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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. Write whatever teases my over(highly)=functioning head, when hyperactive. 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 takes on what’s ‘truth’ (here’s some oven mitts). Best to stay clear of those surrounded by moat rules (not my attempt to disrespect, shame or shun. Just doin' me, which has come with its price [I've accepted.]).. Real dialogue 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 ▼ |
| Breathless Start -- Throbbing heart, ruby-throated romance hovers above the hummingbird feeder. From a bay window viewed, amid evaporating dew, a field of daisies tremble when summer breeze stirs. Will you depart? How we're apart; my heart near yours, separated by clear pane. Hum, flutter -- I hear myself mutter, don flip flops, gather a picnic lunch. Chase a dream? I'm trapped in a scene inside a foggy head by this vision of you. Hum, thrust -- How you must notice me, too, arriving, vibrant, green angel? I'm not whole. Muse, heal a poet's soul, given flight as morning yields to a white sun burning. A sky so blue, I must join you in the pleasant shade of evergreen to write. Hum, flutter -- Wings melt like butter, fade to the backdrop -- a steadfast soul inspired by summer. 36 lines you name it, rhyming verse Writer's Cramp prompt 6.24.21 with thoughts of poetic inspiration from a rare sighting.
Also, Another failed poem from Stormy Poetry Newsletter contest of yore. |
| The whole world filled with suckers looking for something to follow. Here I am at your doorstep, a basket-baby reject by those who would not raise a demon. Will you rear me, let me stray onto your carpet of philosophy? Pleading, tell me how and what's right. Why do I bear such shame in helpless plight? You take me in, your odd duckling who blindly follows you deep into night, sure to belong, never wrong to carry on your purposed fight. A world full of suckers live by rules, sometimes recanted philosophy. You say they fit as a round peg in a square hole, just like me, who dares nibble fare at your set table. Questions aim, looking into gray eyes, sequestered long in a dimming room, divided by maddening walls of doom, and what you believe best for me, from what I know is right. I'm a sucker, your bastard child, alone divided. A square peg in this round hole. You never knew I could be so bold, as I'm to learn now beg forgiveness for this acquired, unfit obsession. 6.27.21 29 lines, your may hear rhyme, but mostly assonance in this free verse piece. You didn't think I'd conform, did you? Writer's Cramp prompt in bold, though as to the actual idiom, as a quote: Kenelm Chillingly asks, "Does it not prove that no man, however wise, is a good judge of his own case? Now, your son's case is really your case —- you see it through the medium of your likings and dislikings, and insist upon forcing a square peg into a round hole, because in a round hole you, being a round peg, feel tight and comfortable. Now I call that irrational." The farmer responded, "I don't see why my son has any right to fancy himself a square peg ... when his father, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, have been round pegs; and it is agin' nature for any creature not to take after its own kind." — Edward Bulwer-Lytton, Kenelm Chillingly, His Adventures and Opinions[ from: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Square_peg_in_a_round_hole On any day you can learn something, unlearn it, learn correctly and move on. But, who's going to correct us? - Brian K. Compton |
| little bird who took shelter in your welcoming tree, the innocent one drawn into the open wood in a chill at dawn, spied by me. speckled plumage, fresh feathers multiply, she squawks an awkward tune, found your seed meant for prettier prey, colors illumed in your yellow space, warmed by currents in a soft bed. ugly, it crows from shadows of judging branches unyielding, hops limb to limb to seek your love afforded to inhabitants preening in view. not meant for you, little bird. Hope ruffled by cold. Hope shrill in winter. Hope soils the ground, as little bird spent too long refining an awkward song. Hope can't fly as a thing of joy should, with a heart planted by your seed scattered, follows the wrong dream, confined now in a dry, dark wood. 24 lines free verse Wriiter's Cramp entry 6.15.21 unedited with this blog entry prompt: use the title 'a chill in the air'. Hmm. |
| Water Symphony A lake symphony set to begin, my ears cleared by green bassos, single notes gulp an opening silence. Brown minstrels grasp surface air, whoosh water, vacuum twilight wings skittering a surface. Pinholes in ultraviolet horizons gasp, as last rays angle, strike the silvery surface. in my yard, lawn chair erect, violinists in the green pit harmonize instruments in unison, lay undiscovered, build a sound-bed consuming ears harvesting a cacophony of familiar notes. Eyes trust a rising moon clear-cutting a path to the dock, stretching across dimpled water. A water symphony punctuates from glistening, dark cellos snapping a delicacy of movement repeatedly. Metal creak of my woven seat, reality. I ease back to wonder if this calm allows a mind to dream, forget mosquitos masqueraded arrival is an unexpected banquet I prepare to pay with my flesh. 7.11.21 27 lines, free verse/vers libre WC Loser 7.21-final version ▼ |
| Tears burned his eyes when he realized in earnest he had learned, despite the repression, how to use his voice, when he finally could memorize lyrics to his favorite song, part his lips to loose a song upon a stunned family gathering. Silent, carefully listening, he had them, knew it, and like a cork it bottled him lifelong, unable to sing again before anyone. Tens of years pass, earning his stripes, multiple, menial jobs that buy his bread, he tires of being alone. Quiet, he vocalizes feelings again. Sung with headphones strapped, silences a crowd all around. He parts those still tender lips, having relearned the lyrics, sings his favorite song, stunned. Only this time, he doesn't look, imagines the sweetest melody plays through his soul to mountain tops his remaining years, wherever he goes and gently whispers thank you to his brave heart. 7.11.21 How I imagine it might feel one day when ready to share love of singing to a broader audience. It takes a lot of courage to be a part of a social community where one is only willing to share so much of them self, fearing reception, fearing rejection. Moreover, tied to self worth, it stings when people don't get him, or want get him, because he doesn't bring to the table what they think he should. Though, he does lay bare his soul of it's gifts. And when that's deemed only partially good, it might as well be all bad. He's honest. Maybe, that scares you. He knows the difference between people who speak real words or use them as a mask. But using real words as a mask will take much longer to discern. |
| life flashing: low battery like a love fool, when it was a new cardigans song, warm, pulsing rhythms by a vexing songstress, a vision, my heart boils over for: a stew that warms your soul. but the lyrics scatter in my mind, chasing words and musical notations, inscribed on long forgotten sheets, stains on an empty heart. too much wind in the street to chase them down, find I lack skill to revitalize melody. low battery. how I wish for a new cardigans song like a love fool running out into that storm to retrieve her, but too much wind in the street. 7.9.21 20 lines, free verse Intimacy "Typing in lowercase signals familiarity. It says: “We know each other and don’t need to be fancy.” Lowercase text can read as honest, unedited, and approaching something like a stream of consciousness — more like actual speech." https://www.thecut.com/2019/02/reasons-to-type-in-lowercase.html from deleted static ▼ |
| Shooting Arrows In The Dark I spend all day collecting targets -- prey for my instinctive arrows, honed but hollow. I toil, spy from the backdrop -- camouflage and build a dream of capture before sunset. When distracted, too late, dark shrouds cloak my head. In my little hide away, ears keen, nose clean, I think -- check traps, wind my way through this scene, and soon after go clumsily through thick woods -- pitched dark, black before I'm lost. Shooting arrows in the dark, in this theater, purposed, resilient, adds no kill -- maims a toe or two, blisters the adjoining fingers to a savage construct, weaponized mind -- aiming to become more practiced when real game comes. 7.6.21 7.8.21 edit |
| the daze of recirculation a dusty box fan in wood-wrapped, single pane window set my mind numb. humid air churned amid an uneven hummm-hummmm. a hideous, green-paneled, eight by eight dungeon hid spackled, dull-yellow walls. cracks and chipped paint lingered like me, unexposed. an ancient brotherhood scaled, explored deep within four corners before i took residence. in my metal bunk, the eldest of the remaining brood, i surfed from on top. the warmest, stale air inhaled under thin, musty, attic-retrieved blankets, freed of mildew by bony hands that operated her wringer-washer. summers seemed viewed in a shaded cave with a mono turntable crustily spinning hand-me-down vinyl, 45s by Beach Boys, Doo Woppers and the man who repeatedly wailed 'Dang Me'. i'm awake in a new, ivory tower with King-size bed. lofty pine peer in at me in all this luxury. she removed the down comforter, as a/c hums tighter, quieter, in a sleek, double-pane window, clinging to frame, setting sixty-four. this body readies for a misty, post- thunderstorm, july afternoon. nuzzled, less like the coiled, breathing fur piles, on a hypo-allergenic down pillow -- nap away an idle life, as yet to sync as harmonious as a sturdy, steel-framed box fan pulverizing intrusive childhood air. can’t sleep. i miss my old cell. 7.5.21 7.8.21 edit can't decide on titles, as usual. Intimacy "Typing in lowercase signals familiarity. It says: “We know each other and don’t need to be fancy.” Lowercase text can read as honest, unedited, and approaching something like a stream of consciousness — more like actual speech." https://www.thecut.com/2019/02/reasons-to-type-in-lowercase.html |
| While she’s in the dungeon below, torturing her foolish body, streams her half hour daily workout from trainer to phone through Roku to tv, I slip into the refrigerator freezer, retrieve the double fudge 'Moose Tracks', her faux 'Mackinaw Island', ice cream and sit at the kitchen table, pull that lid off and let humidity that she helps produce soften the blend. I roll open the silverware drawer, select a spoon, sit and listen. Weights with sleeves slide on lifted bars, collide with iron, mid grunts, as her trainer yells instructions. I use my instrument to ply within tender cardboard, draw down even the level of the sweet, churned fare. My son slinks past and I knowingly wink, as he removes one of her peanut butter, chocolate chunk cookies from the big box store container. I cringe because he is not as stealth. But, her ears must be consumed with a body's regret from neglect. We consume a timely dessert together, clean up with time to spare. She’ll know something is missing, but not just yet. She earns her guilt after she arrives back from her work. I'll have a devilish grin to share, then. 7.1.21 7.6.21 edit |
| Examination of my life has come down to the large metatarsal bone on my right foot -- the fungal toenail I show her that she previously noted I would lose. While it lay exposed one night, elevated on the pillow amid a king-size bed, she pried. And like a jarred, package delivery chute, it yielded its dry core. Clipping wild, wayward shards from petrified infusion, tender bed of black and blue, in my delicate disillusion its impending departure left me wonder: when it leaves, what will become of me? My other quandary: what will protect but a shoe? And yet, another reality: imagining an investigating camera panning away, silent, with its backward, crab-walking crew, unobtrusive, not wanting to be seen documenting this life. Journalists flee down our hallway every night, shouting wrong house! Wrong life. 7.4/5/6.21 Took me awhile to see if editing this was even worth the time. |
| Nestled in pants pockets, heavenly-blue arrival pack to the brim. Clutter of jilted ore pellets — brilliant wonder matching a child's eyes. The rough gems restrict a proud stride. Grasshoppers flit, buzz like heat, cutting humid silence. Pale-black, yellow-tipped wings sail down smooth-worm, rusted rail. Blistered feet, brown and nimble, warm — navigate rail on fixed horizon. No ticket needed for an adventure sought. Distance from the platform protects him from a lonely wail. Iron trail constructed in a roaring era before grandpa died — a timely train that no longer whistles. Tracks quiver, Horns blares around the bend. Red crossing signals flare, bells clang, before the striped gate secures the path. This locomotive will swiftly pass. Soon, crickets darken scene that means home. 7.4.21 For July — Stormy Poetry Newsletter still trying ▼ |
| When she foggily stirred and rose to meet my eyes, she said, 'I love you'. I said, 'you need to nap more often, my dear'. just after she puts away her phone on the night stand, before slumber, she spools to my half of the bed, still listening to me roll. she’s lulled, lids descend but haven’t reached the floor, stay ajar, as I take my cue to wish her a peaceful slumber. but she insists, continue. Though, I know my next sentence is the last that I will hear loudest, best, repeating until three a.m. like a skipping record, because I can’t finish that thought. She takes all my rest. 7.4.21 22 lines, free verse I won't explain, for a change. |
| the widow sits by the window -- beneath the bay window, slumped in the chair, a lump -- in the easy chair the widow lay beneath the window, the widening hole, a dull glass above a young lass. a widow -- a graying woman delaying in a room bright, a dark gloom, a vault-like tomb, where the widow sits and idles alone, nobody home. though, the window sees a busy street scene, a park opening, people walking their dogs. it’s 80 degrees. you think she would freeze with the a/c on well after dawn, huddling there in the great green chair. is there despair for the widow who sleeps, possibly dreams beneath a streaked scene? the wind always blows. but, whoever knows from outside if she’s alive or if dead, because they can’t even see and she can’t see, because her eyes are closed below the window in her dusty, old chair. has she a care? the widow beneath the window, in such a strange scene, shaded you see beneath a willow tree. the widow beneath that window doesn’t look to see. must be a dream, because I’m not even dead, yet. 7.4.21 47 lines, free verse I had the ending figured out just after the repeating 'widow in the window' mantra went going around in my head, before finally jotting it down, and then all the stuff in that sandwich kept bubbling up, piling on, before I could add that reality at the finish. I won't spoil it for those who might need a second read to understand what I mean by that last line. Note the only capital letter. You guys look for, or notice this stuff, right? Sometimes, I forget that I'm doing it, look back and have to find these things myself. There should be a noticeable narrative with the way the lines start out, like trying to get traction. I might go back and edit the end to alter line positions a little, if nothing else to ease that downhill march to the end of the read. |
 Metronome Love -haiku My metronome heart, Steadily beating, timing, Attunes with your love. 6.30.21 Three lines, haiku Open Prompt: Write a poem, 15 lines or less, structured or free verse, on the topic of your choosing for "The Whatever Contest" . I can't imagine a haiku getting nom'd for a Quill. So, this is me mailing it in. |
| Snowflakes latched like lovers laughing, twirling above a deepening twilight, Thick woods darkened the deeper we roamed. Our footprints depressed a winding trail beside blue spruce. Heavy bows held great, frozen weight amid a spiraling storm, piercing thin air all around us. You would have me press my pale flesh down into your spread sheepskin coat. Howls and bursts kissed our naked flesh heating the chilled white blanket below. Intertwined in a mountain valley, our love echoed in a barren winter. 6.30.21 13 lines, free verse Open Prompt: Write a poem, 15 lines or less, structured or free verse, on the topic of your choosing for "The Whatever Contest" . |
| This burden of what I am, its complex scenarios, complicated by assumption, how I should behave with your disdain or indifference for sharing drama, the day to day when reaching out for understanding, only to be shunned further, again. Want to feel whole, normal, but might not ever get there with something lacking in my DNA. I'll always be missing that certain something you take for granted that I try to patch with any love or assurance just to sustain. You are not strong enough for two -- unbound, not my glue. And those who struggle (like me) don't realize, we topple all of you -- those (around) who don't get out of the way. Not strong enough to bolster us or lift us back up. So, we (I) burden our (my) responsibility by not declaring in anthems all this pain -- be strong for ourselves, insulate from the rest, until we're no longer holding back sagging walls before collapse. Perfectly normal feelings, is what they (you) say. WE can 'relate'. Yet, it takes ALL of you for just one (like me) to get through this life, or make a day a little brighter -- sacrifice, instead of hoarding all the love. 6.30.21 31 lines piggyback off previous post |
"Every day is so wonderful Then suddenly it's hard to breathe Now and then I get insecure From all the pain I'm so ashamed" This burden, complex sets of emotions for feeling the way we do, complicated by what we assume is disdain or indifference for sharing our drama, when reaching out for understanding, only to be shunned further. People who want to feel whole/normal might not ever get there because there is something lacking that they'll always be missing that they/we think we can patch with love and assurance from another who gives the appearance they are strong enough for two. And what those who struggle don't realize is they/we topple all those around us who don't get out of the way, because they are not as strong as they seem to bolster us or lift us back up. So, we burden the responsibility by not declaring in anthems like this that we have to be strong for ourselves, rather insulate until we're no longer holding back those sagging walls before collapse. And then, it's really a mess. Song probably written by a highly-functioning 'whatever' until I have a diagnosis, can't say. These are perfectly normal feelings we can relate and acknowledge. It takes a strong support group for a person to get through life. Be there for them in person, if you know you can make their day a little brighter; sacrifice a bit of yourself. Stop hoarding all the love. That time, I was on a soapbox. Getting down now. Read more here about the curious history of this song that endears its creator to me, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beautiful_(Christina_Aguilera_song) . And what I truly get from Linda Perry, the author, is that writers really know how something should be performed, where artists seldom get it. The Wikipedia link has more. 6.30.21 |
| With their tongues out-- Sneering, dirty faces haunted, still mock me to this day. They used to say, ‘I know you are, but what am I?’ to stifle a squabble. Nothing’s changed. Heavy brows snarling, judge my indignance, as if to say, you're the crazy one and just walk away. It’s called gaslighting, though I wouldn’t have learned if I hadn’t googled to help in my predicament, realize I can’t get unstuck from a lifetime losing arguments to narcissists. 6.30.21 This poem could say more, but it's late, I'm tired and why bother? |
| I Lean Into It Hard I have so much to say and no one to tell it to. What 'it' is, I do not know. When you've been in captivity, unobserved, observed, you go a little stir crazy, wonder what do they think, when the words come. Constructed in their language, I lean into it hard, every complex emotion, feeling and things I don't understand, hoping a friend will come forward to illuminate a dark, caged world. The longer I prate, the quicker eyes dull, close and shadows depart from my den where I remain a denizen, pacing and speaking aloud to the wall, no one, but hoping for one ear to eavesdrop, maybe a reaction is all I need. A face that I can read for a sign, but my friends who could pantomime just appear indifferent, or maybe, I'm blind, can't read at all. I lean into it hard, a wall and nothing gives way to my brain. I'm done for now. 6.29.21 Type ramble. Because I googled the title words and had to write something to satisfying my annoying mind. You think you have it bad? I have to live with this condition.  |
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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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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)
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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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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)
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Congratulations on being our Honorable Mention in March of 2022 at [Link To Item #2216416] !
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![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.
