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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.


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 "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋"
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 He’s Brian K Compton


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
August 13, 2020 at 1:17pm
August 13, 2020 at 1:17pm
#990676
a slightly different picture

i went four coffees deep today,
as my eye roamed the same scene
out my kitchen window, with just
enough light and color, to squint
and see a different scene animating.
unfortunately, i'm alone in it,
this frame hung waiting for its ghost.
obviously, no magic in these beans.
maybe later, employ spirits of bright
bottles shining the dark corner hutch.

8.13.20

not everything requires an explanation. just lift a red cup.
August 13, 2020 at 12:56pm
August 13, 2020 at 12:56pm
#990675
most don't have words
but I do
just no audience for these theatrics
playing out
most carry no expressions
while I animate
but not outwardly because I'd be a fool
acting out
most do what they're told
but not me
not some mindless lemming tod-
dling about

if we could finally speak
to one another
what would be the conversation?
weather is a given
no one wants to stir
the valueless, petty
and unsolvable feelings
would rather mock a loathsome creature
lurking about shadowed
by self-doubt

most have no compassion
but I do
just no one steps up to receive acceptance
like I would

8.13.20
August 13, 2020 at 12:32pm
August 13, 2020 at 12:32pm
#990673
de-compose

where the banana peels,
coffee grounds and egg shells lay,
perhaps I too could find
new purpose.
in a dark tomb
of plant waste and soil.
we could rejoin
in some natural, spiritual way,
where the harsh sun
doesn't meet my eye
but a sharp spade.
skewer and spin my remains
to mix and atrophy,
mindless in silent repose.
purpose, I could say?
but, isn't everything cyclical?
i'll be back here again
next year, waiting
for autumn to decompose.

8.13.20

while making an omelet today. and why does that matter?
August 13, 2020 at 11:30am
August 13, 2020 at 11:30am
#990667
nuclear words

you keep holding on to that 50-megaton bomb
you've been holding in
like it could blow up Nagasaki
you can keep telling me you have
justification for your feelings
while I suspect
the longer you hold this arsenal
that won't fly in any
Enola Gay
I very much suspect
it won't even ignite
a light bulb
The World War I went through
was much harsher than yours
and comrades in arms
suffered the same
and we all tucked it away, too
and it remains to still haunt
and harm to this day
There is an epicenter so wide
and continually spreading within
I question my mere existence
day to day while you
who once stood on your toes
to look me in the eyes
on the carpet where we played
saw my blue eyes close
and our shared DNA
We are not that different
except in one way
I sheltered you
from my ground zero
I sung and danced
when I didn't recite
those fairytales that don't come true
except in imagination.
I shared my survival story
and you have now created
a narrative of your own
where a father could become a villain
who to this day
is confused and alone as ever


8.13.20
some of the nuclear weapons today are more than 3,000 times as powerful as the bomb dropped on Hiroshima.

i want to participate until my child eviscerated me last night with words they can never walk back from. even though today, acting like last night was pretty much business as usual.
August 12, 2020 at 2:19pm
August 12, 2020 at 2:19pm
#990618
funny I'm the broken one but you're the one that needs saving...

Having no specific aim
I've hammered away at this glass
since resurrecting in your vision.
I'm always ready to say too weary.
Compelled somehow, instigation informs;
and still, here I am...
bright, full of light
and dark,
revealing the hidden
colors and shapes.

I hear what you are saying...
but especially
what you are not.
Yes, I struggle. But,
I'm getting through it.
How are you?

I've gone by other aliases.
People remind me of that.
Sometimes restrained, it's hard to understand
these feelings I write.
It will be clear some day.
Hard to hide what's in the heart.

I'm making no apologies.
Not interested in the trap of stereotypes.
Not sure how we'll feel about that.
Okay?
What I used to say: Maybe,
I just don't get it.
Watch me fumble with my version
of reality, subjectively informed...
expose ignorance as truth.

So, you don't have to get me.
But, wish someone would explain me to myself.
Now that I've figured out
the ever changing rules of your game,
you take the ball away,
no longer engaged to play.

You pay a price for this kind of friendship.
I lose, I guess,
hey, gaslight?
It takes strong flames to draw
a moth like me.

B.K. Compton
ripglaeder3@writing.com

redefined 8.12.20
written when, after another blog revision of the umpteenth re-order?

re-inspired by Cat Power cover of correct lyrics:

"Funny you're the broken one
But I'm the only one who needed saving..."
August 9, 2020 at 9:25pm
August 9, 2020 at 9:25pm
#990380
tiny dreams

on the cusp
one summer’s eve
while stalking crickets
drenched in faded yellow,
         a reminiscent tornado sky warning
         fell into dusk, when
eyes betrayed ears:
         tiny flairs,
         luminescent messages blurring,
cut humidity’s silence in
glowing color.
another world burning
more passionate than mysteries
in green blades
left undetected,
I ran for a Mason jar
and collected Mother’s warnings:
         not to stumble but catch
         dreams to illuminate,
shower a lonely, nature lover
and all things small
adorning a bedside table.


8.9.20
August 8, 2020 at 7:02pm
August 8, 2020 at 7:02pm
#990287
Mostly Sober

Is it totally embarrassing driving us home,
shit-face drunk, two parents sitting in the backseat,
instructing you how to drive? I'm getting used to
asking you questions like this without
looking in your eyes, preparing the guise
of a person who can't see anymore. The person
who cannot visualize the person who reveals before him now.

Your mom, who prefers me better, incapacitated like this,
takes advantage of me, grabs my ass
when I fumble for the seatbelt, holding on
to some version of reality where all three of us
can love one another
with grandma and grandpa along for the ride.

I know at 15, you got a handle on things.
That's why I was the only one encouraging,
not shouting instructions, when you took us for ice cream,
your treat, on this sobering drive. I could sense
getting closer to you this weekend, the only one
not teasing you. Your head like a snapping turtle,
after dinner, when the meds kicked in.

I saw a teenager who needed a focus shift,
pointed out kindly, we change the conversation,
but they teased on a little longer. You hugged me
twice later. It felt like trust, reconnection, with a dad
who hasn't known how to be there yet.

As we grow closer, I hope the drama doesn't
push us further apart again. I'm learning
to remember what it was like, sheltered in my own room,
pumping music into my head to survive. To be
that kid who yearned one kind act, even from a parent,
to be patient until learning to 'straighten up'
and 'fly right' our own way without being told...
turn left, go right, the wrong speed and how to arrive.

I just want you to know...I'm along for this ride...mostly sober.

Sometimes, learning to be a dad is way more stressful
than what you pilot. And, it's not the same.
Why compare?
When I’m old, I hope you still drive,
take me out for ice cream.
You won’t have to worry anymore what I visualize,
because I judge with my heart, not my head.
August 7, 2020 at 10:04am
August 7, 2020 at 10:04am
#990172
From The Door To Morning's Kiss

I will always be the door
That you pass in and out.
I will be your window to other worlds
You seldom witness, see through.
I will be a cement slab poured
To the entrance of my heart,
Awaiting your arrival to
Sometimes stand, yet never linger,
To sit, repose with me below a canopy
Of trees; moon shelter
In the few warm nights,
Cradle with my dreams.

I am a candle in a room
Perpetually burning, flickering.
Aromatic shadows fill
a long hall.
I lick oxygen like love
Lingering, my essence,
Mere wisps of freedom
Invisibly settle in your dark:
On our bed, in your hair,
On what clothes would remain
If we strip bare our emotions
Down to the hardwood floor,
Remnants until morning light.
We could arrive anew, afresh.
I see my smile on your face,
Embraced with morning’s kiss
of sublime, shuttered sunrise,
slatted and slathering
our delighted skin warm.

Will you greet me anew then?


8.7.20

Written by a dreamer romanticizing what could be with fresh eyes, husked from two that are failing.
August 5, 2020 at 9:36am
August 5, 2020 at 9:36am
#989957
and then the truth was unmasked
boldly cliché pronouncement

wanton eyes
once unwitnessed

unveiled villain

subjective truth
bold liar

and then the words of revelation were pronounced
bold plain utterances

unwanted
blind ignorance hidden

vigilantes indescribable

lies
pale truths

what words blatantly spoken to the wall
quietly die alone, uninspected?
because no one pries for Truth
when in view of these committed scrawlings?

On a dim-lit ocean, traveling
deep dimensions of time, drowning
without repose, waiting

linear expansion, precious response —
truth inspected for a moment, unmasked —
alone in black, float a galaxy,

otherwise
unwitnessed.

8.5.20
I'm not submitting this to the Daily Cramp for today's prompt soon to pass...
Edited greatly: 5.14.23 (Formerly: Committed Defenses - Cliche)

DocX
2020 WDC Heart Throb Poet:
"Note: Congratulations! [Image #2112528] ..."
Merit Badge in HeartThrob Poet [Click For More Info] Congratulations! being the Grand Winner- Mr. Heart Throb Poet 2020 in WDC Land for your piece: [Link To Item #2213763] on [Link To Item #2110571] *^*Heart*^*
August 5, 2020 at 8:40am
August 5, 2020 at 8:40am
#989950
An Open Book

pages now yellow
hide dog-eared entries
burdened by the weight of time...

i left my diary open
but she did not pry to read.

entries that could instruct
an indifferent heart,
that could inform a mind ready
to see inside this shell,
could witness all the revelations
i did not drop in conversation.

i open this book wide
and do not hide anymore.
she is nowhere seen,
travels further from purview.
hope that I'll connect
with that other worldly soul someday.

still waiting,
i'm growing ancient
with a tome tucked with pages,
forgotten notes like wallpaper
coverings for windows of dreams --
of what I once was, now
shrinking in a dusty village.

a man too small
to lift his own book
does not know where
the story of dreams begins,
how the tales unfold
because every ending: unfathomable.

still dreaming in dark
while Norah sings discontent,
sends regrets from shores bracing horizons
of potentiality, but
not to be our reality.

all quills run dry
of the heart's ink.


8.5.20/8.28.20
37 lines, freeverse

I'm in here, but it will take strong, electric paddles to bring me back to life.

per the prompt: book
An Open Book

Yellowed pages hid dog-eared entries on a dust-shelf, since lapses in their linear time. His diary could lay open and Ramona wouldn't stop to peruse. Brian's entries could instruct an indifferent heart. Penned words he feared to drop in conversation awoke again. He thought the quill had run dry of the heart's ink.

5.29.23
August 5, 2020 at 8:13am
August 5, 2020 at 8:13am
#989948
I watch you emerge from the sand combed beach
shoes in hand while waves roll in
break of day washed away, yet
give me hope
after we missed last night
you've been searching those horizons again
where to begin when
every dry bottle marks a land
of slowly elapsing time, where
I never find invitation

what divides two souls
like curling walls of water
I never seem embody
with two eyes peering over
clear, unbendable fence
You have sung so sweetly
so lonely like I'm never here
ready to be your ocean
where toes could steep in tide
dive far beyond and below

You could come away with me
but not to dreamy visions --
hologram episodes floundering
to find land on rock
in a blood heart, tick time.
drowned by hungry gulls
who ply for divinity
like this solemn man shadowed,
watch your morning parade, evidence
washed by watery limbs
brushing idle footprints

Just one night on soft mounds
beneath a vigilant moon
hydration sucked out
in florescence, I would
like to sit quiet with a dreamer
who like me can imagine places
far enough away from reality
and too unreal from burdens
of yesterday that calm souls unified
in artistic afterlight.

Last night is nearly 20 years past
and still glowing beneath
a vault hiding heaven.


8.5.20
edit later

Random Write to three N.Jones songs



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