poet contributors. If you want this poem to stay up, I need all 15 of you to give this thumbs up. It's your poem. I just put some sentences together. I want to add links to your poems, after some zzzz. Write a Centro for Daily Poem: ▼ You must: ▼ line 1- "Time"  line 2- "Question" line 3- "Odd O'blography" line 4- "A Mother's Lament" line 5- "100 Seconds to Midnight" line 7- "Every wait ends" line 8- "Clean escape" line 9- "For you, unsent" line 10- "Things Not Said" line 11- "Friends with Time" line 12- "A Simple Touch" line 13- "Lovely California" line 14- "  WINNERS X 2 DAYS and NEW PROMPT SEPT 06" line 15- "L R A E H D E O R" line 6 alternates - It launch’d forth unreeling tirelessly speeding came gently Whispering, I love you by me from award winning redaction poem "The Whispering" 11 thumbs up plus... " Re: Re: WINNERS and FINAL PROMPT" jayne affirmation" Re: Re: Re: WINNERS and FINAL PROMPT" words whirling round affirmationenga affirmation in comments nfdarbie missing and will be replaced when the month is up, unless thumbs up this project all respect to the true artists. poem will only be displayed here. |
| 8 by 10 yellow waves ripple an ocean sunset. eyes stray into glass-field gleaming. heart bounds toward a clear vision. if I stray, fear I'll fade forever. in wildflower an idle mind wades. weightless, lifted higher, sunken into that mahogany frame. horizon nears in that lucid pane reforming. rush of a dry, sage world arrives. new silence escapes the heavy day. in valley, vibrant voices beckon. browned skin in dusty cotton dress witnessed in bittersweet isolation, happy in love's desolation. blue eyes, daisies adorn pale skin blushing. red, a widening sea soon engulfs me. sucked into time-paused eternity, stolen moments break inside reality. clocks realign, reawaken one redeemed. it still does shine, now unconfined. dreams tucked away, still at play. a random view from that 8x10 hung helped remember when, the sun, two who were young, glowed on that horizon. 9.8.22 originally:
more of a romantic tact for the old poem about memories inspired by a glass-framed photo
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| I. the ocean came gently Whispering, I love you travell’d a long way fear’d I might lose you the last words dying in the rolling ocean like a single drop “came” miraculous grateful to have last moments part life and fear entering into the afterlife noiseless, patient I mark’d a little promontory, isolated Mark’d vacant, vast surrounding II. It launch’d forth unreeling tirelessly speeding Noiseless a spider on a rock small It weaves a complex, beautiful web pays close attention completes its task By the end importance clear lines open-ended. its web a metaphor for soul but means isn’t clear. 9.6.22 23 lines Redaction Poetry The Daily Poem 2-Time WDC Quill Winner: Best Poetry Collection, 2020 and 2021    Redacted From: Walt Whitman, From Poetry Analysis Out of the rolling ocean the crowd came a drop gently to me, Whispering, I love you, before long I die, I have travell’d a long way merely to look on you to touch you, For I could not die till I once look’d on you, For I fear’d I might afterward lose you. In this lesser-known piece, Walt Whitman describes the last words of a narrator’s dying lover and his assurances they will find one another again in the rolling ocean. The poem begins with the speaker telling his reader that someone, like a single drop from the ocean, “came” to him. This is something that seems miraculous to the speaker. He is grateful to have found someone to spend his last moments with. He is part of the circle of life and death, and by the end of the poem, the fear associated with entering into the afterlife has dissipated. A noiseless, patient spider, I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated; Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself; Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them. In ‘A Noiseless Patient Spider,’ the speaker spends the poem watching a spider. It is on a rock overlooking the ocean. Although it is small, the impact on the area and the speaker is clear. It weaves a complex, beautiful web. The speaker pays close attention to how, string by string, the spider completes its task. By the end of the poem, the larger importance of the text as a metaphor is made clear. The final lines conclude the poem, but they are very open-ended. He says that he sees the spider and its web as a metaphor for his soul, but what exactly he means by this isn’t clear. |
| Actors like to pronounce their Gs at the end of words-sah They pronounce them so hard-dah they sound like a lilting syllabah-lahs I’m gonna need you to try that again. Sylla-bubbles Again? Sylla-buses One more time! Keep it rollin’. Sylla-bulls Print it! No-ah Yes-sah, and don’t call me Noah. Now, you gotta hit it hard … Like we rehearsed … Take, in 5 4 3 2 … Your socks are swing-ging sing-gles. They don’t seem to want to ming-gle. Your laundry basket should be a mag-gnet. The dryer trap is your only drag-gnet. Cut! That’s a wrap! 9.4.22 Unless uncommon mates scrubbed in the tub clung where they hung with a casual tee, you see? geez-ah! I’ll allow it, my child. |
| Madness, let me be. This endlessness in reverie, veins seep sadness. Let me find some peace tonight. In a second, empty comfort, an angel. Sweet distraction twisting, escaping with you, maybe. That straight line keeps waiting — cold brings me to my knees. Fly away time; a chance break? Beautiful release in dark veins building. Easier in your arms this waiting. Hard to make okay the reason. In a second, feel good enough. Empty, this weightless time tonight — memory from that cold day. Tired, silent vultures everywhere. Fly away fear. The end I lack — find storm wreckage of my reverie. Believe me one last time, ok? Inglorious madness, let me be. 9.4.22 21 lines, free verse Daily Poem Use only words from song Angel by Sarah McLachlan Minimum 3 words per line Lyrics: Spend all your time waiting For that second chance For a break that would make it okay There's always one reason To feel not good enough And it's hard at the end of the day I need some distraction Oh beautiful release Memory seeps from my veins Let me be empty And weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight In the arms of an angel Fly away from here From this dark cold hotel room And the endlessness that you fear You are pulled from the wreckage Of your silent reverie You're in the arms of the angel May you find some comfort there So tired of the straight line And everywhere you turn There's vultures and thieves at your back And the storm keeps on twisting You keep on building the lie That you make up for all that you lack It don't make no difference Escaping one last time It's easier to believe In this sweet madness Oh this glorious sadness That brings me to my knees In the arms of an angel Fly away from here From this dark cold hotel room And the endlessness that you fear You are pulled from the wreckage Of your silent reverie You're in the arms of the angel May you find some comfort here You're in the arms of the angel May you find some comfort here https://textinspector.com/workflow/ |
| I carry my lunch pail swing the clasp box in tow, know I carry you where I go My coffee warm as your heart vigor consumed on dirt at noon. Coming home soon. The clock crows in my heart. I’m coming home to you see cornbread consumed on checkered cloth — stirring our hearts with spoons. We canoodle in the aroma of a plank-board room — love hovers over our air. The clock sings soon, too. Last cup of strong Joe before rocks crushed and carried to quarry to collect carats for a ring banded so smooth. I carry my box home fast, lighter, longing your heart next to my heart — a soul of two. Up the cool porch I bound. Outstretched, I’m received above a firm clasp. I really carry you now. Soft in the parlor caress a prize. From my box a box I carried just for you, until this June. I crush rocks hard for you. Cradle a soft heart so tender. 9.2.22 31 lines Free Verse For The Daily Poem Sampling some alliteration, also assonance with some consonance not so cautiously but casually. |
| I live in a world unlike yours Sorry for the intrusion I’m a bit alien, don’t align… Though I’m trying to. Could you stay in one place long enough… You’re gone. Who was I talking to? I crawl back into this bell tower… Spin some gears, fidget… Trying to attune. Was that a perfect note? Loud enough for any other To see with ears… I belong here, too. 9.2.22 Spontaneous write to ‘Forgive Me’ Sorry by that over-apologetic singer, Tiffany Thurston. Pretty tune. |
 How did it get so late so soon? woke under an avalanche pouring down time on a well worn head, foggy life: inevitable waiting mysterious brown washing out ~~~ on a glass sea set on its side inside it’s shapely bubble . . .slipping through I lay at the bottom remember you on our beach fire glowing ~~~ warmth of two souls now darkness fading you woke before me now, no vigor left for deeper diving the last granule could fall into this anticipant void ~~~ i’m not ready but everything is wonderful if you’re asking how did it get so late so soon? we could tilt this bubble back I’d show you what we missed ~~~ read to you from my notebook wake slowly my love. 9.1.22 How many lines was that? 29 What the hell do you call that god-forsaken poetry style? free verse I did make a Nicholas Sparks reference, if ever so slightly. For 9/2/21 Daily Poem (no show) Brian is a legally blind individual on the spectrum (highly functioning, I swear: pending complete self-diagnosis) with ADHD, for reals. It makes remembering hard between vision loss and 10,000 thoughts and other triggers in your impulsive head all at once. Don’t worry. I’m under good supervision and medication. Beautiful mind - commence shut down. Sorry, it takes awhile to shut this thing off. It could be all night, a week or month. By the way, I want to mention I’m using a tablet to write. This is the only portion where I used talk to text. By the way, if IQ were scored by an arcade game I’d have top score. Wrote to this (good background vibe for read): Personally, I feel I’m trapped in a bubble of time — lock into one memory and make it play out forever, nearing the end of the vinyl record. Our glass or snow globe, shaken. Forgot my glasses. Squint. Got ‘em now. Impulsive, forgetful. Squint. Went to make coffee before reading what was happening today on writing.com, before this poem created for contest. I look at the Keurig now on standby. Just imagine if I had had caffeine. |
| What you notice — Captured by BK Compton (poet, photographer of words) Your metallic, clunky cyclops, you place your ‘good eye’ near my window, never see my inner workings — a cavern below — but illumination of a scene captured, more pleasing. Pressing my trigger, in a flash, by impulse, quick-sketch all contained — darkness into light. On this thin film, spooled, frame by frame, a slow tugging war to get to the end. You only open my compartment to grab my work exposed. Empty. Used. But, for a brief moment… we were one. Now, I sit in this dark all alone.{/size:4} 8.30.22 |
| Honorable Mention (Stormy ‘loved this.’ Might have been an exclamation point in there…) i don’t forget like an elephant. seasons of regret slow send my palm leaf manuscripts whirling, weaving through the fading umbrellas, searching earth, decomposition in my unguarded soul. i am thinning, too. it pours down on my gray head, falls faster than a heart beating. yet, unable to conceive: why am I so dry? landslide of memories, tides wash out to gold horizon, i suppose. i have not spied her. the only flame, doused: light of my torch woman. is she gray, too? somewhere across this dark shore where i’m anchored? steadfast is a worn word. life: inevitable waiting while mysterious sand slips through a shapely time glass. it lays now at the bottom. no vigor left for diving, as the last granule could fall soon in this void — i’m not ready. 8.18.22 32 lines, free verse Prompt Words — hence color: heart weaving tides pours seasons life landslide human (can be man, woman, child) |
| The harder you try to figure it out, the further you get from the truth. #resolution |
Glowing, glimpsed… swaying in a breeze, lone buttercup. Your lengthy neck angles, flat-cropped, yellow top dares rival a blue sky, that when black, raged, poured down on your flimsy head — sent low amid sparse weed that hard - fought gravel, clasping an Angel nourished. Your golden coat shook glad dust … upon them. As a brood, coexist, nestle on a solemn, jagged road — once bent unending past wheat, corn and potato, now, just as neglected. Indistinguishable lines fade, tar slow collapses from her intense glare, left spider-cracked, craggy — not like a flimsy flower seasons saturate, sun - anointed, glowing, glimpsed… by me. ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ L ~~ o ~~ v ~~ e ``~~’ ``~~’’ ``~~” ‘’~~’” 7.27.22 8.14.22 edit, formatted for Shadows and Light mid July/August contest  ![Merit Badge in Shadows and Light
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Hi Brian,
Congratulations on coming third in [Link To Item #shadows] with your absolutely beautiful poem, [Link to Book Entry #1035766].
This really is so clever and so pretty, and it has to be my favourite title of any poem I've read in a long time.
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_and_Light-1936078_14.gif) Idea that we are beautiful and remarkably outlast some of a dying world? I aspire as a buttercup, or as the weed?  |
I’ll keep digging for obscure music… |
| I have directed her time and again where she can learn/read everything there is on my mind, worth knowing, to explain what it is with me, when no other place I beautifully express receives me. This is my struggle: Tighten Up I unspool like a ball of yarn you don’t employ knitting needles if I don’t roll back, tighten up, you complain about the mess it’s not your discipline what is the purpose of unspooling? where are the hands to receive me? why am I just balled up, afraid to lie about on our floor comparing to your store bought rugs and tapestry? I am yarn, unhandled, not to be spilled? Lately, nothing gathers me up I roll, hide behind the stained recliner, under unswept kitchen table, in shelves’ shadows by unwashed laundry, by brood of dirt bunnies beneath our bed No sobbing comes Still worry you might find me, fear from low the investigating shoes spying places where their eyes glow — furry distractions that gently paw, nibble, roll about in open sunlight If I had only them - simplicity I could lay a mess, complete. 7.23.22 28 lines, free verse She’s my saving grace, a buoy in the water of life — bobs anchored on the other end of the spectrum, barely hears me, can’t save me. We at least exist in the same ocean. Am I watercraft? What metaphor am I that traverses mentally to and from her to yell I’m drowning before finally knowing my beacon might only mark the location of my distress? Late realization, she can feel hopeless, unable to float free and join me in brilliant, haphazard, mental escape. I could drown, but we could live beautifully before disaster on my infinite, equatorial pursuit to be discovered here. Rescue? Is this the best I can ever dream for me/us, sans an ordinary, risk-free life? |
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Realize someone somewhere (everywhere and anywhere) has it worse. You won't hear me drowning out their cries. I confide here, look for others who relate. I question what drives me to share, need to be understood with this obtuse, oblique language. No amplifier or soap box needed. The joy is in doing the work, connecting dots in my brain…puzzles I forget, repeat. It's catharsis, this discipline called writing. I assume that's why we're all here…? 
