*Magnify*
    October     ►
SMTWTFS
    
1
2
3
8
9
12
14
23
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Archive RSS
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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: Shining Brighter, now at capacity as of 2018, focused on specific writing projects and goals:

BOOK
SuperNova Afterglow: Shining Brighter  (13+)
I shine now, though the laws of physics cannot explain reversal for a former dwarf star.
#1300042 by Tricky Cat Spooky No One


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
October 24, 2020 at 9:40am
October 24, 2020 at 9:40am
#996629
Let me paint a picture for you
coffee
white shirt
misdirected aim
wet lips, shoulder
fear of stains
liquid gold lost
brief grief
Eureka!
pour
correctly
directly
into mug
infuse light
point of reference
oh, look
sun's warming the morning sky
I already had my wake up


10.24.20
October 22, 2020 at 10:21am
October 22, 2020 at 10:21am
#996471
a particular word
fuzzy
he rolled across the carpet
of his empty mind
to see
what it would pick up --

lint beneath the table
holding a burnt out lamp

a sock from beneath the chair
no longer reclining
where he unclothed
down to his undies
the night before

a cat toy that squeaked
but dropped back down,
drew feline eyes
from the top of the stairs
where below

a word
growing faint
rolled around
like a quarter on its edge,
destined to spin out
fall down
atop --

the very spot
she would giggle,
where they played horsey
and she yelled, 'again!'
so the steed lowered its back
that she might hop on

and the word fell flat
-- suspended --
as a rush whooshed past
into thin air,
vapor.

his smile sank
into a pale form
on two knees
wishing he
could roll another
fuzzy word across time,
boomerang it back
to a moment that could last
forever.


10.22.20 (45 lines)

forever

forever

for--

repeating it won't make it so.

(above, alternative ending)


I didn't know what I was going to write before I started this. Some poetry just needs an image as a vehicle to take the poet on a ride, a journey through a space that can break the laws of time and dimension to seek a beautiful place to preserve, even if it means collecting a few word friends along the way.

added thought - do overs don't exist, unless a penalty is involved. but who is going to whistle the play dead, with so many infractions committed over a life? no referee truly exists in this game.

Photo of my daughter and me on our first family camping trip. ** Image ID #1036923 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1036925 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1037005 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1036643 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1059571 Unavailable ** ** Image ID #1059578 Unavailable **
October 21, 2020 at 8:01pm
October 21, 2020 at 8:01pm
#996429
from the how terribly romantic series:

no eyes
all my life sewn shut
no lies
if I can't see the truth
visions of you
because your beauty could inspire a fool
and how would I know that
unless I lie
blind

under this guise
charm overrides guilt
for the way I felt about you
all these years hidden in my
self-imposed dark, because you
would just take thread and needle
to these undisciplined orbs
that want to linger on your beauty
just a little more

no sound
all these years motionless
unfound
in my uncomfortable hiding
truths of you
because your beauty inspired a fool
and how would I know about that
unless I speak
my truth

unmasked
guilt overrides
shuns how I feel inside
for all the years mislead
in your sunny places

just take the thread
and sew my mouth shut --

just leave the eyes.


10.21.20

I let the truth be known
how I feel about myself
when I'm with you
October 21, 2020 at 12:09pm
October 21, 2020 at 12:09pm
#996408
Dry Vampire

When she drove the needle into the small vein
faintly blue
above the elbow of my left arm,
I watched
but couldn't feel it.
Nor did I sense five vials of blood
withdrawn from me.
Not a hint of that metal tip
sliding right back out
across my very pliant skin
where she applied cotton
my arriving fingers
knew to depress
to pressure a wound
quick wrapped tight
with gauze colored to disguise
its appearance on my flesh.

At home, I pulled
and unrolled the tourniquet
to reveal a small
stubborn scab of skin
stuck to the white barrier
devoid of blood.

I feel like a vampire
dry
in need of a fill up.
October 20, 2020 at 5:49pm
October 20, 2020 at 5:49pm
#996358
autumn ignites you
color splashes remembrances
when we were free to see some summit
brisk breezes brush
red cheek splashes blushing
when we were free to climb together
waves pounded rocks
in ultraviolet swashes soft
when we gazed through the car window
autumn is back again
memory fades from you my friend
when I look at a solemn scene alone.


10.20.20


October 19, 2020 at 4:37am
October 19, 2020 at 4:37am
#996222
with coffee clutched --

by the wall
by the door
a story told with gentle markings
each rising to meet another
one in blue
the other graphite

these gentle notations
on satin finish
darling with age
an area no cleaning agent could scrub
until the day
I give this house up

the first day
when you stood most obedient
the angling stick rested atop your head
she reached beneath
scraped the wall in permanent blue
your backpack idle by the door

your brother before
three years ascending
by graphite
gentle dark markings did install
now intermingling
reside amid the rising blue

such hope sent
my eye gaze reflecting
on inscriptions of each year
the first days of school
imagine your noggin
from foggy mornings of yore

every marking I spy
as high as it would go
to the top
until the finish
until the final date, I
realize --

the potential of you
was in memory
not in the future
anymore.


10.19.20
40 lines, free verse
October 19, 2020 at 4:29am
October 19, 2020 at 4:29am
#996218
My brain

Spin cycle
No water
No load
Vibration intensifying
Testing strength of bolts
Anchored
In cement
Shaking foundation
Dreams of flying
On hold
While in my
Inner orbit
Flesh heeds
Circuitry
Wired to
This fatal
Machine
In every
Ride mode


Oct. 2020
October 18, 2020 at 10:46am
October 18, 2020 at 10:46am
#996174
millions of miles of road
on an earth just eight thousand miles long

no wonder i get lost
traveling these trails to find someone

before shine-struck
she's a vision in yellow dress wiping tables

at this truck stop i linger
to pump this hollow vehicle full of gas

i think i could stop
fly like a bird to that window to smash

will i survive the crash?
pick myself up and dust the road ahead again

any venue would do
to bring me to someone who behaves like you

as you pour that coffee
from a distant look in eyes i assume forlorn

wondering about a journey?
a million miles long on a small planet with

a lost soul like me?
a heart wants to lose its wheels and fly,

with a ten percent chance
full speed arriving at her glass full blast

better keep this ride warm
it's a longer winter for dreamers like me.



10.18.20

upwards of a billion birds die every year from flying into windows.




"Wheelbarrow Poetry Group (Arriving)

BLOG: "SuperNova Afterglow: Shining Brighter
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 Tricky Cat Spooky No One


Published poet, award-winning broadcast journalist, former literary editor, newspaper editor, columnist, professional freelancer writer (retired from all).
October 18, 2020 at 10:37am
October 18, 2020 at 10:37am
#996172
this chord i'm playing
repeats
repeating
reminds me of you
reminds what you were before
must have been
before my eyes cast their light
upon you
and how that might change
your mind

this chord i'm repeating
old
getting older
reminds me of you now
reminds me the you i knew then
not the same
since my eyes cast their light
upon stars
and how that won't change
my mind

still thinking of you when
this chord starts playing
on my aging guitar

i know you want more

so did i.


10.18.20

"collide
October 17, 2020 at 9:57pm
October 17, 2020 at 9:57pm
#996148
their crescent shapes hang
over the strung cable
connected
pole to pole down our street.
given autumn perms
the hairy tops ripple.
curlers fly out.
         black bobby pins drop.
         limber paper dolls collect
frolic
and cartwheel down the street
while their stern mothers
rooted to chairs
must wait on Mother Nature
to close the beauty shop
for winter.


10.17.20


I'll want to keep editing this, but will stop for now.

The crescent shapes are the trees cut back by the village as the could obstruct utility lines. They remain as crescent shapes down the block as the grow around the cables.



"Wheelbarrow Poetry Group Registration

Become charter member: "Wheelbarrow Poetry GROUP get the soon-to-be commissioned MB, access to monthly lessons like "Elements Of Freeverse Poetry Lesson Plan

BLOG: "SuperNova Afterglow: Shining Brighter
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 Tricky Cat Spooky No One


Published poet, award-winning broadcast journalist, former literary editor, newspaper editor, columnist, professional freelancer writer.
October 17, 2020 at 2:36pm
October 17, 2020 at 2:36pm
#996111
You want fuzzy
go check the dryer for lint
You want my head
stick your finger in the socket instead

You want soft
go look in the past for a little one
You want my childhood
the fruited plain harvested dies
doesn't renew again

You want sugar
taste my strawberry balm lips of '77
You want my lips now
better have all your injections
and mouthwash
to get rid of the taste

I could speak very plainly to you
to help you understand
I have spoken very softly to you
but you misunderstand

a boy raped by life
a man who remains in strife
a boy the man still shelters in misery

not worthy of your adoration
from these flaws
not worthy of praise because
he's opened up

a shadow on your walls
too hard for a heart that's overdo
for a checkup


10.17.20

because I can't make you understand, or you just don't want to hear.
I won't say you are ignorant. It's probably me.
October 17, 2020 at 2:28pm
October 17, 2020 at 2:28pm
#996110
My head is a place
even I can't visit
This soul is a place
that shudders because
its a ghost of itself
This heart functioning
no longer reminds me
of former passion consuming
this body, soft and gray
won't seek the sun anymore
doesn't seek the fields to play
These arms that could slug
through a body,
into a heart
reverb a soul
to get inside a head
won't lift anymore because
my feet are concrete
No head to obey anymore.

Free to be enslaved
No part of me speaks
Free from the world
indifferent, ignoring
a dying one, once green.


10.17.20

I'm allowed to be sad. Don't take that away. Or, just keep doing what you're doing. Set to ignore.
October 16, 2020 at 9:28am
October 16, 2020 at 9:28am
#996013
If I could just look in the bathroom mirror
and not see
the intensity of a thousand bags forming
when I first wake up...

...go into full supernova
the moment my lips breach the brim,
black lava slowly invading my system...

...by evening...
dwarf star.


10.15.20

'breach'? when I've had more coffee, reconsider?

Before I needed to lay down for a nap:

'Cerebralism tied to idealism in the face of elitism, usually faced down into defeatism. Not much creativism in tank to draw upon anymore.

case for the cerebral creationist? creativisionist? *Laugh*

Basically high ideas in the face of adversity don't lend to well to an artist trying to express oneself?

I think I can boil that down more...

...after I've had more coffee.

Better make another pot!


It's really just work puke when you get right down to it.

There ya go!


gc6vl,.=lu3yec9k [m+nv j}vc22x<ds`1!


somebody needs to clean that up *Bigsmile*
October 15, 2020 at 3:03pm
October 15, 2020 at 3:03pm
#995947
Pinwheel Dreams Of Flying

My mind is a pinwheel
But the only thing
It's angry about
Is being anchored in the ground


10.15.20



"Wheelbarrow Poetry Group Registration

Become charter member: "Wheelbarrow Poetry GROUP get the soon-to-be commissioned MB, access to monthly lessons like "Elements Of Freeverse Poetry Lesson Plan

BLOG: "SuperNova Afterglow: Shining Brighter
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 Tricky Cat Spooky No One


Published poet, award-winning broadcast journalist, former literary editor, newspaper editor, columnist, professional freelancer writer.
October 13, 2020 at 8:55am
October 13, 2020 at 8:55am
#995778
So Much For A Camcorder

So much depended upon
a camcorder
always rolling
as life passed by

and on video tape
brief moments
that could get lost between
eject, insert
record/play

until one day
medium obsolete
because
so much depends upon

VHS cassette player
non-HD tv connected by
RCA cables
and a technician sure of these devices

operate until tapes
wear thin

so much depends upon
digital media
files transferred
from one source
to another

except
it’s expensive
devices transferring
VHS to CD
rare to non-existent

and
copyright laws depend upon
lawyers to repress infringement
should you employ these devices
steal Hollywood machinations

dreams
no longer in existence
on black-thread film
on cassette-reeled tapes

since the turn of the century

your home movies
don’t mean a fuck
in a digital age
no developer
to realize demand to restore

memories
that we depend upon
basement decay
ruined in attics
our collective

in boxes
still motion
photographs we depend
so much upon

and foggy memory

sorry son
can’t show you kicking
in mom's belly
a grainy print
of when she was fat


10.5.20
10.13.20
October 11, 2020 at 11:58pm
October 11, 2020 at 11:58pm
#995686
far from the doorway,
windows and ventilation systems
by the dumpster
in an alleyway, dim-lit,
they wear blue beards
like Amish men --
some ladies with red dragons
clenched in teeth.
the white sticks
dart between drawn mouths
and their fingers they roll,
inhale these instruments,
don the wise expressions
examining a black vault.
brief billows
evaporate below
the lighted exit.
in no hurry, but tension
informs the clad feet
tap, tap, tapping
with excessive over-
postulating. Their scrubs
won't be clean tonight.



10.11.20

I wanted to make this about people who have to wear surgical masks at any work where there's a designated smoking area, a suggestion old habits die hard, even when the stakes are high during a pandemic. But, also know those in medical field, stressed, smoke for relief, though I doubt in scrubs would be allowed. So, I'll get more info to make this cohesive and will consider a poem with a regular work environment theme.
October 10, 2020 at 1:56am
October 10, 2020 at 1:56am
#995523

with 
 your
evil

intentions to
cut me open on this table,
disembowel my ingredients--the amniotic--for all to see;
I say to you, spare that blade, or I'll haunt your sick desires to slash
me for an eternity          and forever after.          see the dead between my eyes as you
cut me to the deep,                     having emptied                    my core, so that I will not
think anymore                              . frightened                               of the monster I
have become, you light the flame that glows within my dark skin, ready to begin this forever-
more, while rotting at my core. You place me where a world can see eternal soulless apathy resides
with a flicker and a flash, as if I might die            out, but AHA! I fooled you. I crave even more
until every last child's soul is consumed          *Fire*          with my eerie-wanton, jagged reflection --
that I might expose your waking fear of                              my insurrection, here upon the stoop
for all to witness for eternity. The very thought of me having arms and legs, so I might approach
and haunt the likes of you in night -- devour you in dreams with all my might, would be my final
glory.



"Wheelbarrow Poetry Group Registration

Become charter member: "Wheelbarrow Poetry GROUP get the soon-to-be commissioned MB, access to monthly lessons like "Elements Of Freeverse Poetry Lesson Plan

BLOG: "SuperNova Afterglow: Shining Brighter
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 Tricky Cat Spooky No One


Published poet, award-winning broadcast journalist, former literary editor, newspaper editor, columnist, professional freelancer writer.
October 7, 2020 at 12:08pm
October 7, 2020 at 12:08pm
#995270
Just a thought, looking at a seal on an envelope while taking out recylcing...

a scrapbook on a heap of possessions
unwanted like her
in memory
of which she only knew
as philatelist
the grooved edges,
inked markings whether
to gently remove, as glue
from the base before
mounting exquisite gems
from envelopes sent
the notes within
historical keepsakes their own
who knows where they've been
but for one sentimentalist
spared by the innocence of one
who would dare keep
the legend living on
cherish obsessive waste
to them just something
to pile on a heap of remnants --
a scrapbook.


10.7.20

Thinking how we throw out every little think, rather than collect keepsakes and mementos.

This could use further reflection. not a stamp collector, but former scrap-booker. Not a good family archivist, which my mother was.

Not a good poem titler.
October 6, 2020 at 9:44pm
October 6, 2020 at 9:44pm
#995217
i fired my brain bullets
at her fleeting shadow
cast across the wall
that once towered
shaded me
where i dared stand in a bright field
that i might
absorb rays
i fired blanks in those days
at stationary targets
laughing
ridiculing
admonishing one
so foolish as to believe
i could play tag beneath the willows
chase them until dark
into the alleys
street
by strange houses
where neighbors rolled out
told me to go home
i stood in my front yard
and waited for their cheery faces
i went to their fields
the woods
into the dark places
my mind would roam
until i arrived home
and looked at the clock
tock
tock
tock
and knew i was out of sorts
i fired those brain bullets
silent
hard
into a brick wall
i'll never really know
if i hit my target
but i'll lay in the tall
yellow grass alone for awhile
and hope the sun
will warm me when i wake
tomorrow


10.5.20

you want to know if i feel guilty?
the one who would be at the bottom of a well shouting for help?
who with guile crawled out, got topside?
you want to know if i still feel worth?

if it's not a well, it's the bottom of a barrel
no thanks. i'll take the sun.


Reminds me of a scene from Community (NOT that show again!?)
Bitter much?
Response:
Bitter much, much??


Another line from Community (with parody of some movie, I'm sure):

We're losing him!

Just think darkest timeline
October 6, 2020 at 6:09pm
October 6, 2020 at 6:09pm
#995204
when does it end?
the self-affirmations to the mirror
with just the right amount of lighting
that I'm still pretty
enough
for someone to what?
love?
respect?
stick up for me when down,
don't feel the love of self?
that once revealed as arrogant bravado
only masking insecurity laid upon me
from a man more ignorant and shaming?

You know you can rise above that?
You can break that mirror
that informs you to shame yourself
even while ageism still exists?

So, you dim the light a little more,
throw on a ball cap.
You eat right, still exercise
and boast, though
you know...
yes, feel that the indifferent eyes
aren't the same eyes
that once followed you
as your roamed, as you dressed
to impress, styled
and coyly smiled
for their appreciation.

You don't hold their eyes
in your eyes
in that mirror.
You hold your father's eyes
in your memory.

Tell yourself you're still beautiful...
uh-uh, no looking.


10.5.20


Echoes of that Christina song...

344 Entries · *Magnify*
Page of 18 · 20 per page   < >
Previous ... -1- 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... Next
© Copyright 2020 Tricky Cat Spooky No One (UN: ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Tricky Cat Spooky No One has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/1149750-Antithetical--Jottings-by-RenownPoet