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 |   All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. |
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The Idiotic Ideate?? Formerly: New Zenith To Hell…(all started with arc as writer here from the trials of Rising Stars to Preferred Author to WDC Quills Best Poetry Collection to the falling action I feel now that settles in a white case.) Got to hustle to preserve the best of me before fully fading on that virtual horizon glowing more brilliant with each passing day to permanent nuclear winter. if people don’t get it, I don’t need to explain it. We kill all that’s beautiful before we question it’s purpose. So many people find it easier to think in the black and the white. God forbid you get lost straying in the gray. "Whoever fights monsters should see to it…he does not become a monster.” I’ve been to the abyss and back. Not so bad. The loneliest happy person you'd ever meet, when not the saddest person who needs to be alone. In an ever-changing world, we need to handle topics at the ready. If you roll over and give in to the narrative without lending a voice of your own, you might as well hand over your civil liberties. We have voices that should connect to true conscience and spirit for honest and open discourse. Why feel so redacted? Unify on issues and put drama aside. Open minds require complete objectivity. If none need apply, question the unbendable sources for answer. If you knee-jerk react to every issue lurking out there that clutches your neck, you fall victim to your own ignorance born from a life of apathy (no doubt) in pathetic cries of injustice. Just writing what I feel without the narrative-altering mind f---ing with my head. [MY Chorus] In your house, I long to be Room by room, patiently I'll wait for you there, like a stone I'll wait for you there, alone "It amazed me how truth was often suffocated in minutes, but lies were given sufficient air to breathe indefinitely." "You are all better than you think you are, you are just designed not to believe it when you hear it from yourself." ![Merit Badge in Second Time Around Contest
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Congratulations on winning the Grand Overall Prize in [Link To Item #2164876] with your beautiful poem, [Link to Book Entry #933358]. This poem really moved me. Great writing!
Rachel *^*Heartv*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Second_Time_Around_Contest-2164963_14.gif)    "...lasting art is never anything more than a mathematical expression of the relations that exist between the internal and the external, the self [le moi] and the world." -Jean Metzinger I'm in love with carefully chosen words, arranged just so, audible, edible, to inhale. I attempt to post new poems and epiphanies daily with some links to what inspires. I am legally blind with a rare, genetic form of glaucoma. I'm described as "end stage" after two successful surgeries, still subject to further vision loss. Cataracts complicating matters. Writing Can get strenuous but seldom deters what yearns to emerge, despite a documented history of depression and recently diagnosed ADHD and undefinable social disorders and/or PTSD. My recent poetry:
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on... Making sense of life is maddening. Why do I need to know, when truth may not actually exist? Learning to accept would be a better pursuit? Flailing about in my own mediocrity, hoping to bust out. I am visible. You can put a face with a name. I would like to see other writers, too. Fiction is what you write, not who you are. Reinventing myself. I couldn't continue on the path I was on and needed a fresh start. This time around I want to put the focus on writing and the world outside of this community as it affects my life. I realize now that I have been baring my chest a bit more, as when young. fake me much more boring and unliberated than the real me. A world arriving as silent as that blossom in your garden that I told you about... |
| Circles Tighter Centrify A word Melded in mind Does not exist Thought Vacate Blend in Circles Loosen Wobble free In to space Spun from head Ideas Return Solidify Circles Tighten Restrict Forcibly gasp I need air Do not think Flowers Fragrance Beauty abounds Centrify I'll be okay Alone Here For a while... 'Centrify?' Isn't that like hillbilly slang? How'd I come up with that? Oh, this is no gem. Just wonder if Webster's could credit me one day for creating a word. |
| The bathroom mirror is just the right light for my reflection, and if I pull my skin taught just so to remove the hard lines -- too many years of laughter harsh sun dehydrating gin and bitter unrefined caffeine make -- you can see how beautiful I once looked before time snaps back. But, I don't care how I look. I care how you care. You see with your eyes. You don't feel with your heart, and I scrunch my face a little more, age for you -- gray hair, pallid skin sagging breast a less nimble walk for this cock with a song in his heart can still crow -- with fire blue eyes red organ, prideful, beating hard and strong in it's somber cage. Might revise. Just came to me. What about... before time snaps back. ...to end first stanza? Hmm, drama much? I elucidate, disappear, return to edit, then vanish to come back more and wonder...what was that? I will never understand this process. Putting myself out there... |
| I did the Ancestry.com DNA sample kit that I got for my birthday and have been wrapped up in genealogy. Most of the work was done years ago by my cousins Dennis and Debra (my Mom's side). With Celtic roots, I'm 67% Great Britain, only 21% Italy/Greece (sorry Dad). And, nine percent located in: Belgium, France, Germany, Netherlands, Switzerland, Luxembourg, Liechtenstein. Less than one percent Asian. I learned I am the great, great, great grandson of Irishman whose name came from McAdoh or McHugh or McCue. McAdoh is said to be Celtic for "son of fire." He participated in the 1798 Irish revolution and dropped the Mc from his last name (to hide from the English) when he moved to America not long after -- where met a woman in Pennsylvania and married. She gave birth to my great, great grandpa and died shortly thereafter. He married twice more and his lineage carries nearly 1400 offspring to this day. Funny that my great Italian grandpa's story has similarity. He fled supposedly because of a murder. He didn't want to be implicated, moved to America and got settled. Eventually all but one of his offspring relocated here, too. My grandpa Bertolomeo fought for the United States in the Spanish-American War of 1898. He was an iron miner. I'm learning one of my all-time favorite writers may be a distant relative -- Margaret Atwood (10th cousin). Still trying to confirm, since I'm not a premium member of Ancestry.com. Dennis said we are related to Laura Ingalls Wilder and a descendant of a Mayflower voyageur. Not done building my family tree and yet to visualize the full work of my cousins. Hoping to add more. |
| Rose petals, strafed By gentle currents, descend as pink tear drops, clot brittle weeds before lost love lifts to the sky. See me now from heaven? Buoyed on pricked arms, watchful bald buds throb joy, Bittersweet envision gleeful castoffs pocketing dreams on summer carpet — for some greater purpose? Butterflies fibrillate, intoxify a solemn, near barren bush -- sunshine glitter searching succulent dew drops that I might live forever? Wait longer. Should breath leave me, I want to be standing here in your colored scene, inhaling nature, reviving hope in dreams. 6.23.17 6.28.22 revised |
| Writing today nostalgically. Only going to share one paragraph… "I can sit on my front stoop and listen to them chop weeds up the block. I can still hear children playing in the street, even though it's fainter then the joy of youth. Summer days come every year and leave disappointment with the death that is fall. We know winter is coming and we have to prepare, but we don't want to. Always, Spring is our hindsight, have Summer in our hearts. Fall is bittersweet. But, Winter, that's the one season I could do without." |
Unlove... my tender baggage taken; that piece of your heart, torn from my clutch... not yours to give, mine; proof you once cared, in my hands now... burgundy waste pulseless. |
| You can't say things better than this: "His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete." -F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby Poetry and fiction are intertwined. |
| I look at the bottom of a drained mug, ask it fill me again. Idle spoon, nothing to stir. Without a word we stare out the window: same landscape, same memories. Oil-topped table props weary limbs that toil at nothing. A brain, still searching for something inside its unforgiving vessel, looks again. Still mocking... or just myself? Dusty floor smooth beneath two stiff feet. Veins unharmoniously pang, the clot pedestals will not send us to the life-giving machine. Had enough. A silent, gray frown. At least I'm served by the sun until it goes down. There's a world at my doorstep. Make it go away. It's late. |
| Knowledge detained Hypertextualized roads Thickening woods Shadowed Journeys Fantasy without conclusion Yet Dead ends Backtracks Lost thoughts Lost desire Brings down the lights Until the next illumination Delusion Soaring above reality Somewhere in cerebrum Into a forbidden Forgotten history That seldom exists Fuzzy, fizzing Idling thoughts Mundane truths We're not meant to know We're not meant to be I hover here Hoping you'll return Yellow words burst A monochromatic sea Slender arrows Aim for you Renewed Searching A tender red heart Still beating For me. For me? It means everything and it means nothing, because of timing EDITED: Detained, Hypertextualized roads, Thickening woods, Shadowed Journeys, This fantasy Without conclusion, Lost. Dead ends, Backtracks, Dimmed thoughts, Fading desire Brings down the lights Until the next illumination. Delusion, Soaring above reality, Somewhere in cerebrum Into a forbidden, Forgotten history, Seldom exists. Fuzzy, Fizzing, idling, Thoughts mundane, Truths myth, Courting mystery We're not meant to know. We're not meant to be. I hover here, Hoping you'll return. Yellow words burst A monochromatic sea. Slender arrows Aim for you, Renewed, searching A tender, red heart Still beating For me. For me? It means everything and it means nothing, because of timing. |
| Your opus fleeting Help me savor the feeling Ecstasy brevity Need to feel a little longer Your stark voice echoes in my mind unable to repeat words with melodies Unlearned inexperienced She was supposed to be the one Just a dream, gone fleeting like a song meaning |
| I will still exist in Twitterverse long after my days on other social media platforms... https://mobile.twitter.com/glaedrfly I don't interact well in most worlds, except the real one...where I still have very few followers and fewer fans. |
"Burning light inside my dreams I wake up in the dark The light is outside my door..." This song is so truncated and whistfully sweet. What do you suppose she means? We can dream but reality is dark? Yet, if we look outside we'll see what's inside ourselves? I'm composing now in my head hoping I can come up with a worthy poem to relate to this song. I caught up on my sleep and I'm burning with this dream-like energy that wants to spill forth on this page... Dream another time |
| Burning brightest On the rising plane Heat penetrates, warms all. Separating from forces Holding our feet To thawing ground, We're spellbound. Uncovered Truth spills forth From our dark. Brilliance of white drifts Left gleaming glints. Crystals. Time flickers. Life waiting, Clasped hands moisten. Uncoupled, Life waits for us To do...something Before that star Comes crashing down, Hiding all That surrounds just two. To explain the obvious would spoil the mystery of discovery. Yeah. I came up with that, too. Just leave me now to my dark. |
| I like to be somber, reflective... "You encouraged an aimless ghost... gave hope I could love better... love someone like you."
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| Born This Way... Untraveled Road... I'm on it. |
| I know what it's like to be alone in this world. So, I write ... Cheating On The Wall You're the first thing I see in the morning Long shadows obscure true beauty You're the last to be lulled by my voice each night I long for you to echo my murmured words Maybe, tomorrow, I'll give you a fresh coat of paint But, dream now of casting a look out the window one day |
| Words beg to be written down. So, when I finally finished brushing my teeth, I turned to my iPad. I know the idea behind this. The execution needs work and I just want to sleep. Fresh eyes another time, or maybe never. Can I come home? Delusion pounds the sand, echo in negligent ear Long shadows, elusive, again clamber aboard, shrink beneath sound Fifty-five years beating, breathing, chasing with heavy arms to row Damaged sails wrap a warped pole, flutter no more. Hope drifts a creaky hull to sea, searching an impatient sunset I flee to night It escapes me Each morning brings promise Waves crest, return me to this place I cannot go, yet It's lonely I wait for the tide to change its mind cast me on endless glass send me To the yellow incinerator Time rewound. Love savors arrival, warmed by our nearing star; masked in violet hues, still, waiting, maybe, for one small soul, but, bleeds dry Tattered clouds dull in the ink, long shadows sacked A fading voice cries Can I come home? |
| Making eggs at midnight and this comes to me? It started as a list. How average can we be when we love and how comfortable it is knowing it is typical. I'm going to eat now, fix this later, or not. Typical Love As ordinary as oatmeal, the collared dog that must walk, like sunshine that was there when you first got up still burning behind the mask... As free as that bird builds a nest in the garage gutter, like leaves, gentle, obey the winds falling, falling, falling down to your ground to lay... Our lips embrace forever. Two twigs low, commingled, once swayed in soaring tree, grows a canopy above, warm shelter for two children, three cats, those hamsters content clucking, chittering like raindrops in our hearts. Small hands, tender, wrap ours, typical, calling, calling, calling 'come watch...' Know innocence, true beauty, how we heal them in the night from bad dreams, unjustly pained by sickness inside where we are safe to dream. We, a typical love, we share our stories together so others know how ordinary as oatmeal. I take inspiration where I can find it. Shine it. Hold it up for you to see it glowing, still growing. Thanks, to thee. |
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In the Falkland Islands, internet is very limited and very expensive. The place I'm currently staying only lets me use it in the middle of the night, so when I have to get up at 3 am to check my texts (no cell service to the US here unless I'm on the internet) or WdC, I don't do nearly as much as I used to. 
I currently have 2 very long emails I still need to get to from several days ago. Anyway, I miss everyone, but I also miss sleep, so there's that. 
Have you spoken to the doctor about your vision problems lately? I know there are special glasses for it because I have to wear them to read much ever since the brain injury. It's part of why I now only listen to audiobooks instead of reading regular books. It took 8 years for anyone to diagnose it because I have a brain injury and while one might think it would be obvious to me that I see double, it wasn't. Partly, my brain does a fair job of compensating. But also, partly, you use your brain to realize and understand that the 2 images you constantly see are double vision and something you should mention to your eye doctor. Since my brain was damaged, even basic things like that can escape me. 
I never once thought to mention it, even with annual eye exams in the Army and an exam every 2 years at the VA. Though, in my defense, since it happens in something like 41% of people with a brain injury, it should have been discovered by an eye doctor much sooner. 
I know doing that activity is a CRAP TON of work. But you made a difference in lives, not just his, but for all the people he's reviewed since. 
Well done! 
