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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/month/4-1-2021
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:

SuperNova Afterglow: Shining Brighter  (13+)
I shine now, though the laws of physics cannot explain reversal for a former dwarf star.
#1300042 by BrianKC

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

#amwriting #poetry #blog #freeverse #contest #free
April 30, 2021 at 9:00am
April 30, 2021 at 9:00am
You must
experience it yourself, decide
what to compare your pain to, and
how long to languish in
this empty sea
rolling you and

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

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


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
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.

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.

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.

Written to song, "In Another Lifetime"
April 29, 2021 at 2:40pm
April 29, 2021 at 2:40pm
Drunk on sadness
savoring sweet
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
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

ed. 4.29.21
April 28, 2021 at 12:51am
April 28, 2021 at 12:51am
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.


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
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.

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

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
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.


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
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,
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.


April 19, 2021 at 8:16am
April 19, 2021 at 8:16am
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,
I missed my chance.


needs one more edit for ending
April 19, 2021 at 8:07am
April 19, 2021 at 8:07am
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.


About the moon.
April 18, 2021 at 8:59pm
April 18, 2021 at 8:59pm
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.

April 14, 2021 at 2:46am
April 14, 2021 at 2:46am
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
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

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
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

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)

April 7, 2021 at 3:51pm
April 7, 2021 at 3:51pm
gleaming in the barely dim,
a thaw, streaming images alight
a weary soul
Hands drop from the plough share
A puzzled wonderment
What am I doing here?

Furrow lines in sand present
On the dark brow
Iā€™m as dry as the land

You donā€™t reap...

April 6, 2021 at 2:50am
April 6, 2021 at 2:50am
Free associating feelings again, after a cluster of words pinged off the towers in my head...

Echoes And The Dimension Between

Echoes are hollow if you notice,
listen close.
Like a shallow puddle you could avoid,
soak a shoe.
The distance to these empty places
the time it takes to return to present,

The car ride at night to these destinations,
can't recall.
No scenery to absorb over an absent infinity
in your heart.

The echoes -- louder...
Puddles -- muddier...

Why did I venture out, except --
I'm alone?

You aren't here to fill that void
in the galaxy and dimension

4.30 new edit
April 6, 2021 at 2:22am
April 6, 2021 at 2:22am
Feel like the flywheel spinning
         wasted energy
my angular momentum
meant to capture this awkward
throbbing in my heart
         sometimes whirling
at dizzying speeds
                   and maybe

I'm just an instrument
for you to toy with

wicked gleams in fetching eyes
fool one as silly
who cannot lock onto
         intended targets
all loose from too much action --

just one aspect chained
to the axis
easy to gauge from your vantage
but not for me
to disengage

by the time I get my bearing
         Long you've been away.


Revised 4.6.21

I will give this more thought without directly implying a toy top...e.g.
April 6, 2021 at 2:06am
April 6, 2021 at 2:06am

Her songs got me through some difficult days, once upon a time.
April 6, 2021 at 12:25am
April 6, 2021 at 12:25am

Poem forthcoming, when I can free up brain cells to finish.

Poem now:

In the bourbon and water
Thought I'd add a cherry
To the bottom of the glass

Did I savor you?

It's been too long,
Too late
Ice long melted away
Chills a heart still,
foolish as mine:

Did you warm me?

I don't want to feel nothin'
Anchored to this empty bar
Eyes freely gazing in the glass

Did I see eyes stir?

With senses pinging for towers
I'd take knives deep in hollow skin
Valleys into concocted veins
for you again.

The longer I drink...
Here I am.


How To Sing With A Broken Heart
as yet (un)written

You sing a sad song with fondness in your eyes
Sparkling voice ever clearer
With green eyes that crystallize

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