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(116)
Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind
I’m disabled by more than blindness.

Writing: Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance in life. Pretty medallions sought for words/my soul, a slow burn now. Life is full of misdirects right back to the start, you still quest with a thirst.

If they take time to notice, must be doing something right. Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent.

scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies.

hic honor, quem accepistis, non est operae pretium, sicut non est bonum.
*BigSmile*
si hoc legere potes, gratiarum actio pro tempore.

The beautiful mess you made.
         |
Without knowledge, who’s to judge?
         |
No gavel; no voice.

I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost
         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me

*Neurodivergent poet.
*I yearn to love without that fart in the room.
*Honesty without mincing words.
*Stay clear of those surrounded by rules.
*Real dialogue accepted.

Diagnosed with new disabilities in 2020: On the spectrum/ADHD (it gets complicated by PTSD and brain trauma). Been suggested by doctors I might want another brain scan. As it is: My words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The true experience/acknowledgment of my writing yet to come...long after I’ve left WDC, am dead, or both?

Truly been a blessing, but I've been pushing it — envelope, push world and all inhabitants away, push buttons, find boundaries, no clue why, where I've lived in your dark. Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me the way I need to be viewed (if I knew what that was. Cryptic, I know. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid the strange, virtual walls that tempt me to try).
*The parenthetical ‘lawyer up’?



Foot free, I’m all over the place.
 
"Note: Poetry: life’s little interruptions amassing int..."
 

Best Poetry Collection 2X, nominated three years. What does it mean? I was enjoying myself, head bagged. A happy idiot. Something messed with that. I won’t be a coward; not starting feuds or wars over ideals and beliefs. We all know that’s a pile of crap packaged with dreams of pretty things to sell t the next boob that walks by. *Clown*

Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. I dig deeper than I should, push boundaries. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets. Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations to write.

No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got.



My Pluggers:
You are an icon here.*BigSmile*
You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue}*Heart*

It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Epigram ‘n Aphorism Samwiches"
Your poetic muse is on fire! *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. *Cool*

 
Published four times with one a literary journal, including… *PointRight*   "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.

*Toilet* *RibbonW* Merit Badge in Taboo Words [Click For More Info] Brian, Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659]. I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^* Rachel Merit Badge in Poetry [Click For More Info] 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

 
Love my process constructing and sharing visions in words collected (no small task considering personal and physical limitations, see below).


August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼

BOOK
SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days  (18+)
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#1300042 by Lorem Ipsum, Perhaps?


No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼

 
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* *FacePalm* Now: I was such a whore.
 


*Laugh*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.*RollEyes*
             



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 ▼

The Best Poetry Collection on Writing.Com ▼
Previous ... 1 -2- ... Next
May 11, 2022 at 8:12am
May 11, 2022 at 8:12am
#1032238
One by one, sashes thrown up. creatures come down.
the world just continues spinning on,
doesn’t notice ignorant interest
sitting in frames.

Noise of a busied world was such a nuisance,
so long sealed out, haze-windows tight.
we didn't notice disinterest grow
in stale rooms sitting.

Winter cushioned mechanized groans, abusive cold
of a world still spinning ever on, in our dying.
So, Summer arrives through screens, hints
hope of something green.

We’re natural, just lazing about these wood boxes,
wait for white, taking each to dirt promise.
Unnatural not to revel Summer renewal,
as furry beasts lodged like survival.


5.11.22
6.9.22 re(in)visioned

Winter Thru Fall

Oh, would you look at that!
Spring is arriving and leaving and Summer nearing
and we can throw open these windows to admire the felines laying in those boxes,
inhaling scents and sounds and scenes we just accept are there
day and night, winter thru fall, and not give a rip about it all.
May 6, 2022 at 6:45pm
May 6, 2022 at 6:45pm
#1032051


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.


5.6.22

Something I went after, not finished.
May 5, 2022 at 2:14am
May 5, 2022 at 2:14am
#1031946
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.


5.4.22
5.16.22 edit

Man bonds with idle implement, momentarily
May 4, 2022 at 11:08pm
May 4, 2022 at 11:08pm
#1031940
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

 Invalid Item 
This item number is not valid.
#2173927 by Not Available.
May 4, 2022 at 8:40pm
May 4, 2022 at 8:40pm
#1031933
She knitted, crocheted,
tatted a mound --
gifted, worn, forgotten,
forlorn. But,
that did not diminish love
in lotion-soft, leather hands --
in two criss-crossing,
blue-metallic needles
or silver shuttle,
worn, forgotten
in a pile of belongings boxed,
opened by a man
not her son at a thrift store
in the winter of 2001.

I still wonder about dad
who died later that year.
Worn, forgotten
without the warmth
she could give,
not realizing it resided
in the hallway beneath
framed tapestry,
her Last Supper,
in a dresser drawer
packed to brim.

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