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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1149750-Antithetical--Jottings-by-RenownPoet
Rated: 13+ · Book · Writing.Com · #1149750
A new decade of musings from poetry to what inspires; casting words like seed worldwide.
I've read poetry that opened my eyes, realize now mine have been closed when I write.

The drive north is easier than south in summer.



If you only write when inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet, but you'll never be a novelist. -NEIL GAIMAN

And here I am


A new start for an old blog -- replaced by "SuperNova Afterglow: Universal Writer, now at capacity as of 2018, focused on specific writing projects and goals:

BOOK
SuperNova Afterglow: Universal Writer  (13+)
Rising Star who went full supernova almost overnight, heading toward black hole.
#1300042 by Brian Roosts w/ White Chickens


Having no specific aim going forward...

I've hammered away at this glass with forefinger since resurrecting in 2014. I'm always ready to say too weary. Compulsion compels me, instigation informs, and still here I am...bright, full of light and dark, revealing hidden colors and shapes. That was before...
I hear what you are saying...but especiallly...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 what I write. It will be clear some day. Hard to hide what's in my heart. I'm making no apologies going forward for my feelings. Not interested in the trap of stereotypes. Not sure how we'll feel about that.

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 that I've figured out the ever changing rules of your game, you take the ball away, no longer engage me to play. You pay a price for this kind of friendship. I lose, I guess.



Previous ... -1- 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... Next
September 24, 2020 at 8:10am
September 24, 2020 at 8:10am
#994082
in the sepia sea
nothingness, like a
cuttlefish amid clouds
watching the thick mass
thinning russets and golds
on my weary head buried beneath
the green bladed surface, dying
with me as the glow intensifies
one more time before fading away
over the fence, to hidden horizons
I must search for the dusks' red
warnings, autumnal tides turning
toward the white solstice paling
a decaying heart waiting for a
perfect season to rewarm this
soul, with beating heart aching.



9.24.20

take me somewhere...
September 24, 2020 at 6:39am
September 24, 2020 at 6:39am
#994070


JOIN TODAY!

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BLOG: "SuperNova Afterglow: Universal Writer
POETRY BLOG: "Antithetical πŸ“ Jottings by RenownPoet

2020 WDC Heart Throb Poet:
STATIC
Time-Kissed  (E)
Memory of a perfect moment fading with time.
#2213763 by Brian Roosts w/ White Chickens


Published poet, award-winning broadcast journalist, former literary editor, newspaper editor, columnist, professional freelancer writer.
September 23, 2020 at 9:34pm
September 23, 2020 at 9:34pm
#994049


Flowers & Sonnets (which this is not)

I'll write you sonnets,
         if you'll witness
vacuous beauty, hollow words
         contained, restrained
by structure ever toiling
         to find meaning

                   ~

Run amok
         in a field of words,
harvesting
         life's little treasures
unkempt, sprawling,
         dreams fall out from
pants' pockets
         before I shove
each green-legged
         blooming thing
in your tall glass
         with my water
of words.

orig. 1.9.20
rewrite 9.23.20

I didn't say who was picking the flowers...
September 23, 2020 at 9:28pm
September 23, 2020 at 9:28pm
#994048
Sweet apples crisp
un-savored
         soon fall,
find hard ground,
         view
pale blue heaven,
         the wrinkling
                   V flaps,
a jagged arrow tip,
         befeathered.

The lofty ship
         aims haphazard for
open water
         further south
from this Autumnal Equinox
         to a sunnier
Winter Solstice.


orig. 9.2018
rewrite 9.23.20
September 22, 2020 at 9:39am
September 22, 2020 at 9:39am
#993930
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46671/mulberry-fields

"...wild
berries warm a field of bones
bloom how you must i say"

9.22.20

am i alice to you?
September 22, 2020 at 9:04am
September 22, 2020 at 9:04am
#993924
A poem I wrote Saturday...some Saturday

From the ground...

Imagine the sweet melody fed a bed
of instrument's rhapsodic elevation overtaking
our drunk life forms --
the chorus fading beneath the surface,
a sweet divide of ecstasy
like a slow burn

at fever pitch repeating
as the dizzy instruments,
over-compensating, swelter --
a hot summer escalating
like a field of locusts to ears
buzzing, chirping,
never thinning
until we pass out

in a bed of nature's flowered beauty,
side by side,
taking in a bright sun
in a cloudless sky --
rotating, reforming
before the tree's shadows
elongating, start shading
our willing corpses
spinning deep into earth
beneath us

unwilling to swallow us whole
before the light
drains
out.


9.19.20

from my cellphone, typed at a wedding reception (among eight or so poems 'penned')

September 22, 2020 at 8:52am
September 22, 2020 at 8:52am
#993922
written several days ago...typing to get my mind off things...

Wine And Courage

The draped table normally ordinary
serves
wine, dry and red
which I wouldn't normally
partake
But with cheese and crackers
devoutly spread
serves a poet
whose spirits need libation
get through
the night I dread, spin my yarn
But not with rhyme because
that wouldn't
be sublime to one bittersweet
It's a slow burn
when I see you turn
your head, look at me
with new eyes
and I think
I struck a nerve
But is it good or maybe bad?
or should I turn,
run from this?
drink my wine, wait for you
because you're next?
And then you look to me
and read your words
before I melt and think that I
have found someone
who gets me
It's ecstasy
It's a
slow burn


9.19.20



September 22, 2020 at 8:13am
September 22, 2020 at 8:13am
#993919
And what would you call me?

I passed through her gullet like a ghost
that is what it has meant to commune
among the colorful, plumed birds
just a kernel of nothing that
intended to grow once earth
was struck by my shell
hard, penetrating
soil to grow
my stalk
with a violet
burst from green
blades, wet and firm,
to rise and compare with
all the beauty that abounds
that dares beg tender eyes see
the glory unfolding that would be me
but I passed through this place a ghost

from one tiny flower that would aspire
another bird could devour my breed
an ordinary seed, pale in color
from beneath yellow blades
of wave and flowing amid
loving breezes blowing
multiplying my love
upon bare plane
I will reveal
renewed in
my death
splendor in sea of eternity, value of true worth.


9.22.20
Just took a line from a poem and went with it...
https://poets.org/poem/wild-pansy
September 21, 2020 at 8:46am
September 21, 2020 at 8:46am
#993843
really had to strap myself to the riggings last night -many nights.

In The Seasonal Vaccuum

She captured my essence once
doesn't step up anymore
while she's breaking
I'm learning and bending
toward her, hopeful
as autumnal as a father
still rising to greet
that burning sun

nature abhors a vacuum
even for an incipient void

9.21.20

We must love them or regret them. I will chose the former knowing the latter's torment.
September 18, 2020 at 8:58pm
September 18, 2020 at 8:58pm
#993678
I don't have a lot to say.
Funny, how the words
just
trickle out
         of my head
         through this mouth
         that doesn't censure its doubt.

These times, I don't say a lot things.
Funny, I can't visualize
these dreams. Wonder how
I can get that feeling back,
what I lack?

I don't have a lot of days when I
think about you; but baby,
         now's the time
         I need you most,
         can't get a rest.

These moods returning
each morning,
a sun burning its warning
         emptiness, still fills
         inside my head.

This heart meant to matter
in a sea
soon would splatter,
splash about if I had
the one who truly mattered.


I didn't have a lot to say,
but I said my peace.
Now I'll go away, but babe,
you should know one thing...
         you're what matters.


9.18.20

feigning lyrics with an eye to How Do I Live (not leeve) Without You

coming up next: a parody of an Ingrid Michaelson song called 'the thumbs up show'
September 18, 2020 at 8:11pm
September 18, 2020 at 8:11pm
#993676
cut off from our favorite place while we're wheeling
through the old neighborhood
places we could travel now
in our heart, in our head

we find the familiar a little worse for the wear
a bit smaller when we stood up
taller, eyes to that future
in the destiny of minds

kept away from the origin of dreams we once had
together, in those summery haunts
graves that bury young hearts
as destiny tore minds apart


9.18.20

September 18, 2020 at 8:13am
September 18, 2020 at 8:13am
#993640
I witness again
another season's end
the gentle divers
get spun around like
clowns, find the ground
where they surround
I explore the sky
wonder why so dry,
bled by unrelenting wind
the sun hides, peeks
over the neighbor's fence
at sunrise, at sundown
i wonder the purpose
of rakes, compilations
curbed, the few vagrants
captured, hurled,
laughing like freedom
Do they think they
escape with no reason
do they know the dry season
sends a red warning
on the horizon before
we wash white with
emptiness everywhere.

Goodbye 2020
Good riddance


9.18.20
September 18, 2020 at 2:31am
September 18, 2020 at 2:31am
#993630
Just for this moment
I get it, Emily --
how a poet needs solitude
to consider these things
unheard above a din --
at the kitchen table --
down the busy hall --
out in the street humming
beyond the malls and restaurants
and places where people
are conforming to bright
distractions and incessant
conversations about: color of hair,
style of wear, tabloids shouting out
beware of celebs everywhere

I see your reclusion and admit
I cannot get away from it
even in this opaque room
where they wheeled me in
fourteen years ago
on life support, thinking
I'll die if I don't write a novel

and one by one, I shut out
each distraction until
I had no friends at all.
Ahhhhh,
or is that me sighing because
I could not escape the one thing
that's been holding me back

all along...

I'm walking away now.

But, I will be back.

My brain is fists for their pillow

that they kindly don't employ to snuff me out.

9.18.20
September 17, 2020 at 12:22pm
September 17, 2020 at 12:22pm
#993571
songs 4 u

songs
on a loop
inside my head
the soundtrack to my life
somber
some melodic
others dully repeat
in my mechanical state

and then there is today
the sweetest clips of harmony
and notes filling a once addled brain
today, a symphony of sounds I share
with whomever will take a seat

just wish I could sing it aloud
but the amplification system
lacking, sounds like...
quacking...or barking...or
I haven't even made a sound

but i'll get it down
i'll keep tracking
these little ditties inside my brain
each stress on each note
I translate, I convert

a special blend from -- within --
one day on a stage
played -- without --
informed by love
for you

*Heart*

"Note: songs on a loop inside my head the soundtrack to..."

9.17.20
September 13, 2020 at 10:45am
September 13, 2020 at 10:45am
#993244
Hope is the thing shotguns aim at
Hope is a shotgun
Hope gets dinner
Spitballing...

hope hunted

i took shelter
in a welcoming tree,
drawn out,
speckled plumage
growing fresh feathers,
squawked my awkward tune.

seed
meant for brighter songbirds,
i gobbled in content
in the colored, yellow spaces at dawn.
warmed by currents

to commune
amid odd ducks who somehow swam with swans
and would bloom beyond
flamingo waders harvesting
plentiful shellfish.

i crowed from shadows
of sheltering branches,
hopped to the edge of limbs
with view afforded
of all inhabitants preening.

hope, ruffled in cold,
shrill winters, invisibly howled.
soiled leaves, couraged by color,
tacked to bare ground
where I spent too long,

refining an awkward song.

through seasons weathered,
why don't i fly?
hope consumed joy in a small heart,
planted in seed scattered?
lead from a bullet fed

i couldn't feel in my heart?

confined in the safety of dry branches,
foolish to feed myself hope,
trust the outstretch hand,
i rest, matted in a cold nest of
dry stick and mother's collections.

melt away from me,
the years it took to consider
hope is the thing that steals dreams,
starve a misguided bird that can't
inform its feathers.



September 11, 2020 at 1:34pm
September 11, 2020 at 1:34pm
#993066
                                                 the falsehoods

                                                 when you present words from your mouth
                                                 I only stare at the framework
                                                 rather than the art.

                                                 when you offer your unconditional love
                                                 I only stare at the release
                                                 and envy your grace.

                                                 I wandered through your world, dipping toes
                                                 in glimmering pools specked
                                                 with golden light.

                                                 I journeyed to tall peaks, shouted loud
                                                 to the purple fields shorn
                                                 with fading sight.

                                                 when you offer bounty from your lips
                                                 I only wonder if they kiss
                                                 like a Judas.

                                                 when you purge free words of devotion
                                                 I could drown in a white sea
                                                 from the highest mount.

                                                 I'll not owe you a thing, if I die
                                                 away from false sanctity
                                                 that won't paint me.

                                                 this would never be our reality.



BLOG: "SuperNova Afterglow: Universal Writer
POETRY BLOG: "Antithetical πŸ“ Jottings by RenownPoet
2020 WDC Heart Throb Poet
"Time-Kissed

September 9, 2020 at 7:56pm
September 9, 2020 at 7:56pm
#992908
                                       i stand here on the edge of the universe
                                       hoping gravity will fail,
                                       knowing you won't catch me
                                       should i go flailing toward
                                       that magnificent sun,
                                       so strongly compelling a soul
                                       to be absorbed by brilliance,
                                       knowing i don't have a chance
                                       to prove my worth,
                                       when you need something on good faith,
                                       when really it should be the reverse
                                       in your slickly devised world
                                       where i climb cliffs,
                                       dare and shout, as if canyons
                                       could hear echoes of years
                                       of self-doubt, when i edged
                                       further out until i could
                                       see a dream burning for me,
                                       eternally like damnation;
                                       flesh for the fire
                                       of your desire,
                                       should i
                                       fall off.

                                       it's torture for a magnetic one
                                       who looks longingly,
                                       blindly...


9.9.20

as the song informs...

September 9, 2020 at 7:34pm
September 9, 2020 at 7:34pm
#992906
spent
kill me

interesting way to hold a dagger

finish me
dead

wield experience to my uninformed heart

alive
you dispatch

a desperate soul enticing would be villain

my heart
strike

you'll never finish me off that way

wrists
still bleed

no place for this blood gushing out

streets red
fed

no, i'm not really dead. your had your chance

my turn
dance

I'm stabbing at words in the dark, how do I

find the
heart?


you're done playing your part. It's time to

dig
your grave.


9.9.20
September 7, 2020 at 8:24am
September 7, 2020 at 8:24am
#992621
I listened to him cynically speak
from our dinner table
the man who repressed
and withheld from me
spewed on about the rulers
who obviously wielded their power
over him
in this world I survived, so far
a world so dark
for a man who had acted
like he had no fear
but knew to stockpile his earnings
in a bank and in bonds
for sixty years long
while I lingered in hand-me-down
rags and survived on meals
prepared from the finest
discount ingredients
I listened to worst case scenarios
about how we could lose
our liberties with life
if we didn't chose
to live more safely
cautious as a nut job storing
a lifetime of winter food in a tree
He died and left it all to me.
Wheeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!

Sorry that I didn't share.
He might have been right.

9.7.20
September 5, 2020 at 3:00pm
September 5, 2020 at 3:00pm
#992465
the silencing properties of snow

ice flat serves the black skin
smooth gliding
sailing on
masses roaming a warming sea
snow tacked to orange feet
toddle hopping
flopping
in an clear ocean heaving thick tides

when we make land
i will build a fire for us
with my hands bare
to the arctic blasts that slow
and i lay
flat on this ground
recall childhood and
the silencing properties of snow

home alone in a fort
i called igloo,
in a tight gray and black parka,
a hopping bird reveled
microscopic jewels gleaming.
wind-tossed, the dry crystals
glimmer from a blustered sun
peering in, if it could
crack the air.
the swirling divide,
a tempest of white.
found with my angels,
above the howls a bellow
from behind the heavy door,
come eat soup with crackers,
drink cocoa.



9.8.20

33 lines, for nothing in particular, just in case.

Title borrowed from a line and episode of Atypical.

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