A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
༺♡༻ It’s full on now ~ woke and slimy-scaly. You had to… Solicitors Get Off My Lawn (or I’ll hose you down! ![]() Platitudes and false flattery don’t put their hands down these pants. So, you were collecting for who, now? ![]() Over 20-thousand times unseen. (Who’s fake?) It’s still a beautiful thing, with pipes that I sing (while I’m the Angelou bird) My family will have instructions to unhide post mortem. Post Morten, Apple? It’s all around. ————————————————————————- I’ve deleted five times more than what’s seen now. Less to view in future. Mind-boggling the words I’ve produced with low vision. Conditions I live with, the strength it takes to hold it all in, as I’m redacted by cowards in society…no that’s it. I eat more than words, self-repair. How much of it got on you? — your monster? If you prick a caged animal and it doesn’t have to be put down for savoring your flesh, does it not…what? I’m a fool, if I’m played by fools. And, you are…? But, you…know as much of me as you want. What more can I offer you today? I have leftover dignity and steely resolve, reproducing daily. Reason I came here in 2006, before all butterfly fancy and aimless balloon chasings. Thanks. It went…that way… T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ You get hungry as a seldom published author/poet/lyricist, so quit pedaling words and just enjoy the writing process. The bullshit ‘process’ of submitting is submission. We had a season, and people better not forget when it’s done. This is hard work and dedication (in the zone nightly) from one who is PRIME for next season: In sports, there’s absolutely no back down when it comes to the greats/greatest. Recognize… End of these days near…ing… --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() How I see myself create…in the zone Curry Flurry: ▼ Writing ▼ The beautiful mess made: I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me Neurodivergent poet ▼ Best Poetry Collection ▼ Been more than I could imagine or expect here. Why Mail It In? In Latin ▼ Pluggers: You are an icon here. ![]() You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer. ![]() And other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Rolling Through Intersections" ![]() Your poetic muse is on fire! ![]() ![]() Published four times with one a literary journal, including… ![]() ![]() I don’t submit—too much work with ADHD, OCD, low vision in condensate in mental prison of failing memory. I’ve seen a lot of smoldering and snow. Cynicism bred, work hard at openness and consideration. I'm Godzilla ▼ August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼ ![]() ![]() 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 #lyrics #music #video #YouTube #awardwinning 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: ![]() |
![]() 1st Taboo Words, 2/22 ![]() ![]() ![]() On a dust plain, you can see heat distort dry fauna fading green. My bones ache, but blooms in your eyes distract, help me heal with precious, amber light. On shaded porch we rock and glide, side by side all these years. Silence so perfect, I kiss you passionately, again, feel the cicadas unrest and tremor. We could strip to salt flesh I long to devour. You stand to refill our lemonade. My hand brushes the tender underside of your boot cut denim. Not long ‘til dinner, sunset in Sedona. We can afford the loss of sunrise. Cayenne canyon of soaring rock fences us willingly within. No taste for dinner but soft cotton. Aroma of sandalwood encircles. Hot limbs entwine and cool, before I feel beating beneath breathing and hold the tender core like a baby. Thankful, all these years absorbing color of sunrises and the view across a shared room. You could be a memory, constant in dreams. Somehow, here, my soul’s match. I caught a star beneath an endless vault in Sedona. 2.28.22 32 lines, freeverse I'm going to ... SPOILER: Cayenne canyon of rock surrounds two lovers in Sedona where he finds her heart beating.
February Prompt: HEART taboo words: love romance blood red broken or any derivatives of these words Published in Wisconsin Fellowship of Poet's Publication, "Bramble", 8/2022. Last two lines cut...my choice. |
I try to smooth the steel edges and then hop back in. Mirrors adjusted, I see where you are, a pilot in hind view (backseat). In the throes of January, it’s a mystery why she’s deceased. We looked through the obituary for clues. Someone just like us, but different in one way: dead. Really dead. Our vehicle is getting warmer. But soon your distraction is well seen, and settled in my cockpit I go. The mirror is clean, yet from this vista I get a dim view. For 60 long years an immaculate machine in and out of repair always attuned to you. As my engine revs, all I notice is a lonely horizon. How many times when you exit this cabin did I consider a journey alone? Instead, I wonder aloud, should I turn here? You say, try again. Should I drive straight, I ask. Again, try again. All my life wondering how’s my driving, where are we going, I wonder why you don’t sit up front or take the wheel. I start to question the need for repair, tune ups or even a garage. I forgot the true purpose of this machine I’m steering through sleet on arctic snow. I think of the words that will be chosen and paid for print. Dying is not free. This whole life and stubborn machine are wrought with cost. Under the hood, I rewire and rewire until I don’t know what goes to what anymore. An entire life trying to perfect something I did not create, overhauled and rebuilt…to go in direction that is meant. But in order to not be a lonely traveler, I accepted you as navigator and reluctant co-pilot. And from the backseat, you seem to have directed me. Request you take the wheel, you deflect. Maybe, I’ll steer this thing into the river. No. I forget the cost. The sun is directly in my eyes as I dream sundown into lonely, equatorial senectitude. 2.20.22 I plead for understanding in the midst of my own ignorance. |
I don't think e.e. thought to ponder why WE might think ourselves important while feeling diminished in an endless plight to overcome. weak, sometimes, yes. but, I am undeniable. yet, I fail, or feel as if, unrecognized. someone out there has leveraged power. I am unsuccessful as yet at lighting my lamp on their flame. maybe, I will get a spark of my own, as yet. maybe, I have flint. but, tinder? then, firewood? and, keep it going? now, i feel tired. I'll be back later to try again. sharpen those pencils. and light that screen. I'm coming inside again and again until I'm dead. 2.20.22 (dated) and yes, I realize what I just said. it's a process. and if it gets you nowhere but chasing yet another metaphor, then yes, like that. |