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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
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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.   ![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 ▼ |
I’ll keep digging for obscure music… |
| To the poet within the reader: I can’t define the impulse until words attempted put to it. Sometimes, it’s the whole of my life — gut reactions, feelings emotional with color longing to be painted in words. And even when finished, feelings faded, words linger empty, aimless, as I stare at the dry wall of myself. A Painting Hangs Somewhere probably hangs an inviting painting of an unpurposed, rustic chair. In a sturdy Adirondack begging a friend, frequent a call from the secluded lawn along that saggy, gray fence. Irises purple decadence, mere glimpsed, truly missed, enmeshed by weeds and invading ground cover that crept, snake as replicate green in the bare, weaved. Escape could frame my sweaty ass to hard surface, leaned back as invitation to view bobbing, waving pine limbs. I could see myself there, not a care, clutching clear-beaded, brown glass; sample amber, light. A breeze might brush my chin, skin bared, tousle hydrangea heads slow-lifting from low after a night gushed, glistening a radiant, returning scene a sneaky sun could spy. I could pull off worn high tops that miss hardwood of yore, peel socks like foot-shaped stickers, toe the thick patch sheltered by crotchety crabs; white blossoms long since blended, bled for her. Yup, it’s out the window and I’m alone in here. I could be care free, if I had a moment to share... 7.17.22 |
| I hear from the porch, you in the parlor; intent, locks lean in, weight depresses dusted-off ivory. Only once had I heard the bench groan Its stubborn disdain. The hall released doves so sweet, hovered a human ear in humid seat, sucked denim unsealed to envision you there, lost in despair. Honey, you’re so far away, enmeshed behind a Pacific screen, hopeless. If I council, share that music bench, we could quench notes deep-stuck, catch in my throat — your vocal vibrations entreat. You to one half, hit the high notes, where I climb — our fingers at apex meet. With my tender sole, brush your lovely feet, sending brass levers to board complete. Amber tresses soft, replete, when I turn to the parlor deep, far as it will go, before eyes freeze, cover as flakes of coming snow. It’s whiter weather here my dear — time to go. Voice like lemonade, savory, soothing tea. I embrace your lyrics, longing like memory until dawn. Crystal blues ice a wide pond. Though a heart weeps, in my chest tender, firm those waves roll on, dreamt ever-tide on my shore, before humidity lifts to find you at my door, once again. From a porch sweet, so complete, when you drag those legs over bare wood — love all the more, steeped in your song. 7.13.22 7.24.22 revised To F.R.’s “Why Do I Do This?” maybe, 40 entries further down this blog. Half from the song, the rest echoes in my mind as words writ down. |
| Daily Listening Before eyes open, I close tighter, hold on harder. Just one glimpse at just the right moment sends me on my way. Have to be open to it, wherever, The day Mirrors reflect my eyes, redder or white, contrast blue, deepening hue. Sunlight bright could dive into you, on brown-gold grain. Glint crush sinks deep beneath our summer weight. Decisions were made, as perpetual mornings remind. When lids unseal, I have to be open to it, cast away fright of another night endured alone. Too much fabric gathers from fists clenched tight. Questions of 'where were you' echo from a fool. I’d be happy to see you remove those heels at the threshold. But I wasn’t open to it, before pavement echoed final regret. A fool clears orbs, shutters with too much might, windows clasp tight. This room dries remaining sight. I should've been open to it, let the shower cleanse a scent down drain to heaven or hell? I can be open to it, if given enough time, wash pain from memory sublime. For now, rock in this corner, stare at shadows slow motion. Thick drapes go to work until night arrives, anew, like hope. 7.12.22 10.5.22 edited, maybe too much. We'll see When I reread this now I’m reminded of how one word inspires another word as the poem builds, continuing downstream a page. I’m reminded that I have to keep my eyes on the intended destination, but be open to any insight revealing along the way, because they can inform even more than just the initial impulse to write a thing down. For all I know, some part of my subconscious tries to be heard in this poetic forum, yearning to be beautiful, worthy of love, validation. With fullest meaning properly projected, perhaps consumable, accessible to someone else who can relate, a connection forms that I cannot get in personally, but hopefully in a blog life. |
| In my mind I’m building scaffolding on top of scaffolding on top of scaffolding, rising higher. So high, I don’t dare look down. Where is all this material coming from? How far have I over-reached? What is the true purpose of scaffolding? I have to think. I find I can’t control impulse to build this rising staircase to nowhere, as if it had purpose, leads me to wonder what I can’t escape while purposed to this rickety outcrop, as if chair back top to chair back top perilously climbed, but calm, safe in my contrived, virtual haven. It will collapse. Yes, but before it goes down, someone please notice mastery so futile, possibly artless, so I can disassemble? Do I hear response? What? You’re faint, far away. I’ve reached summit, realize the sky is my closest friend - ground my enemy. Perhaps, this is the point of no return. 7.11.22 10.5.22 edit 28 lines, free verse These artificial constructs in my mind feel favorable over anything tangible in my life like a rejecting fire. Summit To Insanity? |
| The beautiful mind isn’t constant, it’s motor fires, sparked unpredictably. They predictably test good engines, pour sugar down unguarded tanks, that digested eventually works through. When the blue gases fade, timing tuned, wheels tight, we roll, shift smooth, whip lane to lane through a slow moving heard, sleek streak a countryside growing wide as suns burn down on horizon after horizon, as if world spun by our axis, axle a tight treadmill. We burn our fuel. We park wherever we depend. You pick us up, take us home, tuck us in bed with our dreams floating above your head like little clouds, vapors so thin you don’t see, but inhale — glow from bright faces sensually inform cheeks, blush-red. Go ahead. I know you want to. Lay beside. We’ll dream the future, from past and present, together. One of us may weep tonight. 7.11.22 Idea behind metaphor may have gotten away from me a little…about relationship between neurotypicals and atypicals. |
| Unequipped to land, how will I soar, as you point to the sky? Dare I try? Fluffy clouds seem a welcoming landing spot. The higher I go, liberated I’ll be, separating from gravity? All alone, I’ll be. This makes me free? No coming home, if I can’t land. The sun stares down. Grounded. Maybe, another time. 7.7.22 |
| Snow packs tight beneath black tread of boots silent on solid ground, hiding mysteries lost since frost. Memory scrunched in passing nights, blanketed unending before spring erupts. Flat bodies rise, as small, green missile silos, spearing soft spaces receding. Greet my smile. Bright faith bathes a light jacket, reminds of eternal promise. Though, I still don’t know within renewal how to count off these thin seasons. Perhaps, I’ll watch from bay window tides of time flow before eyes blind, no longer yearn to see what I’m missing. 7.6.22 Turned this on late storms, plants battle back…but as humans we spoil away as we age, lacking purpose, renewal. https://earthsky.org/earth/how-plants-manage-season-shift-from-winter-to-spring/... Who knows how PJ Harvey fits in the mix… All will be reevaluated |
| When I was running through my neighborhood, PJs on, towel wrapped around neck, who did I think there was to save? No one. Just nine, a visionary empowered by Saturday morning cartoons, breakfast cereal and a dream to be a hero. I could. No one to look up to. Father paled, 2nd best — didn’t pat my head as he passed. Not typical sitcom dad, resented the notion, be sentimental, measure up to fiction consumed by a boy shining in cotton sleepwear.. Cap guns blazed, donning a plastic lid, loose tethered. Just a lonesome western icon, ma’am. Black masked, a shadow for sidekick. No one but a boy as his own hero, dined in her kitchen nook. With straw drawn, inhaled milk mixed with brown powder. Cheese slathered noodles sopped paper plates, downed with chunks of dogs. And, all the cookies I could eat like dreams. Sun set on those Saturdays, washed with hair wet (in flannel, again) on a clean, cement stoop. Crickets filled silence for me and no one. 7.1.22 Edited, another look later? 2-Time WDC Quill Winner: Best Poetry Collection, 2020 and 2021.    |
F.R., my twinnie, once said: “…being about this feeling when someone sees a side to you that you’re trying to hide. The parts of ourselves we don’t show…because we think they won’t accept us or love us for our darker side. And just the idea of when someone does see that side…that we try and hide, and does accept and loves us for them – it’s the most liberating feeling in the world. So I wanted to…capture that. That fear and excitement around that moment of thinking, ‘Maybe I can be like that, maybe someone can love me for it.’” As writer, me, I often feel who I am gets astray from who I really am in environments where I dwell and people get glimpses around this Loch Ness. Only when I write can I feel I will come into clearer view for those who’ll read and consider. Maybe, there’s more to me. There’s the risk I’ll fail at conveying, or being further misunderstood, but definitely pinned down as what I am, and still not worthy. I’ve learned to accept I don’t appeal to all, while I go on, trying. *picks up guitar* so, I wrote a little song…? It’s called, Read My Blog?? July 1 entry 7.5.22 added statement(s) |
| Pale mother always echoed the adage about not having anything good to say, say nothing at all. Slow to comprehend, it gnawed before my soft teeth chewed that. Tasted like apathy, indifference, mixed as knowing wisdom. Moreover, my red father defied, steaming in cliche quip about squeaking as a wheel, needing lubricant oil. Mom, how will they know dissatisfaction, bound to repeat error uncorrected? Dad, you always roared like a toothsome beast. Yell too much, not their concern when hard to please. Ask mother. In fact, both of you should have consulted the other, without citing tired, brain numbing, boiled down thought that is supposed to leave no room for argument, discourse. Furthermore, you should meet my kids, boasting bright memes and viral videos that capture their ever simplifying heads. Every word from my mouth redacted, as if I’ve bumbled like tumbleweed through a town called life, their residence. No barn wall rules to re-order, since we all cool, or rage, then chill. Clocking out, lock in with Monster, buzz the skill of video games or grease-thumb that necessary cell on our ‘family plan.’ Like lawyers on my retainer, represent themselves. Don’t test this PC world, been played. Is that gas I smell being lit? I step away, glare in wonder how we knew 1984 was prophesied. Now, head-bagged, babbling latest trends, where/what to eat, Google cheap fuel prices. Pondering savings — just for me, devalued by inflation, how to s t r e t c h dollars? Waste like you? Disordered, lawn to mow, trash to curb, cat puked again, not my dishes pile in sink. What street furthest from all can absorb oil-painted, Edvard Munch trapped screams, unable to utter in a worldwide bird box? Squeak like a mouse, or be mum, mom, dad. Hmm, maybe nothing changed. Nope, I’m definitely getting a whole, other vibe. I felt a large scream pass through nature 6.30.22 Disclaimer: I have not seen Bullock’s movie…think I get the gist. The rest of my rambling is experience, getting to know myself, past to present with behavioral therapy and money management. Goodbye little cottage on a lake. Poof! Grand Finale, we’ll say for: "The Bard's Hall Contest"  ![Merit Badge in Bard's Hall Blogging Merit Badge
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| building… I feel this torture, attuned. Taut echoes, pluck strings and vibrations play, send waves my way. Tortured, captured, recorded and minted, visceral-strong. Why must I feel this way? Her tousled hair-flames depress, stain on a keyboard with such pain — muffle an underground train tunneling through a soul rumbling, holds a heart ceding to every refrain. Attuned, I feel your torture, Miss Pouty Lips. Red like that never should be denied a passionate kiss. I yield to you, know, just know... taut echoes, torture rattled, gut chains. To every lyric lilt, waver and pause, my heart yields to the tender heart, like mine! Attuned to a last refrain, your vibratos send waves my way, capture soul's release I’ll not deny. Bound by this, remiss red lips unsavored. 6.28.22 10.5.22 edit 4.9.23 FR, FR, F.R. |
Freeing to think, I don’t have to write if I don’t want to write…but the resulting emptiness, that void, makes me sad. Title options: Poet Wanted To Be Novelist Poet Wanted: To Be Novelist Poet Wanted To Be Novelist I went with the comma, (title above) ultimately. Life hesitatingly reminds, I’m not in the moment until that little light turns on in my head…not over my head, unless…can you see it? If no one hears, reads … then, no one sees. Something in the dark is illuminated, because I keep passing a reflection in a hallway of mirrors, realize light inside of me gives a glimpse of a man I seldom inspect — serendipitously gives a chance to gaze with limited vision and wonder: what ever happened to the novel concept…idea to write a book, full-length literature? I’ve been prompted daily (haunted) by posts reminding of lost self-examination of the novel self. It prompts blogged thoughts, responses to posted quips, words forming more poetry, and questions googled that find other writers who’ve stared at themselves in that dark, shedding light on a wall I chose place between me and ultimate commitment with unknown reward: https://lithub.com/the-first-rule-of-novel-writing-is-dont-write-a-novel/ Sweet little hand outs (merit, awards, published poems) sufficed an ego for years, but did not inspire promising output. I’m lying in bed after eight hours of more fitful sleep to write this. Post pandemic, a great apathy clouds a leveled ego not seeking to rise, hiding in a moist mist of misery, regret and doubt…near a tomb marking a future with craft I have no discipline for, not even enough remaining obsessive compulsiveness to get past the conceptual. I’m not calling it over yet. Each person has their own journey. All the quotes and self-help books and articles just flick like lit cigarettes at my head. Poetry lit the lamp this far (borne out of desire to write song lyrics in teenage purgatory)…a savage monster that grew, tamed and educated by society, feeding itself on morsels of collected impulses and words when feeling snack-ish. To be a novelist: I don’t see viable paths forward, other than to to keep jotting my antithetical notes to the world, undiscovered, poking me and saying, Hey, hey…about that novel… So, I suppose this is a wet, underground cave where my monster and I subside. I’ve adapted. How long before my monster eats me? 6.26.22 "The Bard's Hall Contest" F.R.? Freya? When’s the next album coming out? |
| Got a hook, no musical talent, wear the hell outta it with that invention…I noticed (somewhere between the Waitresses and Debbie Harry with a nod to Toni Basil): No hate. Respect. *thumps chest appropriate number of times* *finger pistols* (non-aggressively) |
| Repurposed To Love you are so beautiful…shall I compare? I was your refuse, innocently picked up, never thrown away. Sorry I darken your doorstep to this day. Broken, maybe you thought you could fix me. I know what I am, fed your breath, recycled, used love seeking redemption, sought by many for reclamation. Trash isn’t perfect, once used. Sorry I darken the places you reside where I hide in delusion from life, the many people failed sending me tumbling down a road, snagged in Rose thorns, avoiding Ash of smoldering, unattended fire, colliding right into your Heather, feeding the blooming until I didn’t know how to feed you or me anymore, recede into soil as memories remind, haunt one fleeing label of unworthy. You did not do this, though I cringe at reminders I don’t live up to your purpose, despite instruction to correct, love dutifully, when unfulfilled myself inside. More than trash, dehumanized as waste or evil. Which is it, so I can decide how I’ll die trapped in your beautiful garden? 6.23.22 "The Bard's Hall Contest" It’s A Trap! I understand this is dark and heavy. Many can’t avoid feeling it, whether or not one’s own perspective is true, yet obviously flawed, but felt just the same. And why, why have to explain, defend, when the missiles of love take aim? Not going to excuse the metaphor. Who’s in my head? Surely, I realize some will object, the narcissists? The true guilty ones? Saints don’t defend themselves, but apologize, pray with concern. Throw a stone and see if you hit one. You won’t know, because they absorb our pain. The mirror reflects back on me. Okay, who’s the most saintly then, obvious it’s not me? This is my confessional. Where have all the priests gone? Cue Paula Cole. World in decay, grabbing my leg from that quagmire. I won’t go without a fight. If I accept all the above as truth, can I quit self-correcting, therapy? (Sorry, rhetorical) Point me to the road of redemption, away from purgatory, directly to sainthood? Didn’t think so. Kick the soap box out from under me…something implied here, can you infer? A bit of deviation from this postulation, though dystopia is here (wacko, uh-huh), similar to the prophecies of 1984, employed by people (self-appointed PC Police, the media/mediums, your boss & more…) who want to come correct for their overlords…telling us the correct way to behave, move away from prophecies upheld by tenets of philosophy, religion that simple minds won’t indulge unless boiled down to a meme or stupid cat video…anyyyyywayyyyy…. ANOTHER DISCUSSION FOR ANOTHER DAY, (brought to you today by Coke (intentional to sound like a cool drug? — 😉😒 SONG EXPLAINED: https://rsrihari.medium.com/feel-good-inc-explained-7b8d45366bcb |
Your mood music, viral, could infect a cavernous soul incepting, deceiving itself, believing you know the lonely exist. I feel your breathing, filling an empty one dreaming. Glowing is on the horizon, nearing a lone survivor. Wind whips sand into this artificial eye. How can I cry for a hologram interceding? Beached beneath neon palms, flashing, waving in dark, blasted heat-breezes gust a thin one down cement divides — luminous, painted, remind where to find a crosswalk. There’s nowhere to hide. Reflecting glass decides. Echoes. Dreams. Echoes. Screams. Soft… I’m not here. I was never here. I don’t exist. Words persist — words I resist. Why insist anything should be meaningful, at all? It’s what you want to say, I have inferred. 6.23.22 t.26.22 incepted |
| Thousand ton bombs are raining, reigning over me, and yet dim of wit still stand in a field where wildflowers may yet appear. Each launch above from life seems targeted, finds a fool in thick of little bluestorm. With hope, as if purpose, ride out rockets’ torpedo hail. I look at you, cranking your deployed sirens, in your bunkers, or caves, in armored vehicles. You don’t dispatch or deploy for this man, who is boy, sans uniform in a lone fight. I idle in a meadow beneath distant stars, the largest nears, and yet fearless. Why? Why have I survived so long walking amid land mines with snipers aiming from bush? I walk directly through it all, unwittingly grow taller, stronger, but just a boy you know. You know? Daisies at foot, small wildlife nears. Trees suddenly take root, sky and shadow. The blackest nights arrive, when a moon soars, fully glows. I’m bathed, by pale iridescence and hum. Cooled in a long night, bedded, life furthers this soloist than galaxies above. Tomorrow’s warheads prime in silos. I sing, longing another day wading my tall grass. 6.22.22 I don’t know if it means anything, but meant something when I started. Essentially, emotion is drama that feels like it could kill us, but the experience makes us stronger…probably not wiser, in my case. It just hit me: in other words — happy idiot |
| The Illusionist so much is beautiful. big shock, not me, not like I believed. I’m not whole, still healing and I won’t see you, even if you decide to pry. why try. not worthy, though I know I present myself in a certain way. sorry for my delusion, assumed an illusion, lifted so long it fell on me because I’m not strong, not whole is it wrong I believe I feel a certain way, yet lay here, motionless, quiet wishing you would lift, make me whole? I swear I’m not fake. don’t know what this is? why do I want to impress? compared to you, why do I lack so much self-love? 6.21.22 Yeah, I’m flawed You look at me, As if I could do something About it. 6.21.22 All for Freya R until I can get her out of this head |
| Another Day Drowning The rain came again and it looks I’m up to my neck. Limbs heavy, wish to float. Rising to surface, after submerged, I gasp for breath. I wipe water like buckets of tears, so I see you again, envision memory of what we had. The sun lowers, angles and shines a blinding sheen. I can’t wait for darkness to take me to the river bed. You swum so well for all the years our child minds dreamed a wide ocean. Passing ships of any size, variety, gleamed. Witnessed you ride waves effortless, while I bob and thrash, try not ingest in my lungs. Water isn’t clean, as when we were young. Clouds swell on the horizon. Say a prayer I’m here to greet another day, drowning. 6.20.22 Getting old is all. I know my time could be nearing, without having lived like I dared dream. |
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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)
![Merit Badge in Shadows & Light II
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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 ![Merit Badge in Humorous Poetry Contest
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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 
![Merit Badge in Contests
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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)
![Merit Badge in WDC Media Prompt
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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)
![Merit Badge in Good Things Take Time
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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)
![Merit Badge in Gay Lesbian
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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
![Merit Badge in Quill Award
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Congratulations on winning Best Medium-Length Poem, Free Verse in the 2021 edition of The Quills!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Award-1375927_6.gif)
![Merit Badge in Quill Sponsor
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Thank you for your generous donation to [Link To Item #quillhome] ! *^*Quill*^* Every donation is used to celebrate WdC while recognizing quality work and acknowledging community involvement. Kindest Regards, Lilli](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Sponsor-1375927_6.gif)
![Merit Badge in Quotation Inspiration
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Congratulations on winning 1st Place in the September 2022 round of [Link To Item #quotation] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/WDC-Quotation_Inspiration.gif)
![Merit Badge in Artistic
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Congratulations on winning day 6 of The Daily Poem Sept 2022!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Artistic-125.gif)
![Merit Badge in Problem Solving
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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)
![Merit Badge in Inspiring Love For Poetry
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Congratulations on being our Honorable Mention in March of 2022 at [Link To Item #2216416] !
Blessings, Sharmelle](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Inspiring_Love_For_Poetry-2259846_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Action Adventure
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CONGRATULATIONS for [Link To Item #2229211] winning place as an Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #2254385] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Action_Adventure-100.gif)
![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)
