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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1300042
Rated: 18+ · Book · Personal · #1300042
...full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Such Longing: Poetry Of Nature Love
Product Type: eBooks
Amazon's Price: Price N/A

Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on...

"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

Trying to make 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 this mediocrity, hoping to bust out.

I'm on Twitter:

I'm on Facebook, too. Can you find me?

You can put a face with a name. Fiction is what you write, not who you are.

I also encourage you to read my notebook, biography and more.

THANK YOU alfred booth, wanbli ska for the ribbon and continuous support!

A world arriving as silent as that blossom in your garden that I told you about...
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September 24, 2017 at 5:51pm
September 24, 2017 at 5:51pm
"But there is wisdom in being circumspect about such things, to reflect before telling what can never be unsaid, or sharing some supposed “honesty” that may wound beyond healing. Better to swallow even that which scalds than to unleash, for whatever reason, an unknowable damage that might have been spared."

September 23, 2017 at 8:07pm
September 23, 2017 at 8:07pm
Does this sound like sarcasm? Oh, now it does?

Came out of a funny dialogue I had to get myself to read and review when I was too distracted and idling over unnecessary things. I'm learning I have more to write since I've reapplied the reviewing process to my writer's schedule...

Why you should review:

Studies of your brain
(No actual source)
show it is small
(Don't quote me on this)
when it
does not contain
words. How
to get words In that
cranial cavity,
you say?


But, I don't know many words.

That's why you

But, words can be hard
to understand. Writer's mix
them up in different ways.

I hear you say this,
dear 'aspiring writer.'
To understand words
you read and
evaluate their meaning
in a process I like to call
Reviewing is good for
a brain that needs words --
needs to process them by

This reviewing and writing
you speak of...
will it be hard on my

(Now I'm just putting
words in your mouth --
see what I did there?)
It's possibly harmful for
your brain under
certain conditions. You
must take precaution.
Consider reading when
it is quiet,
a place well lit, so
you may ponder the words
of another,
allowing you to write
your feelings about them
in a review.
For instance:

Your story about
a favorite cat that died
made me feel sad...
Your poem about mother
made me very emotional.

You can elaborate
on those thoughts,
if you are advanced
in the ways of
(Don't look that up).

By reviewing, you discover
new words and new
expressions. Consider it
an adventure for
your brain that needs
The more you do this
it will be like
riding a bike (simile),
because it becomes
easy to do.
And just think (Something
else a brain does),
you will meet other writers
who are readers who
will consider your writing
(review or other) and
give you feedback on your
It's a process
writers go through
to achieving
success -- just by

Fill your brain with
other people's words and
envision a whole new
panorama of critical
that will lead to
better learning and
understanding of
And, you'll have a use
for your empty brain.
Or, just plant some nice
September 23, 2017 at 5:35pm
September 23, 2017 at 5:35pm
Maybe, I hate fiction,
he said, he
wondered aloud.
Of course!
Maybe, I hate spoken word
fiction -- audio books
read by the male Siri.
Or, do I hate
stagnant attribution,
or plot, while still fresh:
the fragrant smell of
how one visualizes the world
why we do
waiting to get through
some thought about
the past, if
I did things differently
novelists realizing
missed opportunity?
is it me?
I missed an opportunity
starting the chapter of
my next novel
seventeen times,
each start better
than the last, tricky
working out that
forgotten -- no longer
hammered out on inked,
soiled linen-like
paper, reams unbound
from glued, form-fitted
wrap, now
remote files stored
two or three
laptops ago, nay
I hate fiction.
I hate said,
he declared...
for emphasis.
And, I hate punctuation.

I'm done.
September 22, 2017 at 11:07am
September 22, 2017 at 11:07am
Raw and unedited....my feelings on my first writing mentor...an instructor at a community college in 1984...need to work in how she came to live such a charmed life...once I know more about her husband and his income...through paper mill? She doesn't pen environmental poems...but loves her flowers...

What's Going On With Elinor
(A Cryptic Poem of Suffering)

He wanted to write lines like Elinor -- break
them, cut them up just so, crop precise
symmetry -- leave a preposition on that cliff, but
What followed below didn't flow like his
Stream of consciousness. He realized they thought
Never saw eye to eye. He was taught to respect
A future poet laureate (nominee), his writing instructor
At a community college
Her accolades wouldn't come until white came
To her hair. He was gray now, too.
But wiser? Crafting thoughtful those sharp edges
So elinor could see? No.
He wrote what was in his heart, about
The rejecting fire that consumed him
The endless pursuit of respect, moving on
To the next one, find walls of indifference
Arrogance, unable to ignore the shame
That consumed him, for trying something
Original at a poetry reading she coaxed him to attend
A young poet of 25 in suede jacket, a rainy night
Rusty, foul-pipe smell of an antiquated library
To recite words he just penned about loss and
His darkest secret, cryptic, told to strangers
In front of a mic -- dark blend of blocked memory
Mockery, turning away from Elinor, her
modulated Southern admonishing accent
punishing a name given to him by his mother --
one fellow instructor spared further tongue lash.

Brian had a new secret. He failed the woman
Who encouraged his writing, encouraged him
To risk his love of words. He would hide
20 more years. Heart repeatedly jabbed by
Her blue editing pen years after. Couldn't construct
Any more visions on his closeted journals.
Couldn't see the point of the publishing dream
Maybe fiction? Her white hair make her forget
Him? Is her dark secret also a forgotten memory
Of the last time they would share a molecule of air
Together? Elinor is celebrated for words that
Bend just so on even lines, and she wonders
Naively about the world and future at 78. The
Woman who reminded him of his mother, outlived
her, still thriving at 86. As of three years ago,
according to Poets & Writers, Elinor travels to
Give readings, splits time between her homes
In Upper Michigan and Florida. Is photographed
Spending time with her well attended flowers
But does not return emails from a former
Student still waiting for approval of his latest
Poems. Not her style? She could never see the
World through his eyes. Though, she wonders
About it. We will all die, except Elinor who will
Muse and we will sigh at her thoughts of white
Birch and blue waters from their shared origins
Calling her, unlike Chattanooga, Tennessee,
Her birth home. She must like trains? Or
Has she rejected engineers, hot, dry weather,
Hill people, racists and rapists because they
Do not exist in Elinor's world?

I wonder, too.

Her use of 'turned' was uninspired

I reveal: http://elinorbenedict.com/excerpts.html

September 21, 2017 at 10:33pm
September 21, 2017 at 10:33pm
She would have been 94 years forever young today. Happy Birthday, Mom. *Cake2* Her love of books and poetry inspired a young lad:

Celtic Roots  (E)
A child of Poetry denies his shared trait with the woman who brought words to life.
#2131601 by 🕊 brian kc

Her Crooked Smile   (E)
His floral devotion to Mother still lives on.
#2085712 by 🕊 brian kc

September 21, 2017 at 11:36am
September 21, 2017 at 11:36am

While Listening To Our Song

Apple blossoms gone
I swirl with you
Round the verdant room
To our favorite song
Leaning, I whisper
Deep into your ear
I'm dying,
I'm dying
One last dance bare
On dewy delight
Clover cropped
Our autumn bright --
Fades in blue eyes
Fades to white
Tightly we hold on
Crash with crimson sun
Into that good night.

September 20, 2017 at 9:50am
September 20, 2017 at 9:50am
What if I were to re-write an old static of poetry? Looking at "Iron and Ore and thinking, I would do that differently. But, do you change the old or make a new? So, I blog changes. I might change. No room for new statics.

Heavenly blue
jilted ore
pellets brilliant wonder
match a child's eyes --
nestle in pants pockets
packed to the brim

Rough gems restrict stride

Grasshoppers hum
cut the humid silence
Black wings
pale yellow tips
flit, sail down
rusted rail
worn smooth --
warm blistered feet
brown and nimble

Distance protects me
from the lonely wail
Iron trail tracks to a time
when grandpa died

The train runs on time --
took years to get here

Red crossing signals
before the dropping gate
I'll have to wait
for this locomotive to pass.

I hate punctuation, starting lines with caps. Want a better handle on that. Need focus on word's expression.
September 19, 2017 at 10:33am
September 19, 2017 at 10:33am
Eyes stained by light
Do not see a thick, pale wall
Vision distorted

We blindly do what's right, but can't see truth.
September 17, 2017 at 7:10pm
September 17, 2017 at 7:10pm
Just one person,
Wish I were one hundred,
I could kiss you all,
Let you know you are whole,
Because that would let me know,
I am.
September 15, 2017 at 12:03pm
September 15, 2017 at 12:03pm
Looks behind at his wake to see,
He put everything back straight in Their House.

September 15, 2017 at 11:11am
September 15, 2017 at 11:11am
Another 1-Finger Type

Leave it alone
See how clouds swirl...
Leave it behind
Smell autumn's arrival
Hear dry foliage clatter
Forgotten laundry
Soon unpinned stems

Come over here
Touch dewed lawn
Come to my voice
Taste sweet apple
Savor sour perfection
Look my way

Harvest this
Not memory
Do not mine
Rockpile of thought
The sun soon departs
While it lasts
Come cast a look
Leave it behind

I cannot
In good conscience
Leave him behind
I cannot
A poor boy confused
Refuses to leave
Blond, blue-eyed
Does not know

I cannot
Pure in heart
Look ahead
I cannot
A delicate child
Scared to come
Mussed clothes
Bare of foot
Fears, still
Hasn't realized

I cannot
Quit him
I cannot come
To his aid
We're both stuck
Go on ahead
We're all right here
Say goodbye to autumn
The sun, vistas
Someday seen

Before you go...
Too dark
I'll be here
Until we meet again.

I was beautiful once
Realized too late
Can't get it back
Still inside me
I keep reaching in
But something different comes out
Energy spurned
Humming deep within
Teasing, reminds
I was beautiful once
Innocent, lost
Still in a dark
Husked heart
When I near you
Truth lighting
My cavernous soul
With no eyes
I yearn to be within
Reside with you
Describe for me
What's there
So at least I can shed a tear
I was beautiful once
I did not know him
At least I did
Time forgot
I feel him
And he won't come out.

September 15, 2017 at 9:55am
September 15, 2017 at 9:55am
You would have been 34.

September 14, 2017 at 11:18pm
September 14, 2017 at 11:18pm
"You don’t get to control everything. You can wake up at 5 a.m. every day until you’re tired and broken, but if the words or the painting or the ideas don’t want to come to fruition, they won’t. You can show up every day to your best intentions, but if it’s not the time, it’s just not the fucking time. You need to give yourself permission to be a human being."

September 10, 2017 at 3:22pm
September 10, 2017 at 3:22pm
A Tribute to 💎 Stan Stanley 💎, one of the good ones Writing.com forgot:

The Veld

“So hows life treating you?”
Wobbling my hand,
"comme ci comme ca.”

Phrases I have used countless times
throughout my life
without thinking twice
just carried on with my routine for the day.

(I)n the early hours of the next morning,
when I went to bed,
I was starting to drift into what I call neither world,
neither here nor there.
It is between being awake and sleeping,
my body relaxed
mind at peace with myself.

It is also when I am most vulnerable

to unwarranted fears
and unwanted thoughts.
It was then a thought
lay on the empty stage of my mind,
like a white plastic carrier packet
laying on an empty street at night,
in the circle of a street light,
waiting for the wind to sweep it up.

The thought was waiting for me to carry it away.

Knowing from past experience
trying to sleep would be more exhausting than getting up,
I got up quietly
made myself a cup of coffee
and sat outside on the porch
pondering on the thought:

“So hows life treating you?”

Herman Charles Bosman once said,
"Sometimes at night
when the world is very still,
a soft wind comes sweeping across the veld.
Then, if you are outside and listen very carefully,
you can hear the story it has to tell."

Miss you, my friend.

All rights belong to him. Attribution to a deeply reflective, poignant man who suffered 'high grade' bladder cancer. My sorrow for his departure from our community.

Please share his words and memory.
September 9, 2017 at 7:38am
September 9, 2017 at 7:38am
A poet is like a murderer,
Leaving clues at the scene of his crime,
Hoping you piece them together,
Come looking for him;
So he can kill you
Where he lives.

September 6, 2017 at 12:22am
September 6, 2017 at 12:22am
Stream of Life

Cruising past
perilous outcrops
The stream of life
Hurled rush
Pushes me ashore
Tail battered
Sometimes bleeds
Flips, whips
I shimmy higher

The stream of life
Rushes around
Sends me down
A sandy stir
Dust up
Rippled skin,
Float again into

The stream of life
Soft, Bubbling
Sends me again
On a journey
Little fins coast
Eyes alert
Body sleek
Shimmer beneath
Cool glass sun

The stream of life
Tosses me asea
Turbulent tide
Monsters quake,
Glare, menace
My feeble flesh
Narrows to hide
Dark wasteland

The stream of life
Fades fast
Leaves me be
My misfortune
No business here
Little pond
So long ago
I miss home
I look back for
The stream of life
Invisible, gone
I'm on my own

August 28, 2017 at 3:53pm
August 28, 2017 at 3:53pm


Mmm, I want a cigarette. Passion and visions collide. You want to be moved visually by a poem?
August 19, 2017 at 3:29pm
August 19, 2017 at 3:29pm

Brother's Brew  (E)
After his life-threatening battle with cancer, I realized my brother's impact on my life.
#2131726 by 🕊 brian kc

Celtic Roots  (E)
A child of Poetry denies his shared trait with the woman who brought words to life.
#2131601 by 🕊 brian kc
August 16, 2017 at 10:30pm
August 16, 2017 at 10:30pm
Discovered wattpad finally (my kids have been using it). Taking a trial run and thinking about putting a majority of my writing there on the app, once I get familiar enough with it.
Not exactly the place for old farts or poets, but I have to see what else is out there for me. Need to move my roots around and see what else is out there.
I've likely outlived my usefulness here, though I love creating items to share. I'm failing fellow writers in the feedback area because I'm too focused on me these days...and the eyesight thing. *Cool*
They say wattpad is 90% readers. I can finally pursue fiction on my terms.

I have long been a cheerleader for this site, trying to share it throughout internet and social media, hoping to build a following here. I guess it didn't have the desired impact.

When someone told me I was among the Top 10 writers on this site, I thought, need to find a bigger pond. Fortunately, internet streams connect writers everywhere. Just need to see where this new journey takes me.

Plus, I think Brian Keith Compton might resurface!
August 2, 2017 at 12:53am
August 2, 2017 at 12:53am
Thanks to the following: Gabriella iKïyå§ama ruwth Witch-Lily Brenpoet Warped Sanity 🌜 HuntersMoon Meg turtlemoon-dohi (peace) MDuci Tornado Day W.D.Wilcox © ¿ Φ Alexi is thankful for each day Alan Philps alfred booth, wanbli ska River McKenna M.A.GEORGE Brittany L. Engels Elle blue jellybaby CJ & Muse Sparky Cinn tHiNg Masquerading Choconut Angels in my Ear Pastor Dave/tYpO/T.Boilerman Ryan Jentzsch just jess:NovelWriting101 Blueyez☺ Marsha Musselman Shaara PuppyTales ~WhoMe???~ Merisol Venice just jess:NovelWriting101 Mare ~ GoT White Walker tucknits~started new job WakeUpAndLive~Summer's end★ Ann Ticipation Kittiara The Kafkaesque Poltergeist April Sunday Bill Thomas Whata, Still Recovering Acme ~ 10 year WdC Anniversary Adriana Noir All Smiles ... Allen Harriet AnaStar Aria loves Bertie and Jeeves DMT -life STINKS Andrea Jones ANN Counselor, Lesbian & Happy Charmin Christopher Corcoran anxious geek - bi, fluid, mum AXiLeA BIG BAD WOLF Is John Wayne bob county Brandiwyn♪ Cody Wayne COUNTRYMOM-JUST REMEMBER ME Dan Sturn dblameck (David) CHarris Chris Breva - Happy 17th WDC! Crys-Busy Bee Darleen ~ Working Woman Dave Destiny Diane DnaDream Doremi Dorianne J. A. Buxton Dr M C Gupta drifter Elijah Jones embe emerin-liseli Equilibrium eyestar Freeborn Machine Forge Angus...9,000 Reviews amy-Very Very Busy Forgotten Places fyndoria grandmapenny Hauntingly65 Ida_Matilda_Wright Help iluvhorses gmacintyr ghostranc Gossamer Dreams GrimReaper-WDC Angel Army Intuey*He'sGone* Jacqueline jaya Jeff is Masquerading Just an Ordinary Jyo! Kat Kate ~ Writing and Reading katwoman45 Kenzie kingarpo Ladyoz Jeanie~Life in a bottle Lahtnamas Wise Lexi Lifeaholic LinnAnn-Nano 7 Lorien Lou-Thankful for new words! Magoo Mara ♣ McBain Maria Mize Mark C ~ 9 years on WDC! Medie Birthday Girl Michaelmountain:spring hope Monty Mrs. Whatsit Mumsypie MuseinMeltdown My favorite place to be! Nanapockets Nomadic_Soul Northernwrites NOVAcatmando Octobersun pentatonic Princess Megan Rose Prosperous Snow (Neva) pumpkin quihad Rachwrites82 rachie Rapunzel Rebecca Laffar-Smith Restless Soul Richard Briley Jr Richard Vance ridinghhood--p. boutilier Robert Waltz Roni's says Happy 2017! Rose welcomes her son to WDC Ruth Satuawany Seabreeze Sanita Serenity Seisa-sleepingcatbooks.com ShelleyA~8 years at WDC ShellySunshine Socorro Sophy Startiara Stephanie Grace StephB - Happy 17 WDC! Steve taking some time off. Stormy Lady SueVN SummerLyn Guthrie Tammy~Catchin Up~ teatei David the dark one The Knight Has Found Romance The Tale of Coco Adore ♥ TheInstinctWithIn Tigger thinks of Prancer Tim Chiu Tsa~House Greyjoy tsurtidogni typingrhyme very thankful VictoriaMcCullough Vivian Wenderoo! James Brendan: Writer ... willy WitChi Woman writerchuck Yellow Rose Zeke ~ Pat ~ ~*~Damiana Returned~*~ ~A.J. Lyle~ ~Lisa Noe~kittylove~
The StoryMistress The StoryMaster


I write poems on my cellphone now. I could have never imagined that.

To celebrate 11 years, I will add to this blog post throughout the day with all of my favorite moments here at Writing.com these last 1.1 decades...

The first poem I offered this writing community:

Memory Fades  (E)
Memory fades from the words we don't follow.
#1139344 by 🕊 brian kc

Written about a girl in college who didn't think we were compatible until it was too late for us...our lives were moving in different directions.


Someone noticed me as more than a newbie within a month of joining. A WOW award by a member who shared my Michigan roots....and a poem that seems to have become my most successful among readers and reviewers...

Before I'm Rejected By You  (E)
The artist fears to commit to his subject.
#1152712 by 🕊 brian kc


Going on a high speed chase, backward through time, looking for myself. The detectives eat donuts, the coroner readies sharp instruments, the newsroom plays games with crumpled copy, while I haven't arrived yet....

The latest Apple iPhone poem...

Love and Words

Poetry isn't my first language
It was a beating rhythm
In my mother's belly
My fraternal twin
Until I set pencil to spiral notebook
It revealed itself
Having hidden in my flesh
Imprinted on shared DNA
Celtic roots
Like risen cream
Giving birth over and over
To her traditional flavor
Tamed by a foolish boy
With ideas of his own
Only to return
For the womb
To heal his eyes, ears, mouth
Show all
What love and words
Truly are made of.


And now, I tweet about my experience as a writer via my Twitter account...


Lots more treats to come today...


In 2009, I was recognized with as North Star recipient from Circle of Sisters, thanks in part to Gabriella and Kimchi, but not without my early recognition as a Rising Star from MDuci . Where are you Marlena?

The recognized poem...

My Oxygen  (E)
Remembering the life and love she gave from one little molecule.
#1633450 by 🕊 brian kc


Perfection is lost once we try to conceive.

Everything beautiful we yearn has already been perfected...and lost.

Ambition is now the cruel mistress, leaving me with all these unfinished projects.

What keeps us going is this naive belief we can find truth...when actually we're deluding ourselves with our own fantasy. (A)ware of that, we still keep trying. There is joy in the chase, this process. Maybe it is not illusion but love of the game.


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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1300042