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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3
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 brian k compton


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.




                   
"A War Of Youth "Prose And Dead Men

"Breakable
Previous ... -1- 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... Next
May 7, 2021 at 9:21am
May 7, 2021 at 9:21am
#1009818
Dear Brother, sorry
I didn't. write. Staring
from the ledge steals hours,
a void merges within me.
This ledge that comes before me
shows no vista I dare follow.
Desire to fly faded when
I couldn't sprout wings in
innocence or ignorance, but
I long to venture out, set
a world afire, just
can't rekindle the flame
inside me, even to
pick up a pen, scrawl
ink from my heart on mead.
Would spill my blood into
these vessels if
that could color my vision
from that ledge that consumes me
eternally. Sorry, Your Brother.


5.4.21
5.7.21


kind of conceptualized but not fully targeted what I want to depict about how we get so lost/consumed with nothing and never keep in touch with loved ones who could fill our life with joy, if we weren't pining for something more.
May 3, 2021 at 5:35pm
May 3, 2021 at 5:35pm
#1009589
When reminiscing
innocence of youth,
Iā€™m hooked by itā€™s exposed nails.
Resulting infections
scar a lifetime.


5.3.21

Thought I had to memorize while my phone was locked away at the psych ward.
May 3, 2021 at 6:57am
May 3, 2021 at 6:57am
#1009561
a sinking stone
needs water to process,
find bottom.

when did i become so small
i could be flung
by the ignorant young?


when i first glimpsed heaven,
you had tossed me,
forsaken by your small hand,
smooth as my cover,
tender but not as hard.

i had the most beautiful vision.
air split by my force,
no gravity for what seemed eternity.
my relativity, your passion thrust.
my potential had peaked again.

but the bend would come.
arc sudden-shaped before i
could arrive at hopeful vision.
the fall inglorious,
an imposition of fear loomed
ahead of impending fate.

and now here i have come
to met the sediment.



5.3.21
if we're calling this a poem:
freeverse, 26 lines
5.4.21 edut

relating to an unwanted stone, with emotion and loss...still working on

"This is the time
May 2, 2021 at 12:08am
May 2, 2021 at 12:08am
#1009517
I cannot be held responsible for any incongruous inconsistencies. It's in my nature to waffle, because my memory does waiver and I've been known to ride a few fences in my time.
May 1, 2021 at 11:34pm
May 1, 2021 at 11:34pm
#1009515
What we salvage
I recover, won't waste
What you crudely find as refuse
I see potential, resolve
to keep you from diminishing me
by throwing out the trash.

5.1.21


Concept is to draw direct lines from relationships to the things we waste or won't save, like one person paired with another, or as simply as what we deem trash. We could have all have other purpose, other than a relationship to someone. Our purpose isn't to serve someone, or serve our own needs. It's about being a part of something, world, or whatever makes us tick. Because if we waste ourselves, we are not true. Something like that. Still working out values, relation and metaphoric ability of this word 'salvage' both in function and expression. Do even know what I'm talking about yet?

We'll see...

https://renew.org.au/renew-magazine/diy/salvage-it-top-ten-waste-items-to-recove...
https://www.familyhandyman.com/list/incredible-uses-for-things-you-normally-toss...
https://www.marineinsight.com/maritime-law/laws-of-salvage-10-things-you-must-kn...
https://macjames.ca/2019/12/five-interesting-facts-about-car-history-you-might-n...

okay, i'm tired of this research already...
May 1, 2021 at 4:42pm
May 1, 2021 at 4:42pm
#1009491
Itā€™s perfect irony
so many years beautiful to you
         I learn to sing the sweetest harmony
         only now to discover the mirror
         and time lost
         as my face grows dark.

Itā€™s what I deserve,
I tell myself,
because I canā€™t accept
         there is no reason,
         while seeking truth
         and meaning in everything
to have semblance of balance.

Accept that life is random?
         in a perfect realm
         spinning about cylindrical fire?
measuring hours
and days evenly until I die,
         which I hadnā€™t though much about
until now?

I discover a voice weakening
in this inevitable cage of earth.
         Purpose long lost rusts.
         Life doesnā€™t come back
for its youth.


5.1.21
25 lines unmeasured free verse

hah! balance, take that!
May 1, 2021 at 4:33pm
May 1, 2021 at 4:33pm
#1009490
I have more hours.
perhaps I can employ faith,
if blessings do exist and hope
is either in here or out there.

what divines serendipity
for one so blind? except
to stumble through a beautiful world
as if its vistas dim, unlit.

a beautiful sun burns hard --
harder for fools like me.

5.1.21



April 30, 2021 at 9:00am
April 30, 2021 at 9:00am
#1009414
You must
experience it yourself, decide
what to compare your pain to, and
how long to languish in
this empty sea
rolling you and
me

I cannot explain
the color of blue as we drift
together on this journey
apart, but how to be
alone

Eyes struck
with thoughts of forgiveness
I only watch
how you swim, swirl away from
the drain

Pulled away
by the deepening tide
we divide
over the course of time

and should I never
float again by your side,
know this sea is as cruel
as those who leave us here
to live or die


4.30.21

Written to and after hearing:

What's A Broken Heart by Patty Loveless while thinking of my youngest who struggles like their father.

April 29, 2021 at 2:49pm
April 29, 2021 at 2:49pm
#1009367
dry,
i have no more reason to cry,
as if i could shed a tear
for me,
for you.
what else is there left to do
but fix eyes
on that sunset
and the next and every ever after?

time doesn't roll backward.

dull,
i stopped trying to cull
memories of when we were young,
you and me
innocently believing
we were eternity --
now severed, broken
by a wheel we can't see,
crushing time in its wake,

time that remains in the balance
for just me.

dreams
are what remain for me,
after I close my eyes,
hard hoping we will meet
in some parallel realm,
your heavenly smile
to greet me in an otherwise
black night.


4.29.21
Written to song, "In Another Lifetime"
April 29, 2021 at 2:40pm
April 29, 2021 at 2:40pm
#1009365
Drunk on sadness
savoring sweet
melancholy
sipping alone
they try to pry away the gloom
unaware how much I consume
in my dark

But, I see you
and you and you there
we're like winos in this street
unable to commiserate
because each to his own
sipping sweet
savory
melancholy
to the bottom

Fortunate, we stand again
against the coming days
I rise up like you
disheveled and ready
to make myself whole again
before one more moment's sleep
sipping sadness
from sweet dreams --
savory, empty melancholy
complete.



4.15.21
ed. 4.29.21
April 28, 2021 at 12:51am
April 28, 2021 at 12:51am
#1009254
Seducted by
your crafted words
inflected, reflective,
protracted like
tender, leather tendrils
vibrating on the edge,
undulating a melody;
constructed to
manipulate my nostalgia
for a blue-eyed,
titian-haired lass --
luxor and sheen
and porcelain skin gleam.

this illumination
from a warble softening,
drips from your mouth
into my ears.
a vision building
on emotions playing
in a dulled knowing --
this creation,
hollow but for sound...

but, I play it again,
dream be as near to you
as I can allow.

4.27.21

If anyone cares:
24 lines, free verse

Written following Fisher's 'You'.
I'm flashing my poetic license to create the word 'seducted'.
Did I forget to mention 'luxor' which is my abbrev of luxorious?
April 21, 2021 at 10:45am
April 21, 2021 at 10:45am
#1008909
Written 14 years ago as a new, novice poet here. I would revise it today, if I felt the effort was worthwhile.

Label Me

Between blindness and sight;
Between the dark and light --
gray, ordinary, cold.

Between deafness and song;
Between quiet and throng --
still, empty, untold.

I linger in this uneven world
out of balance, vying the rail,
arms spread, looking frail.

Label me
like the love note
you never wrote,
lying under your clutter.

You forgot about me,
even though you say you love me.
You can't find me even if you tried.

Label me,
like the leftover meal
in a container you seal
and push to the back of the fridge.

Between sadness and glee,
a little part of the former me
flies beyond the pale night.

Between apathy and hope,
somehow I will cope,
even if things aren't right.

Just label me.


 
STATIC
Label Me  (E)
The sad need for recognition to know one actually does exist in your world.
#1251222 by brian k compton


My inability to immediately respond to someone looking for response to feedback for "Label Me has stirred feelings somehow. I say, be careful. Not where I'm concerned. I've been there. I've created obstacles in my path just so I can tear them down. You could hurt someone who is undeserving of what you are frustrated with. Misdirected angst will ultimately only hurt you in the end, as I've discovered.

If it's labeled, it might be some kind of tugging on superman's cape complex. But, I digress. I don't know what to do to help people who aggressively want attention for negative behavior. I only hope they find the truth and happiness they deserve.

As to the review and response, I might have something in the works. I might just rewrite the above poem before I look at that feedback, and then send a revised poem with thanks for the attention. Best I can do, if it helps. The cheek turning bit might get me more than a few swipes, so I lay low and decide if I have enough energy for it.

I'm basically a recluse on this site right now. Don't see many trying to get me out of my mothballs, so I'll have to assume my participation isn't sorely missed. Except for a few activities where friends are seeking attention that I might contribute. It's rewarding to do something positive, rather than tear ourselves down by creating giants to topple. I don't have that kind of negative capability anymore.
April 20, 2021 at 7:06pm
April 20, 2021 at 7:06pm
#1008869
She was talking tattoos and indirectly said,
"Does Brian have a tat?" to which I responded
mine were scars from a reckless life
chasing balls, colliding with obstacles
but never fists, which I regretted, because
it is what I think she would have admired most.
My skin is pure and cut, muscles running deep,
which she may have acknowledged but
didn't seem to take in. My blue eyes always
intense could have revealed a moody one,
filled with angst to pain (but soft for her),
notes from my soul fill with refrains
never sung to her -- because she was looking
the other way, studding her nose daily,
killing pain with weed and beer nightly,
dancing until she had to be carried off,
staggering out night clubs and cars
to places now very far (and warm) from where
we once enjoyed a charade. She chirped
and I tuned in, hoping to reveal a side
she couldn't possibly fathom existed
in a tortured boy masquerading as a man.

We'll never come to that bridge, though.
I sing each night and day away as if she
will one day realize what she neglected to hear.


4.20.21

Not an unrequited love poem...just something I wrote about a seven year old
memory of someone who teased when she touched but never truly sought the
heart of a man, which might have been deeper than she could have understood.

and if she would ask me now, get to really know me rather than employ the
generational stereotypes, she'd see dimensions of a wonderful journey.
April 19, 2021 at 8:23am
April 19, 2021 at 8:23am
#1008763
From my offline archives...

Some things never change:
Like the soul trying to find deeper meaning
In a mud pile mixing with garbage,
Clutching anything resembling gold
Our sentimental eyes could savor.
While a gleam emits from eyes
Ordinarily dull,
A viewer will see a reflection
Of what we dream to realize
And reconnect with what could be,
While not acknowledging inspiration
Emitting in that scene.

Disconnected, we go
Our separate ways, reconfiguring,
Wishing for something more than
Just this reality,
Roaming from scene to scene
With a mind that continually dreams.
Never using eyes that really see,
Eventually,
Whatā€™s in our crosshairs:
A horizon rising and setting,
Visually escaping.
A sun and a moon that scheme
To be just out of reach
For eternity,
For souls roaming quite innocently
Without using eyes
For the evidentiary.


11.2.20
4.19.21

April 19, 2021 at 8:16am
April 19, 2021 at 8:16am
#1008762
Ten years turns into twenty --
Do admit, thirty --
In the blink of the mindā€™s eye,
Holding a vision of you
And I
Once upon a time.
Thirty minus ten minus ten,
Wonā€™t get me back there again,
Back to the precipice,
Feeling afraid to mount
A decision
I could have made for you
And I.
Why didnā€™t I try?
Ten years times three,
Time streaks
Across this internal sky,
Eternal mind
That wonā€™t let go of a vision
Of you and I.

If I had just tried,
That summit, never mountain,
That dream envisioned,
Surrounding me still
Toward the unknown horizon escaping,
A linear vision,
Realizing
I missed my chance.


11.2.20
4.19.21

needs one more edit for ending
April 19, 2021 at 8:07am
April 19, 2021 at 8:07am
#1008761
From my offline poetry journal....


Timingā€™s off --
waited too long to witness you
lopsided, hung up early
in the dark
In these trees
In my disease

Waiting too long to acknowledge
your form
two days too late
Canā€™t imagine why so distracted
why I canā€™t put off
what can wait
when you rise again
in this slow season

Clear a path through this night
to the other side
to stay awake
all night and know
everythingā€™s alright
when Iā€™ll have another friend join
to greet a new day

Timingā€™s been off
waited too long for a vision
of perfection
of glowing beauty
Doesnā€™t come along often
Got to make the time
when night arrives again.


11.2.20
4.19.21

About the moon.
April 18, 2021 at 8:59pm
April 18, 2021 at 8:59pm
#1008731
The blue wall,
25 grams per square meter dense,
polypropylene, maybe,
polystyrene, polycarbonate, polyethylene, or polyester,
veil the ignorant prisoner,
one year, one month
and how many days?
Groggily aware, not hopeful
of a day air is inhaled unfiltered
without the fear of another deadly disease.

4.18.21
April 14, 2021 at 2:46am
April 14, 2021 at 2:46am
#1008488
You don't face the dark
or the wall
but an indeterminable time replaying
every mistake
forgetting hope and glimpses
of starliit obstacles
that will yield on the horizon
to your dreams
if you just try,
if willing to fail
with a chance to succeed.
April 14, 2021 at 2:27am
April 14, 2021 at 2:27am
#1008486
all the beautiful things dim --
the '55 classic
         idle in a hot farm field
         embraced by weeds daring bloom flowers
         a certain rustic charm
all the beauty dimmed
         in sun-faded paint, tarnished chrome
a blended shape now landscape
as if sprouting, reimagined
         above the hood a tomb
of stick weeds obscuring dense
visages of a dark, passenger-free,
eerie cabin like impending death

all beauty dim
can't hum above a cricket now
         black bald mounted on crusted rim
         idle as the mid-day sun searing
beauty dimmed shines summer long
unobserved, a classic waste, but
no wreckers come near
it's sagging barn friend


4.10.21
rev. 4.14.21


was working on a rewrite for contest:

They crawl up to you as if daring restore your paint with their true seasonal color
The intertwine with the undercarriage crane to peer in dark windows made by their summer shade

All the beautiful things dim --
idle in a hot field, sun-friend
embraced by rustic charm
sun-faded, half a century
tarnished chrome of former
blazing speed

a blended shape now landscape
as if sprouting, reimagined
With the hood a tomb
adorned by last year's sticks
marking out dense visages
eerie cabin of impending death

all beauty dim
can't hum above a cricket now
black bald mounted on crusted rim
idle as the mid-day sun searing

beauty dimmed shines summer long,
unobserved classic American waste, but
no wreckers come
it's sagging barn friend
April 10, 2021 at 9:50am
April 10, 2021 at 9:50am
#1008158
The wonder of you
scrawling, etching a black sky
with whitening snapshots
strikes fear, should I near.

Reassemble my particles
with your canon blasts
in murky sky battles
I pleasure to watch
like reenactments,

feels centuries old.

On that horizon
with a glimpse of sun arriving --
low grumbling, reminding
this war goes on,
returns almost nightly

like renewed complaining.

I douse the light inside
to dream for an hour more,
reminisce how you shook me,
awake in both an old
and a new world.


21 lines
Freeverse



Using a morning thunderstorm (metaphor) to wake from a dream of personal loss about someone who troubled like a storm, with love and regret for the thrill and the loss of a stormy co-existence.

Entered 4.10.21 in The Writer's Cramp - no show
Was a static item (since deleted and preserved in blog)


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