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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
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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, slow burnt. Full of misdirects, right back at the start, but still quest with thirst. Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent. If they take time to notice, must be doing something right. scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies. (hic) The beautiful mess you made: I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me Neurodivergent poet seeks love without that fart in the room between us. Honesty without mincing words has come with a price for those juggling the hot my takes on what’s ‘truth’ (here’s some oven mitts). Best to stay clear of those surrounded by moat rules. Real dialogue is accepted. Wasn’t as open at first about recent diagnosis on spectrum with ADHD (complicated by PTSD, life of brain traumas). Been suggested by doctors of late I might want another brain scan (since 12/4/17…blogged). This poet’s words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The experience of discovery through writing is the truest reward that has allowed me to grow and learn who/what I am — what other people get naturally, immediately, while I stomp around in it. Been blessed, but pushing it — envelope, world and all inhabitants away. Push buttons, find boundaries to trip traps. No clue why cat curiosity, living in your dark. (Bored, perhaps?) Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me how I need to be viewed (if I knew what that was). Cryptic, yes. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid strange, virtual, wonderful walls that tower above, tempt me to scale. Been more than I could imagine or expect here. But, achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall  . I dig deeper than I should, often without forethought. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets? Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations here. Not fair?No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do best with what’s in hand. My Pluggers: 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 "Poetic Referendum(s) On Life"  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 ▼ |
 Oft considered, a process of regeneration As frozen time glistens a reflection, dry eyes seek signals it's safe to toss up the window sash. Cardinal and blue jay flit to and fro, feather from feeder, as felines watch below. Screened fragrance flows freely within. No clouds clasp a quiet horizon deep. Sun insists sugarcoat a scape glowing green, that tired toes might yearn entreat. Shadows, swept up, seep slowly back. Whisked clean, a wind-washed scene unfolds. Where wildflowers will wander is yet unknown. In receiving recliner, I dream of a lad in spring armor, weatherproof and mad. In a crush, murk-brown vaults splashed. Wheels spin the corner fast and start this drowsed, pale, sagging man in leather, prying to peek for perennial tender. A chick, yellow-hatched, unseen, I hide in warmth of the soft white lamb and shelter. The good sun, thankfully, seeks the backyard. 3.19.22 3.28.22 21 lines some lyrical, alliterate, rhyming free verse Spring Verdant Words: REGENERATION, WILDFLOWERS, LAMBS, CHICKS, EGGS (implied here), WARMTH throw away line: No longer savored, coffee steeped bold. |
| The Perils Of Childhood Freedom I skipped over it. The way a creek bubbled up, blazing my trail in shallow wood, half past spring on weekends outdoors, mounting to summer freedom to explore unguarded, when they wanted you out, didn’t care where you were unless you weren't back for before a dinner yell — and dark insisted to them the sun visited another lost boy past the horizon. You could have fallen. I skipped over it, again and again, learning. And, if the sour truck came rolling up bitter gravel, you crawled from the ravine and skipped over it, until lying in bed, woke by a dream. It wasn’t summer: 13, 14 or 15, but driving his truck into the marsh, hunting and screaming, flashlights playing tag with snoring pine to find myself tethered to the sap… and skipped over it… until 40… bound and gagged… in a trunk of something speeding, fast. Brakes squealed, foot steps reported from telltale gravel. Too black to realize a lid lift, a world gashing silence free… and the struggle… I skip over. Water rush deeper than a creek, when I’m forced up, face a moon’s deflection… reflection on that ledge… a small boy bleeding… thick trails mixed with an eye’s creek… they screamed, ‘I wish you would’! Nope. I didn’t skip over it. I slumped. I didn’t find a ravine or the bottom of a lake. I woke to wake, eventually, skipped over it to teach a small boy the perils from ignorance of early innocence. 3.18.22 We could be traumatized by something our whole life and not know it, but feel it deep in those creeks we explore in dreams. |
| my heart is in my head, bleeding black, seeping through sockets of dead flowers that bloomed when I first saw you. golden visions cascaded over slumped shoulders, as you pouted in my general direction. something stabbed me that day. my bloodied shirt dried crisp, removed to bare my chest. but after so much loss, how could I see you undress? not a man anymore, foolish I wept to the night alone, as you drifted from room to dark room, stabbing every victim, dead. Yet somehow, I lived on to retell how a scarred woman stole life from a meager soul, received blood but not the flesh of an observer. You're just a ghost of a woman who I could devour now in one bite. So small and withered in my sight, as I start to glow and shine. For all the pain, from all the years, I grew strong, could not be killed. You're ashen and nearing a mantel urn. I avert my eyes as your body burns. 3.16.22 Listening to Chris Cornell, mainly. |
| Honorable Mention ~ Stormy’s Poetry Newsletter 3.23.22 Headstones (We Walk Home) In a sea of headstones, hands clasped, we mark future journey to our destiny, remembering mother and father, on their anniversary. Fires they built to burn our food, teenage years, eternal love, and a roof over our heads, until we graduated from school, and went to work. And when that home came toppling down, from aging and all the love inside, we had an idea to replant their perennials at the grave. We've done about as much for them, as they could do for us, in our early years. Now in tears, shoulder to shoulder, we walk home, too. 3.15.22 12 lines, free verse
Oldest living poetry contest that means a damn at WDC. Keep it alive! |
| Rubber zucchini will not do from a supermarket zoo, where I load a basket of ingredients. We've got the blues and a manufactured sleeve of black cookies would not do. Smudged recipe card in her handwriting greets me on a floured counter, amid the grating and grinding. Tablespoons of cinnamon, allspice, powders and salt all need minding. I butter and flour the pan how she taught me. From mixer bowl, I slide in the batch. Two pans even must be. With the proper fire from a faithful oven, hope to get it right. We'll see. Hour later, they marvel crisp, brown perfection. Her aromatic bread, spied through glass, risen. This was her favorite selection. In thick divides, we plate each slice, butter, and gobble Mother's confection. 3.15.22 20 lines, rhyming Second place, April 2022:
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| I could feel you near, heart searing my chest. I still cannot rest, when I knew you would be about. Days wasted, watching a Madonna, as you'd pout around that boy. I feel you dressed for nobody, but him who spent too much time flexing in the gym, exercising ego. How could he know, that I was ready to make love to you? You came to me late at nigh, a fit because you had a fight. Comfort in my arms as you whisper what you really wish. It's not me, but for him, who should've known. I told you 'no' when you wanted me, a consolation. In the years since then, in desolation, needing consecration, timing wasn't our thing. Nor were you and button-jeans guy who made you sing. 3.15.22 20 lines, rhyming in free verse. We've all met that one who intimated feelings for another when we were right under their nose. I may hav been on three ends of that. |
| my heart throbbed for fire red hair, a cherub who could not conceive her reflection, a devilish grin on pottery-glazed cheeks -- matter of fact ignored blue piercing her green when she openly stared at a crow. and when we hit a smoky lake superior strip with that college clan drinking on land, they dared bare skin. your sweater cast off, revealed pink panties, braved waves hurtling ashore. and alone, I shoved off, defeated. I didn’t want to share you or know if yip, yip, yipping jackals had owned you in our moonlight. just an unknowable, self-protective wall of man, too afraid to go free, naked with a spirited, animal baying. lacking sacrifice of virgin skin in ice black air, flesh I longed entwine never warmed this soul's container. I'm an island of man, not a public spectacle. immoral to project a vision for you I could never embrace as my own. 3.15.22 20 lines, free verse Love Unrequited, it seemed. I wanted irony twist at end to see who really should be condemned. From the much longer: "Not So Much As A Bare Toe " |
| Vintage? Perhaps Peering through clearest marble, expanding eye visions, purity of green glass, smooth as a time-worn pebble feet felt in blue bay, summer water on silt, imagined deep brown, murky. yellow eyes, pierced black, peeped amid reeds guarding a blackened, brackish shore; castoffs, sequestered collective, joined us all in senses infinite; until time dies where I wade out to meet the frayed clouds forming, absorbing faded sun-glint horizon on bubbled, frosty-death glistening. I would buy all of you and hold you, wedged in undersized pockets, play on unforgiving sand outside school in snow-melt spring, ceding space with small, prying thumbs marking a place for entry, to be won or lost, gamble to gain more of you to covet, but burst stitching in pants, cast off to echo on floorboards, post recess, collected by the annoyed, ruling man. A child does not yet conceive untimely fate for each of you. And now, my turn to be buried deep in white within a black, grimed corduroy space. But I do not gleam like you, as age burns us all to ash. It takes only one of you to carry one of me to the earthen place. 3.12.22 33 lines we go back and forth through time, making it infinite in our reality, imagined. there's not science to back it up, but even eggheads don't hold all the answers to the mysteries poets explore. remembering what is what like to hold up a pure marble and use imagination to envision, as a poet does with memory to recall what it felt like, where it takes me now and how I relate as a child and an old man with one poem to carry with me to the grave. in fact, a metaphor that implies deep, but it doesn't take much to get past that surface, knowing (if only subconsciously) how close we are to it...D-E-A-T-H You held my nose in it. I said it was just fine, The smell intoxicating, Brute strength divine. Because, I could have fought you, But chose not to care How I was treated By the likes of you, Because, My mother said only love. While I love myself more, It didn't take time to devise How time would even every score. It was no work. No work to be done. We each are judged From only one up above. Tell your mother you love her, even if you think her wrong. Just a lad's spirit guide, not a god damn oracle. and, stop looking for answers. keep eyes open for serendipity. life's about having fun. at least, that's how I'm Told it's done. |
| I’ve been expressing myself for a very, very long time now and unnecessarily moot I hear water dripping in the sink. I can’t move. Cats at my feet clean up the plate I put down — licking taking forever. Stuffed animals on a cluttered table, faces cut off, stare blankly, replaced by painted, oven-baked expressions, some kind of art, takes three hours away from overdue schoolwork, with a term nearly ended, one more truant letter to come. Mother at the bar now, after work on Friday, our saving saint, a stalwart, family matron — slides under bar chair. Does not want to act her age among co-workers, and I wonder: how long helium will last, when will Elon Musk move to Mars to get away from us, men deranged with power before the meteor strikes, making this all moot. It seems an eternal drip. Cheers, Mother! from your high school dropout. 3.11.22 |
| Can't the world be still? Every babe is crying. This house sags when floorboards depress beneath the weight of a hard shoe. Leave them at the door. Leave whatever you have on that protects you from the weather on the sturdy rack in the parlor. Have tea or lemon-aid. Come out of the hot sun or bitter cold, for shade or heat, the way welcoming is meant to be at home. No radio, no TV blaring. No images on screens and words deflecting a world in conflict while a child is sleeping. Get your rest, babe. You could be summoned tomorrow in the heat or cold, sent to the street or trench from a world ever spinning, but not evolving. Do we hate? Why war? Take your shoes off. Have gin and tonic. It will take the edge off. 3.9.22 Pretty clear once you get past the mehtaphor. I misspelled on purpose. |
| What's the reading level of your audience, elitist rag, using student funded dollars to cloak words in riddles and devices to delight and surprise the Sunday crossword composers? I'm taking aim at this mastery to craft the clever ditty that to you looks shitty. I take aim at those words published by others with names not germane to this region and wonder how many of me are left in the woods with our rifles and cheap fifths of something soaked in gray beards as we squint and aim and hope not to kill one another? Your rag would make an outdoorsman shit with spectacular color, take aim at those words not germane. Perhaps ink some words on those bathroom stalls with the deer heads and other antlered things on the walls. And in full orange gear, they do not fear ridicule for not being like the others on those stools. Plenty of interesting stories go around here, not ones examining self-worth to a jellyfish in a coral reef on expedition of inner light, self-glowing a starless night. And where is this all going but down with a yank? I do not share scribbles among your heavenly scholars scribing multi-syllablic words not heard in a century, or composed with such fashion that eyes turn away before the seventeenth comma in elaborate, one sentence ‘graph. I read, compelled, and wonder: should I understand this all? as my words take aim at a shitty web wall, hoping not too small for the audience tripping over this mic cord. 29 lines, free verse 3.7.22 4.3.22 edit maybe, i'll like this, or never at all. Prose-y, rhyme-y, disconnected slam-y free verse. EVERY Shadows & Light Entry Contained Herein ▼ |
| I could take that bath but will I feel worse when I wake up? I will feel worse when I wake. I peer through the glass. Waves of amber swirl so light. Yes, I would bathe, now that my soul is naked but I can't and put it back. I dream of you, all hours of the day, of the night black and wonder if these feelings will ever go away. I could hold you to my heart, fully corked, unwilling to spill, as long as your cool magnum chills my bodice corpse. I lay in this cradle like a crypt, unwilling to cry out because they could take it all away, and I need this place to stay. Baptismal waters churn and bubble and gleam, wishing a temptress would beckon to christen me anew, but I wasted all my days. I peer though my night. Waves furl about a false, navigational guide. I can't hide. Let me drown in my sheets this night. 3.7.22 the potential for alcoholism is great. I've been there and back and believe me, I do not want to go there again. I wish I could just keep the temptress without paying a debt. |
| in a muddled craft at my core on a lake in my wood ship, hands anchor to oar, light in a fog in my night, slap the water I could fight. am I making progress? do I know where to go or should I sit back, wait for the lift, hope the stars glimpsed dazzle and show? as stationary as me, it seems. is this life, a dream, a scheme to get my arms to row? I’m not lancing windmills. I’m all alone. I make a din ~ too quiet, you know? how’s this end? with time I forget until woozy again, commander of a sturdy tub and no navigational equipment. no desire to man this craft. nothing tugging anymore. 3/5/22 when the internet is down, these thoughts coalesce. |
| I hate that hurt that hurt her — that I hate, but love because I need her as much as sun but less than air, because if I don’t breathe, I can’t draw words within my lungs, launched for space but in her face. Puts up with misguided feelings, when I don’t know who or what to hate, when anger gets misplaced, she stands on the edge of my world, and asks, ‘what do you want me to do?’ with attitude, when I know she’s sweet, because it’s sweet. She acknowledges me, when I treat her like my word wall with all the graffiti that could stain, she washes off, and asks, ‘what do you want to do now?’ I say nothing, just lie there in her arms. ‘Stroke my hair, rid me of my own despair.’ Tears fill my eyes, when I realize, I need her as much as air. 3/5/22 30 lines We really don’t mean to hurt the ones we love, really. |
| The Drifters Take the lead! Take the lead! Now go this way! Now that! I tumble over you and you and you! Keep up, keep up, keep up! Let’s skitter down this frozen tar together. Hop, skip, jump! I hurdle! You hurdle! Faster with the wind we go! Under those wheels and circle, circle, circle in the middle and STOP! Now, off we go! Tumble, little acrobats! More drifters join our clan! Spun! Spin! Keep spinning! Isn’t this fun? Hey, where’d you all go?! Don’t join that snow! Here I go with another flock that just joined up. Ready to go the block?! Many wheels to bumper us here and there. Let’s dance, have a parade as the old man shoves us down the road. Twirl! Leap! Tumble! Fly! Bye-bye, to the child in the window, laughs so much, he cries. And here comes the bend in the road. See you guys! Time for me to blow, over the bank, up that hill to join an immaculate scene beneath that spindly giant once green. In this yard I’ll wait for the child when it’s time to roll, roll, roll! 3/5/22 37 lines, free verse I know there’s rhymes at times, but free verse can employ it to. Inspiration:
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| Drowning Time I don’t know where you drown, but mud fills your eyes. Have you swum in thick water, something that goes way too deep? Do you dare an undertow, dragged to soggy bottom? Why did you tire of browning your skin on shore? They served you those drinks with tiny umbrellas until you fell asleep. I would pick you up before your skin burned red, carried you to bed. You could cool in satin, tucked in, flesh breathing beneath our soft-lit canopy. Waves rolled in at midnight. You waded out, but did not take my firm hand. You went to sea, abandoned the chaise where you could lie in that forgiving black night — with me. Entangled in something, and far off, I light a candle on the mantle where the clock spoils delusion, knowing it’s been too long. I should just end scene. I can’t give up on you, if there’s even a chance. 3.4.22 Written about multiple people who I feel suffer, especially one in specific who has long captured my imagination, while I fumble with this unschooled heart. That need to fix people when the process feels hopeless, yet we hang on. |
 Hypocrites Abound, and I’m Being Rhetorical… ...Am I wrong? Is there always a mad man Exploiting for gain, ignoring weak shouts For tender mercy? Weaponizes an army, The mouths of cronies and the capitol Of the controlling two percent; a mockery Of freedom and tattered democracy amid Any psychopath’s egomaniacal tyranny? Where are the men when women bunker, babes Strapped, in would be rubble graves, if we Do not unite axis powers and restore peace? When politics cozies with corporate lobby To leverage and barter for what they trade In the name of humanity and justice, ironic on 'Wall' Street. Rich astronomically richer, We suffer the indignity of paying more for Food, rent and gasoline to line those pockets. Meanwhile, mortars level the helpless aground. Elite hide and diversify a fortune to escape To billion dollar bunkers, while taxpayers fleeced. Where is our hatch to the underground before Another nuclear winter whites out a dying planet? Peace, not of mind, or for all, is what they sell. Women and children first, indeed, amongst mad men. 3.3.22 Thanks for the inspiring photo, iKïyå§ama  "Note:
For those of you who get inspired by art from t..."![Merit Badge in Good Things Take Time
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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) |
| Pop Syndrome Grooves are also ruts. Am I supposed to love this song? If I don't, I must be wrong? How will you and I ever get along? Should I lift my voice above yours, higher in the outdoors, yet dark, dance alone on the floor? Am I supposed to dig this beat, a plain platter I should eat? You idle at the juke, while I take my seat. Angels seem sing you a melody, but for me it's a felony, no feeling. Processed meat — watery baloney. I do not have to sing along. All these years getting strong, dining on mimics that don't compare to Beethoven. But you would think they won a prize, color pop fills your eyes. But if you look deep in grooves, its just a guise. Am I supposed to sing this song, just so we all get along, even though heard a hundred times in Sweden? I won't attune to Stockholm Syndrome. Take that record and go home. I think I will comprise something more than glittery lies like a lullaby. Yeah, I changed the rhyme. 3.3.22 34 lines, rhyming edited 9.11.22 Having to listen to another Calvin Harris 'creation' I won't link. ▼ |
| They sewed his eyes shut before he could see. Needles plied the permanent skin, year in and year out whenever he started to question. The world ever evolving as he was spun, revolving on merry-go-rounds, flung himself to the dirt when he was in doubt. They stitched his lips together after he spoke truth he seemed to be feeling, before he could scream and espouse whatever this was about. A carnival unending, lead by his hand to their Wonka vendors spinning sugar. Colorful cotton melted on an elated tongue, and no more tears or shouts. They shoved all he could digest down a willing gullet before all haunting visions and redacted words caused him further unrest. He indulged samplings filling him fat. When freaks come to town, he joins right in wondering which will be his true friend. His realization in funhouse mirrors reflected a monster materialized, and no turning back. Repent to a world that builds up a boy and tears him down as man over and over, until stitches of guilt and shame burst from a dam they made? Be the monster they electrified? Pillage any or all who mock or resemble a disfiguring surgeon, forcing him to cave in the dark, a cancerous beast from hell? Where are your angels? 3.3.22 set to preferred but needs work. 3.11.22 set to public, needs more work? 0 views. Life's not pretty. We've been sucking down their lies meant to protect the dimwitted for years until we realize we should have navigated the ugly parts of the world before fully drowning by our own ignorance? |
| It takes a group of them, grinning, hungry wolves to mislead a lamb who does not follow into the canyon where they play. Bones decay on hard, faded orange malaise. On their haunches, in packs, nothing better to do. A lamb like me could be their god but they're unfed. The gazes, unmistakable. Their faces painted with deceit and games for one who's been playing along far longer than their collective breath. I take in their souls, one by one in the canyon, dodge and weave while they espouse and be about the 'white' lies in pathetic ignorance. I walk among them, my soul like armor they cannot penetrate, though they believe their hollow teeth sink deep beneath my hyde, but find no flesh. Muscle and bone do not make up this man who smiles and nods, collects his winnings after a day's work amid thin dogs with nothing to devour, and I pity them until they find their true master. It's not life, or death, just a game. 3.3.22 playing basketball with a bunch of ego maniacs and manipulators who use the game as some kind of tool to elevate themselves, put themselves ahead of others who just come to enjoy the game. I could teach them something, but all they see is someone they can prey upon, as if devouring me on the court will elevate their soul in some way. But, I don't let them. I wonder how long until they tire of the game I will not give up because I have true joy. |
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— 21
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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 
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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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CONGRATULATIONS for winning 2nd place in [Link To Item #2254385] !!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Contests-235.gif)
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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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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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Congratulations on winning Best Medium-Length Poem, Free Verse in the 2021 edition of The Quills!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Award-1375927_6.gif)
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Congratulations on winning 1st Place in the September 2022 round of [Link To Item #quotation] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/WDC-Quotation_Inspiration.gif)
![Merit Badge in Artistic
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Congratulations on winning day 6 of The Daily Poem Sept 2022!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Artistic-125.gif)
![Merit Badge in Problem Solving
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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)
![Merit Badge in Inspiring Love For Poetry
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Congratulations on being our Honorable Mention in March of 2022 at [Link To Item #2216416] !
Blessings, Sharmelle](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Inspiring_Love_For_Poetry-2259846_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Action Adventure
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CONGRATULATIONS for [Link To Item #2229211] winning place as an Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #2254385] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Action_Adventure-100.gif)
![Merit Badge in Bard's Hall Blogging Merit Badge
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For placing 3rd in the Bard's Hall Blogging Contest, June 2022](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Bard=s_Hall_Blogging_Merit_Badge-2094227_12.gif){kind=icon}
![Merit Badge in G Specials
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Congratulations for winning 1st Place during the April 2022 round of [Link To Item #2268646] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-G_Specials-2271325_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Chapter 1
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Congratulations on your 1st Place win in the April 2022 Round of Chapter One! Great entry! *^*Smile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Chapter_1-2251918_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Accuracy
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Congratulations to our 1st Runner Up of [Link To Item #2254385] Round6.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Accuracy.gif)
![Merit Badge in 30DBC Winner
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Congrats Team Pedantic Poets Platoon on winning [Link To Item #1803384] during WDC's 21st Birthday Festivities!! Well done!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-30DBC_Winner-2064535_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Every Moment Matters
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A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.
― Paul Cezanne
Thanks for your participation in my 'art' challenge via my notebook feed.
Keep on being inspired! *^*Bigsmile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Every_Moment_Matters.gif)
![Merit Badge in Brilliant
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CONGRATULATIONS on [Link To Item #1145690] winning a place in "Honorable Mentions" in [Link To Item #2254385]](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Brilliant.gif)
Thank you for sharing it! It's genius.
