10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance like the others. You earn pretty medallions gallantly while other players buy, sell and trade at market to get ahead without moving an inch. Slow burn…hey? You’d rather keep your dignity, or try to figure out their game. That’s where you really get lost. Game full of misdirects leads right back to start over and over. You could have stayed on your quest. Now, you have this. Redacted, censored, gaslighted…must be doing something right, my old boss would say. I’m not a sociopath, he tells himself. Equal parts, then? Mom should have had me tested. Because, life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit ugly.Tap on them. It’s part of the quest…see where I’ve been; see who I am: Right. I redact myself. The beautiful mess you made. Who are you? If I’ve been denied the right of knowledge, I’ve earned the right to judge. | Without knowledge, who’s to judge? | No gavel; no voice. "...politely reedy but ambitiously eclectic—moving effortlessly from hen-picking and bottleneck slides to a full deck of chucka-chucka rhythm figures." I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. *Neurodivergent poet. *Don’t judge/hate. I love. *Honesty without mincing words. *Dump your prejudice outside my door. Hope you leave it on the way out. *Nothing to fear but people who surround themselves with rules, can’t be touched. *Real dialogue accepted. My words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The true experience/acknowledgment of my writing yet to come...long after I’ve left WDC, am dead, or both. Truly been a blessing, but I've been pushing it — envelope, push world and all inhabitants away, push buttons to find boundaries, having no clue or told where they lie, where I've lived in your dark. Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me the way I need to be viewed. (if I knew what that was. Cryptic, I know. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid the strange, virtual walls that tempt me to try). *The parenthetical lawyer up? Foot free, I’m all over the place. Best Poetry Collection 2X, nominated three years. What does it mean? I was enjoying myself, head bagged. A happy idiot. Something messed with that. I won’t be a coward; not starting feuds or wars over ideals and beliefs. We all know that’s a pile of crap packaged with dreams of pretty things to sell the next boob that walks by. Been more than I could imagine or expect. My achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall. But, I get it. You're sick of me. It's how I feel about myself when I dig deeper, push boundaries. Don’t care my words that aim for honesty, either brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit a target. Get a back off shoulder shot for asking your motivations to write…won’t get me to bend over backwards to appease, again. There’s no prize to eye, not properly incentivized. So, does it mean when dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do the best with what you got? Yeah, rigged. Yeah, other tables — other ‘games’. But, something in my gut I’ll never be rid. My Pluggers: You are an icon here. You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.{/blue} It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋" 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. August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼ 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 ▼ |
They floated me out on dinghy upon a tumultuous tide rode soft, swift, deft atop highest wave to the swell sucking sweetly down I wanted to fly looking on blue sky Why a watery surface with its unknown depth? They sang to me from shore too gently Bird and bee dimensionally sung It hurt. Skirts flirt motion from an ocean for a willing, wanton clown Will it come back around? I needed oars to row envisioning sought, brilliant horizon Why does it escape day to day unable to paddle back time? No chorus, nor melody now for an ostentatious fool in his common vessel. 12.2.22 It needs work, but I’ll brave eyes upon it. |
Reflecting Mortality a thin vision near Drawn down while you’re stuck chasm I can’t cross no magic in imagination to build a bridge see you gaze at my emerald as I peer down on your ruby you fierce clutch your animal I built these ethereal castles that topple from stones I see you place your beast aside by the river gleaming flowing smoothing a bed where you could punch through a surface to clutch its offering when my clouds appear a portal takes me back away before you can take me down into that unknown 11.25.22 |
Each time I open the pantry door now to deposit them in the brown paper bag held inside the receptacle, I scoff “say hello to the Pacific Ocean for me.” There’s major breakthroughs in the field of bullshit while we believe we save a periled planet one recycled Pepsi 20-ounce bottle at a time. Cut apart those six plastic rings…for Flipper. Bottle-nosed. 11.21.22 |
Little Gourd I witnessed the plumpest gourd blossom on its vine -- yellow, flower-topped, sere soul embedded beneath backyard pine. It didn’t need much sunshine. Withered, bloom tapered brown, it dropped after sundown, when ripening stopped. Not cold, inert, slow shriveling during our dry days. Dark veggie inspired so much hope in those rays. Lone, bright bell, detached, hard-melded a be-pricked surface. Silent glossed by eventual frost, my heart sank somewhere around midnight. It wasn't better in sunlight. Fewer gourds appear each year, for an ignorant farmer who still cannot conceive how he erred. How much more could I have cared? Not much I can do. Till, fertilize, close the bed until spring. Plant again. How long am I to toil before hope runs out for a little gourd to feed from that stem? 11.24.22 Reap what you sow My toil with words bears hopeful fruit appreciating with time. It's really about raising my kids.
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buds of chrysanthemum the mums went silent in their pots on the porch step since frost since snow fell over night white woven with green, chin hairs pierce a soft blanket yielding, receding past a naked maple clinging to precarious, withered offspring, iced yellow-peaked porch blooms poke, penetrate our early shadows they’ll not die easy brave buds of chrysanthemum, bright, beautiful, crisp as new winter weather greet me 11.18.22 just looking out my window at something that I could take care of |
A GROUNDBREAKING ADVANCEMENT IN THE FIELD OF OBSOLESCENCE Me Every damn day Then, mothballs Unzip Return heroically, again Get stapled to wall Work all day to free myself relentlessly Fly into the ceiling fan fall pick myself up Say, 'Aha! You didn't foil me that time.' Look at watch and yawn Back to the mothball haven 10 hours later pour two black cups sweeten, add cream chug chug chug off i go on adventure splat! This’ll take a little longer So on and so forth It goes like that i marvel at life what it throws at me Doesn't know i return every damn day pelted by rain stung by sleet fluffed by flakes frozen in gales zip up tighter trudge move my iron shovel move a mountain move a heavy frame enter the inner portal warm, again sing in steam shower dry binge forgotten television stop wondering about existentialism for a few hours Fatalistic? Bed try to sleep write write write stuff like this until my eyes... should i? no sleep wake Some days, remind we forget the mothballs still bound about a planet aim for sky trip, fall pick ourselves up don't care if anyone sees but try something less dangerous crossword spend day in bed back in head write again dream write more fantasize write into a corner something too long for any printed publication outmoded in 15 minutes time delusion? no, pretty sure it's not Incredible i can do all this and have time for more in(s)anity Don't see very well — judgment shaming shunning or is it paranoia? nope just indifference maybe, gaslighting i can accept i'm average keep leaping over higher and higher mounts pull tall ships from harbor to sea chug chug chug-a-lug-gug-gug write write write mothballs zip sleep...perchance... coda ~ you think you can manipulate and control me, life? watch what i do duck and slide move to side Throw your worst at me don't care if I live or die i'm as valueless at birth as i will be below the womb in dirt Be careful of my loved ones they profit from my demise more space in the mothball tent less of my words to eat. 11.4.22 Hello, non-existant publisher? Oh, yeah. It's just a lighted wall with very low wattage. Plug me in?? I only mean this in the most expressive of senses. I don't live with disregard but respect. In defense of the death benefit portion of policy. |
I don’t know if this speaks what I mean… This is what it’s like to be at the bottom of a jar. You can manage to climb topside but you’ll never get the lid off. Potential as a positive possession that cannot escape from its realm, or actually exceed. Did I climb in? Yes. Did I know what I was getting into? No. It looked cozy inside the glass house. Growing paranoia? No. Because it makes you too numb to do anything about it, or care. I fear I’ll strike a sharp instrument one day that will free me from this gas. Then what will you do? Try not to cut myself on the shards. I likely won’t escape, but wait for another jar? Why? What else is there? My mind is too drained to conceive. The gas inside my glass is thick. In evaporation, I get glimpses. It’s too strange to think what might have been. Shelved. …but I’m trapped. 10.30.22 Thanks to all the people who’ve said ‘wait right there’ and never returned. I either don’t approach anymore, or walk away once I lose sight of them. |
She wiped a silver spatula clean of buttercream on black napkins after each incision of a red wedding cake three tiers, four corners — what were my chances of getting a corner piece? i trod, clomped, lumbered a lazy line in slow tow She cut each precisely, plated the pampered squares One corner left One small boy before me He got the desired lot without a smile for her delivery I grabbed four used napkins savored cravenly on exit her puzzled expression. 10.30.22 |
Unmasked Crusader Whose Name I Forget Did somebody kill your parents, too? Maybe, you want to get that knee off my neck, Batman? Who’s the black one here? Since I’ve known you, your molars grind like a knife carving rock. Some mistake your need for justice with desire for rightful vengeance. Do you know with who you’re fighting? Green graspers see your carnal desire. Profile, fund malice, step away but don't watch. Here on the cement lasting nine minutes. A weaponized human of hate against society, veils as your killer... clueless, unable to think for self, for community. Incentivized, implied infer what to do, ego emboldened. Hatred, the gleaming fire, brands. They glad pat your back in shadow, toss another biscuit, ring a Pavlovian bell. Puts me on flat, hot cement. Can’t compose thoughts to reason with you... until they speak for me too late. Not a room full of writers flashing scripts, or most uncommon composure to express. A watch smashed into irreversible time. You have your whole life. I couldn’t count to ten. Everything is hindsight, reaction in retrospect. Proactive? We don’t get do overs, only fantasize what is right and what is wrong. I watch this heavy scale now compress a planet. We embellish, don’t we dark crusader? Another crusade gets rerouted from a parade path to monuments of justice. Buried black box, you in cinder cubicle, soon rubble, forgotten. And, now what do you fight? A system that builds monsters, molded from bullies sent to their gray rooms with no dessert for an oops, my bad? 10.28.22 11.1.22 Just re-edited and added to this. It got away from me and became a George Floyd thing. I can relate to injustice and people in shadows pulling strings to get others to act on their behalf for what they call the greater good...all systemic. For not being a pawn, I have to get out of the way now and watch it go down with all the people I love, or could love, if we'd be allowed to unite in peaceful harmony. As best I can put it, for now. Can I just say you can get profiled for something other than skin color, sexuality but other unwanted preferences interfering with their society? In fact, be the least patronized now, stock plummeting. Not that I care. It's affecting my offspring. No?? |
When You Woke What’s the point of listening to the whole album? But we’ve done it -- body gravity-laid, stereo on dresser, juddered 50-lb speakers undulating, or ears sponge-cupped to coiled cord strung tight across a cabled room. Three tiny bones accept waves entering a narrow passageway, swim a vibrating canal to drum, undeniable musical messages. From one side, flipped and then the other. Repeated. Why take time to consider every lyric, every melting melody on our backs, in recompose? Empty minds immersed an hour of scarred vinyl, diamond pointer plying wave-grooves gliding a lumpy platter perfect-playing anthems. Delicious sounds paired with new ideas, arriving thoughts. We compose, carry forward processed lives pre-recorded, in old denim profess — called boomers. Sounding clear as minted silver in lead, quarter clangs, circles a cylindrical container, bounced by youth with no skill for a beer-bath receptacle? Take a drink runt. Your memes and 15-second mind candy will rot your head, kid. You’re the record they mint now. You’ve been flipped. I’ll be on the dark side of the moon when you woke. 37 lines of free verse 10.28.22 10.29.22 edit, public 11.8.22 edit for proper context and metaphor(s) on message ▼ |
Binge After The Holographic Time Warp We’ve been racing our vehicles hard back-and-forth through time flowing through intersections missing off-ramps speeding past posted police. We worry about being pulled over. But, the sun starts to rise and a road ahead gleams brilliant. We go faster the better. And, on these journeys employ navigational gear rewritten map heads. Familiar road signs seen stops along the way nostalgic places consume, refuel. Places we dream never match expectation. Sweet memory she couldn’t leave a sawmill town now shut down. No logs jam a river. Brakes unemployed roll past a ghost town not torn down but heart drawn shapes by exes and ohs eat through thinning paper. Can I still come to your house? echoes over wire black strung overhead. Loop through past farm fields if not inserted strip malls, gas stations or pearly banks. So many degrading institutions. Your heap groans into bends of roundabouts merging with semis taking two lanes. If you double back through that slip-second portal wormhole to present pull into that holographic hole throw off coat skin wash hands ignore potatoes growing tubers in a pantry void (experimental, hypothetical not dead yet, but not alive) that could peel you order out tonight again binge. Pictures so clear cannot be traded for fuzzy, particled reception on the dumpster-tossed once road-ready 7” television glowing connected to a 9-volt lighter outside a cab underneath that canopy of starlit leaves with dissatisfaction. Hi-Def lies the truth about our memories. 10.28.22 I don’t care if it strays from metaphors or fails to illume imagination from inside a bubble-wrapped head. |
Woozy with drug, floating in a rusted out tub I don’t seem to drown The water goes down a ring around my neck marks time wasted in my fiberglass palace much water displaced Over time, skin dries just like gill-slit eyes marking murky time in these temporary baths Pass me another glass More burgundy to pass 10.28.22 It sounds like you don’t enjoy life, Brian. It is what it is, for the present time. High tide nears…I’ll ride those waves until done. Whee |
Where do I put my foot in the stream and rant at five a.m. and not be late for work when I just want to nail it like Paul Rudd did in a movie from 10 years go with a clip that now goes viral about cup sizes, languages and to have that beverage spill all over yourself because I don't have a team of writers to craft my dialogue, yell, line! because it can't be rehearsed how can it be rehearsed? but life wants you to get it in one take otherwise, you dipped your toe in the waters at the wrong point too late Where do I leave off here...? 10.24.22 21 lines typed off the top off my head in two minutes before i have to runnnnnn..... |
Epic Poem Weekend Never have I loved or hated to hear my name whether angry BRIAN! punches holes in a quiet landscape chews scenery or edging toward pleading in lilting syllables Bri-ann? hovers over a compelled head finger waggled in extended syllables gentle, identified my need for compliance Briiii-aaaann louder calling the lost boy off in his woods BRIII-AAANN! sometimes melodious but, when hide and seek tiresome shorter, more commanding off this chain in my trees sound of my name lifted, emboldening Brian! it seeks a clearing but can’t top those giants Brian!! relocated by angles from cupped mouth toward other horizons it lost direction over time left me behind in deeper brush, fading, b r i a… anyway spoken Brian pings and echoes ricochets off stone walls flat spun over open water dull, it dove down But, I always came home even if late, dark love cooing, culled a coy boy to near BrIaNNnn. I’d done something good? felt it in a sweet tooth then her, the one who located a lonesome lad name lingered on wetted lips whispered in dark strung wire lustful cat eyes spied warmth of a tender mate purred breathy Brrhien she crept up from behind tender hand, and arm slid up back and over shoulder nuzzled an eager ear raspy heat again, more loving BhrrIann until winter-beaded water on frozen pane lingered on tongue of a child haunted craving my name with her hunger — an ordinary name given to an average boy dreaming impossible fantasy before reality questioned if I’m near… Brian? You’re next a life arrived in his latex hands warmest arrival awake inside her dream of a boy before it broke one lifetime to live reverberations to love or hate salutation and return one day unwanted to ground — not a womb — with name in stone silenced, spelled correct slid beneath silvery surface echo forever in your muffled scene — Brian in black void five letters, three consonants, two vowels permanently savored from lips to ears Brian? yeah, that’s my name you wore it out. 10.22.22 Part of the two syllable set. Sorry to the James and Johns of the world. My mom called me Brian, chastised anyone who’d shorten it, nickname me otherwise. No moniker ever stuck. Add: Lots of other ways to describe the various ways Brian can be emphasized by tone, inflection, clarity, or vocal range… |
When an object is in orbit actually falling the entire time it moves to the side fast enough to always miss the surface of its master how do you sleep how do you autopilot this world, this realm without sustaining a few scrapes, dings? how do you stay afloat how do you stay fleet when this world crushes as it rolls? stay in motion, never quit only do, just do When an object finds itself floating free in your space sending transmissions to the surface are they received? conceived? who am i talking to but me? could i survive an ellipsoid? stretching myself eternally around you? I travel thrice the speed of man made obstacles thwarting my every entry into your atmosphere do I redirect, risk miscalculation? Float free, young Jedi, do I'll be young eternally as long as this space has bandwidth as long as Elon Musk provides free service? 10.16.22 lines and lines of free (this) verse Imagine the italicized as clouds (or fog, located down here) sorry Ukraine, we needed someone/thing to root for as we dull, dim, go out before the rush into total darkness too deep, Brian. too, too deep rejoin us. Besides, not the point. Rejoining now.. https://www.popsci.com/star-wars-physics-cloud-city/ this could have been about a stone skipping across water, if we could slow its 3 second life to 85 years? |
I don’t know life what typifies sheltered me but as … silent majority white male What burrs from my pale, ash lips must be white noise In the mad crush of a sound tunnel that’s trapped me within below mud ancient as layers that swallow whole monuments collapse pyramids Maybe, one tedious earth duster will dig me up some day put me in a museum From dingy little backwoods where beetles lay waste to pine whisk me off to Paris, Rome and other high-brow, wine regions (if grapes haven’t extinguished) Run your gold fingers through my dust Cart my bones city to city in velvet lined glass case But I care first for the scrolls not in future centuries or my hollow expression unchanged But be conferred now before rodentia and maggots come beneath box elder at the bank with a rusted-through gun. 10.15.22 39 lines, free (as a dove) verse My thanks to J. Cash grunge and alt rock covers for keeping it reel bullied into silence as a youth shamed if I don’t button it because I step in it like chewing gum Who put it there? |
we're updating. things will only get better. sometimes, i'm not so sure anymore...sorry... Loading slower now like watching the wind looking for signs Images, time images fall flat under dim screen pixels like snow land looking for them now It glows, as time goes heart manages on its own lungs independent the same looking out this world for the coldest rain Loading, waiting looking for signs Memories, time images disintegrate in a dull mind pixels won't load landing now Yet, it glows as time winds down I keep living despite the last of the brightest smile goodbye for now, sun 10.15.22 'last' was supposed to be 'loss' my subconscious took over somehow and shifted focused to the sun from her Internalized thoughts continued ▼ The Cars reflect in two songs to open their album: I've listened to the same song for too long = without a dust jacket, warped vinyl wears thin okay, longer definition than necessary I can come at this theme all kinds of ways. |
fiery heart shaped portal persistently traversed when she lays her hands on the keys vocal chords waxed wet pain-pinged perplexed why her/my other no longer... no longer that's as far as we get imagine a wormhole back but fire persists and the other.. the other? that's as far as we get at least we have each other or, i have caged pain-pinged chords bleeding inside my head persistently traversing her universe until we've met... who knows what could have be(en)? either way or one way it's gonna be (grammatically) incorrect 10.11.22 legs draped on the edge of our universe i hum along wanting to belong 10.11.22 when will it end? somebody once said: love is not possession but i don't want to tell you who Thanks F.R. the more your stock plummets the older i get when my stock could rise (just image all kinds of arrows pointing to the text) i was ready to be done there... and there... and that year... and there... and then you and now and i'm here...i'm here? until it's later |
head in box wants to see outside corrugated fiber expanding 3 kilometers per second per megaparsec eventual acceptance to have been passively living inside a coffin for life Nope can't turn that into a limerick while waiting on scientists to combine two theories: ER = EPR break open 2 holographic black holes minus supersonic jets colliding wormhole fantastically a known universe in an instant and arrive at another time in another dimension to ask: that was it? and what is this? I'm going back to my cardboard life have they tried AABBA? 10.11.22 24 lines, free verse can you tell i'm bored? https://www.sciencealert.com/this-new-equation-might-finally-unite-the-two-bigge... First verse is about rate universe is expanding ER=EPR is explained in link above. Poem summarizes two co-authored Einstein papers, that combined suggest possibility of inter-dimensional travel. This is a poem why? We solve for the life we have, not the hypothetical. Scientists should try limericks. I've weaponized repulsor technology into my own form of poetry Consider these little interruptions as repulsorlifts integrated into a cloudy, neural city (idea for nerdy poem?) |