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 |    A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
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Reason I came here in 2006, before all butterfly fancy and aimless balloon chasings. Thanks. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ You get hungry as a seldom published author/poet/lyricist, so quit pedaling words and just enjoy the writing process. The bullshit ‘process’ of submitting is submission. I hear what you’re saying, and…SMH --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My  goes through — R S = 2 G M c 2  ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~   ————————- .How I see myself create…in the zone Curry Flurry: ▼ Writing ▼ The beautiful mess made: I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me Neurodivergent poet ▼ Best Poetry Collection ▼ Been more than I could imagine or expect here. Why Mail It In? In Latin ▼ Pluggers: You are an icon here.  You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.  And other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "The Absence of Wavelength"  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—too much work with ADHD, OCD, low vision in condensate in mental prison of failing memory. I’ve seen a lot of smoldering and snow. Cynicism bred, work hard at openness and consideration. ![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)  I'm Godzilla ▼ August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼  Now: I was such a whore.   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 #lyrics #music #video #YouTube #awardwinning 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 am the fourth wall you could stare into and not see a reflection. Forthcoming. |
The label ‘too serious’ puzzled me, engrossed in lonely illusion without fake cheery gift of smile. Unfair, because every heart song informed an isolated one with tangled, unattuned heart strings. Music made sense. Your declarations and perceptions lacked information I gathered, like armfuls of printed weather readings — a collapsing tunnel of statistics from a prognostic printer fed inputted information, considered from all perspectives, nearly negating the overwhelming tides splashing a stone gathering lichen — disease of a tender soul in want of any who’d admit, it’s okay to have intense passion — even if, for the deflectors and rejectors that held investigated pieces of me in self-important hands like indignity. I had to refuse each and every one who dared forecast the weather of me, without realizing their ignorant wisdom force these pressure fronts within, false navigation, resultant errors ingested and internalized for life. Sorry, if I let some serious leak out. These seasons, containerized, violent in a pressure cooker. My steel cage did it’s best not to tear new holes in scenery — music soothing the savage breast. And what right to spoil your party, as I can’t fake your needed smile, fear lyric I laugh — not the right way for those blithe diets of spirits who’ll rebuff the slight, sour look. I’ve considered you and your nature. I’m heading out in my dinghy to swallow tempests and typhoons. I’ll be back to writing, after lunch. 10.29.24 It’s nothing new; not like I haven’t heart it since ‘different’ applied. No one feels obliged to truly consider me? I’ve worn out the world’s shoe stores with clod feet Learned to be a beautiful dancer, singer, athlete, lover, poet, but… I live in the collapsed portions of narcissistic ideate-machinations and thumb-nosed manipulation with ‘put a sock into it’. I’d like to see you and your army with those shoe sleeves. You know serious. Meet tenacious…he won’t sleep until all the fatal mold scrubbed from the graffiti rocks hurled upon my soul harbor. I withhold a much more intense logic driven poem produced this evening. All thanks to these late life pro-biotics, learned what it takes to stay healthy, and work. Eat what I’ve been spoon fed, hear echoing off walls to the calm waters, where I watch horizon clouds form, aim. |
| I'll even sing you a poem, whichever of the many I wrote We could cool beneath the maple’s limbs, if you'll tell me why you chose him I'll sing you about my dream tonight about one whom I'd wish to right You can continue view love as granted, or still here near a magic root planted Summer can inspire passion's reflection, just as butterflies’ wayward deflection How pretty we sit here, thirsting trust of what could bloom above, offered to us I'll play best with harmonic strings truth, whichever verse chosen that compels you We could each sing a chorus meek, long after yon sun dips and light streaks from dusk twilight to night in variations You could hold in these words’ vibrations, echoing my love so true 'til morning dew, thank that you at least stayed the night, imbued Autumn arrival will come soon enough, fade where lyrics can still foster two in leaf parade Inevitable frost will overwhelm your land, my words keeping you warm as long as can, and I'll sing you this poem, too I'll take any requests, if you only knew... Could you have loved me as much, how to know? My dreams true, longer than one season into snow I'll even write odes to you long after, might I whisper your beauty in this black sight One last tender touch on that fleet wing, remind these words nothing to what you bring I'll sing all nothingness to you, my vocation, if you’d desire, in this idle adoration. 9.15.20 34 lines Edited to rhyming couplet completion, 10.28-30.24 rhyme and tense and pronouns and direct actions tighter, more knowable. |
‘… There's an ordinary world Somehow I have to find And as I try to make my way To the ordinary world I will learn to survive.” Touchstones Marshmallows from the back of the pantry, once airily formed, hung over my head, inedible now. Yet, I can’t seem to throw them away. The hand-me-down dish cracked a little more after another wash, spin, and I again, in dark store it away. Touchstones, rare, claim my memory. The child I lifted and spun around the room, witnessed joyously in song, an image burned into unforgettable. Where is that innocent delight now? I melt those marshmallows, in fudge made, serve on that plate under trap of cellophane. A remarkable moment arrives: two gleaming-green eyes and a cheery smile. Just one more dance, savoring confection, I recall all old songs sung to her and the dreaming charm reawakens in my arms. All moments captured, white cream consumed, mother’s green heirloom hides away. Mindfully comes pause for one touchstone I value the most. Sleep tight, words I would hush still to that sleepy, bright face dreaming every marshmallow cloud spun on our plate, and this pact: never forget tradition, and purpose the undying glowing in our clouds through ceramic bright; and, hold all those old memories tight. 10.20.24 10.25.24 kinda big edits, added punctuation Nothing can put me to sleep these days, missing over twenty nights of sleep this year. One more since. A secret I keep from her. Not everything makes sense… |
| People don't listen... I aim my ears for them... I can't decide anything on my own in my world, aimless... "Here We Go Again" It was February, 2022. Shortly after return from vacation...that's all you get. At least machines leave miracles of lint. 10.10.24 I'll go pop a pill |
| Spun Hydroplaning toward a semi Hit the brakes Car spun sideways to the oncoming [Steer] )reverse tailspin( (((three-sixty revolutions))) to the shoulder xStopx Didn't feel anything Fun, not fear Built for this not her | Hit the brakes ~ Sideways spun ~ She's leaving xx Slam xx 9.22.24 Having learned a form, in true tradition, I overdo it my own way, take liberty and string-link four of these five line poems together. |
| Red-and-White Pinwheel Wind turbine, lone pin-wheeling, on your horizontal axis, anchored silent in thick grass, I glimpsed with a curious eye, you, geometric wonder. Your curved plastic cups blading invisible molecules of air invading. Compulsion counterclockwise and colorful, swirl on, raised by gripped straw, guided by the young hand. About our lonely yard, natural By Newton-force law, actual peculiar propeller, torque motion blaze amazing to her sole child dreamer. In youth haste, neglectfully placed on the driveway night to morn. Swept and thrown by lightning storm, anguishing black nights spent alone, when in full sun, reborn. She found you in tender green, Under a flock of ladies — stoic tulips, vegetal hyacinth. Lying down the groceries, considered you with a frown. Anew, skewered you in her ground to compare within the garden, join a bright array of swooning blooms. Life consumed a pale plastic, brittle-cracked in harsh elements. Factory-shaped skin eroded. Eager pinwheel, head above weed, carved on, funneled flows unseen churning, turned over and over. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ How many years has it been? Winters in snow, frozen in melt, long starved seasons rigid with sweet reunion this spring thaw How you reappear again Stationed in wait, surviving amid decay, blades thin, worse for wear before lips pursed blow that first burst of air — miraculous rotation with wisp wings longingly lifted. In my grip, take one last spin, sluice the inhaled flowage, dream and run with your boy. Your foils wobble, a bit slower than recalled, and smaller. Of all our days logged behind her old house, now this…the best. I’m scratching my head again. Dreams as your aviator recalled, as my heart climbs now nearer to Heaven. Savior Mom, see? My cherished pinwheel. ~ ~ ~ I would grin another day. at her desk, writing your ode. When opened the jammed drawer to rummage in her clutter Oh, pinwheel! She missed our games. I peruse the words on a page, The final note to us from her: So much depends upon the striped pin wheel, inhaling air in its dividing house, comparing to my brightest tulips that flex and swoon, where it anchors while he’s been away. Your breaths send back every thrust, a pretty twirl — his tiny turbine engine that made giants of men. He didn’t forget you in weed I failed to spade, certain of your grip amid chill-white pilings year in and out, Tulips and hyacinth forever sleep beneath before I join soon too in June, the last station. Sorry you can't tag along. He'll find you, I'm sure. So much did depend on you, that breathes inside of him. Tell him how wonderful to have you as companion, that I love him, dearly, with wind that sends us back. ~ ~ That's my pinwheel, childhood friend. Lies in keepsakes; never bury, but with me goes, at the end. ~ 96 lines, free verse, poem within a poem, story poem WCW inspired reference “You may have noticed that your pinwheel looks like a wind turbine. That's because they are in a way! The colorful wheel has “blades” that spin counterclockwise when air passes through it. The blades are three dimensional and act as “cups” to capture the air so that they can move with the power of the wind.” https://discoverystation.org/pinwheel-wind-turbines/# “Objects rotate due to the application of a torque or rotational force, which is often caused by an external influence. In more detail, rotation in physics is a movement that occurs when a force is applied not at the center of mass of an object, but at a distance from it. This force is known as torque.” https://www.tutorchase.com/answers/ib/physics/what-causes-objects-to-rotate# "Musical Poetry" |
 I'm aware the promise to always love you was the moment you opened your eyes and saw me with what wonder. You, new to the world, and me, new to awe of a small hand reaching, grasping a thick thumb — the next moment recalled. I was unaware, when it became unwritten promise I'd teach you everything. Yet wondered how you grew, somehow — as unaware, how that voice would sing after gliding where we rowed many hours logged in our green, comfy chair. From that window, aware and hoping all of nature could see but not compare to the love you'd given me. How confident legs ran right for open arms, well aware you'd plunge my chest like the deepest ocean bared for you, protected and spared any lurking evil should it ever dare. All too aware, prayed where we read together in a small bed each night, a fight coming to stay alight, struggled in those sands together before free of that fog remaining hours logged by her to dream you forever. Laying aware in silence, finally convinced of this marvel, not dread. Wonder of dreams that charm the crown in cuddled plush, slept tight to grow up right. My lifelong friend offers hugs, with a grip strong to soothe slouch shoulders, stiff of neck. Aware, you'll offer anything, beverage to bring, snack where I nap and gaze the autumn tree, ponder its colorful arrival. Truly aware in this phase, the ease to laze in our old chair, unplanned adventure possibility yet before winter white paints the step. Awareness now, cocoa clutched, the blanket on my lap. Garland and tinsel greet needles and rails. Your words adorn shortest days. Brighter story, a melodious tumult with cadence marches from a resonating man's chamber, echoes love undying, with knowing — you're aware. 8.26.24 58 lines It's been forecasted; what I wish I could have offered: "Invalid Entry" At outset, written to Pachelbel Canon in D with reminder of the classical musical mobile above his head on the carpeted floor where he learned to reach, see those lights lit when touched and old dad singing his full name in 10 easy syllables to Mozart's Eine kleine Nachtmusik. |
| The Red Canyon Heat rises on a dust plain, distorts wilt-flowers, the dry fauna fading. My bones warm when your blooms reveal, soul-heal each limb lit by refracted, amber light. You offer a lotion-smoothed hand, place inside a weathered mitt. Exactly the way I remember the first night, when you walked upon your father’s stoop. Your gait, still easy. I lack amble function. We walk the length of a solid porch. Our haven, shade where we rock, glide side-by-side in silence, in knowing, all though these years. A moment arrives so perfect, I kiss you. Any flashback since the day I was born couldn’t compare, witness your arriving joy, like the cicadas, tremor from invigorated rest. You stand to refill our lemonade. My hand brushes the soft underside of your boot-cut denim. I beg, “Please, don’t be long,” grinning like the boy. With sunsets as red as wood-glow fire, in our cayenne canyon of soaring rock, time eternal to the vortex clock. Sky washes starry-black on the bedroom porch. No hunger for dinner tonight, wrapped in silk linen. The sandalwood aroma drift encircles cooling limbs entwined, when I hear tender beating beneath breathing. You cradle a tender man, soothed. Stolen glances absorb calm of irises, color sunrise, renew these pale eyes. Fuel, the warmth of that hand, heating a soul's canyon. ----------- 6.5.24 32 lines, free verse 6.10.24 some major, hopeful final, edits. 6.13 tweaked a bit more, tightened. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Imagine many years from now in dry heat of Arizona, I’ll put boots up, she’ll drop capri-wrapped sticks atop, idle in our solitude. After all the years, having spoken all that need be said, transmissions eternal will send between two sated hearts via quieted souls. Prompt: “They might have aged 50 years, but when they held (hands), those hands felt exactly like they did the first time.”
 Entered at another contest, too. I think judged and not placed, so hold on for those if you’re a loser contest…  |
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Congratulations on winning [Link To Item #2093224] May 2024.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Write_From_the_Heart-2121477_14.gif)  In Truth: Your BeautyI'll write you sonnets if your eyes will see. In beauty's hollow, words seem oft restrained, Unstructured toil, aimless, fails true glee, As meaning's essence cannot be explained. I'd run amok in fields of words with glee, Harvesting life's treasures, small and grand — Untidy dreams fall through my pockets free, Ceremonious, placed within your hand. Green-legged blooms in your tall glass are shoved. In well-sprung water, words commit my love. As heart-dedicated bouquets reveal, No better words will capture what I feel. In pure truth's essence, words may not suffice, But through this verse, a soul now pleads your voice. --- 5.22.24 14 lines, sonnet Took soul of a failed poem and made it the engine of a sonnet, in renewal. Nod to Keats’ visions, with a bit Shakespeare. Don’t read past… here////////// --- prison door --- //////////Inside asylum Either way…or both! Eloquently, I try to make you see. In dreams we’ve met, loved so perfectly. 1st draft ▼ iamb iamb iambic ~ still it comes... The summer burned our skin just like a torch Passions raged in shade of mother’s porch Smolder-steamed beneath the waterfall. Limbs entwined on grass with bodies sprawled. You know…you were there… A picnic set on grass would go to waste. Inside two mouths, sweet tongues spice-savored a taste. Our clothes came off…remember? Etc. etc. tired now ▼ |
| A Fine Mess Perfectly fine answers echo the room. Because, perfect IS the enemy of good. And it stands to reason, fine is associated with perfect, deemed better than merely good. Yet, the mere utterance of good as response suffices. Nowadays, perfect, alone, reigns supreme. So, why get all tangled up with fine? Their expression may be discarded as archaic. If perfunctorily pretentious perfect punctuates positive response, then fine and good go at each other. Good wins. Fine behaves as sniveling or sycophant little brother. Good be cool, modifies with merely, or not. The contentious pair had partnered as ‘fine goods’, yet few noticed or cared. They split when perfect hung around too often. Fine, then! Good, I hope you’re happy. Good merely split, while fine stood behind a perfect fool. Eventually there’d be scandal. Perfect retains status, speaks to the common good. Merely sidles up, time to time, seeing perfect union to soften long-held public perception. They sometimes coincide. Perfect, meanwhile, is elusive, vexing, could team with good and neither would care — come together or not. Merely fine might be seen together, when it’s discovered none are monogamous, let alone synonymous, to realize: none are perfect. 5.17.24 There is stuff I write, and there’s stuff I write. This is something I wrote, still and always working on. Hope its good enough for you. Or not. Its all good and fine? |
| I’ve been writing and squirreling it away because I don’t have time to share lately. But, I will share a text sent to my spouse this morning…a snippet of something my unending mind could more fully speak into existence, time permitting, if I actually knew eyes between ears would give consideration to the blooming sea of an ordinary brain that wants/strives to be (accepted as) beautiful (amidst all the waste called ugliness — my own): Was creating observational humor the other day in the carwash when the lyrics “same as it ever was” splashed and assaulted my brain. I decided now to look at song meetings for The Talking Heads “Once In A Lifetime.” https://songmeanings.com/songs/view/43180/ The commenter with 22 likes stated it best (to me) with another remarking beneath about something that always nags me…”It (song) kind of talks about how if a the wheels of a brain stop spinning(,) it is technically dead…if we just accept everything for what it is, and don't question things or stop to think for a second, we're not really living.” And what am I always doing but questioning life, obsessed with thought I routinely express if not verbally, in writing? Writing gives perspective. Writing is stuff on a greaseboard wall that no one visits. (Many new thoughts relate to this). So, to avoid the existential abyss, I need to ask myself what is this thing called writing and why am I doing it? What are these observations I am having and why do I think anybody would respond to it? More importantly, David Byrne’s use of symbolism with water. The top commenter overlooked the lyrics poetic quality. Water is a symbol for life, washes things away, gives us life and holds it all together. And it’s a mystery beneath the surface, further hiding us from truth we all seek. At its essence, the song is about baptism (once we accept this is our life), same as it ever was. And, what you do with it will only mean something to oneself. For me, it’s been a perpetual sense of wonder. Now, ‘into the blue again’. 4.19.23 Who cares where it begins and ends, jump in the stream anyway. Don’t just watch it go by. If someone is there to baptize you, make sure it’s your faith and not theirs that you commit to before taking that leap. Once immersed, you may struggle for breath and your own life as they hold you under. It’s your commitment, your blessing, your life (and how you live it) that gives satisfaction only to you, and none other. No matter how you live it, they will either accept or ignore you, but ultimately, could bend and warp your strength and beauty, when manipulators steal a little something from your soul-essence. Claim it back. Choose nirvana with your tequila. Another sunrise coming. Don’t linger in the dark past day break. ‘Tequila…sunrise’ — yeah, thought it. Are the words ever really that far from one another in any vernacular? Can you guess what I’m thinking now? It makes me so sad ‘we live’ so ‘far apart’ and are virtually (double entendre) on the same page of illumination (doubling down). Sadder…the division widening. I echo the preceding text’s final thought, because all I ever hear is my own voice, even inside this four-wall box of a life. |
Con-cocked I’m the envelope you fill with your craft, Red paper hearts strung in a row enter this soul. When I’m sealed, stamped by your tender hand Deliver me to that destined land. The warmth of your crimson constructive Lip-sticks me from within from your heat. Our delivered fate from post I’ll inscribe With saturate ink pursed lips imbibed. 2.29.24 In progress…
Rock Bottom ▼ Well, I entered before last day of month end...  🫤 |
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Realize someone somewhere (everywhere and anywhere) has it worse. You won't hear me drowning out their cries. I confide here, look for others who relate. I question what drives me to share, need to be understood with this obtuse, oblique language. No amplifier or soap box needed. Joy is in doing the work, connecting dots in brain…puzzles I forget, repeat. It's catharsis, this discipline called writing. I assume that's why we're all here…? 
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You have won a very deserved Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #shadows] , round 112 *^*Smile*^*
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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!
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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)
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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)
*looksaround*