A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
A.K.A. Solicitors Get Off My Lawn (or I’ll hose you down). La-ah-ah-ah-nuh-uh-uh I’ve lived without love when I didn’t want to, so…(reminded platitudes and false flattery don’t put their hands down these pants). 18-thousand 400-hundred times unseen. It’s still a beautiful thing, with pipes that I sing (while I’m the Angelou bird) My family will have instructions to unhide post mortem. Post Morten, Apple? It’s all around. ————————————————————————- I’ve deleted five times more than what’s seen now. Less to view in future. Mind-boggling the words I’ve produced with low vision. Conditions I live with, the strength it takes to hold it all in, as I’m redacted by cowards in society…no that’s it. I eat more than words, self-repair. How much of it got on you? — your monster? If you prick a caged animal and it doesn’t have to be put down for savoring your flesh, does it not…what? I’m a fool, if I’m played by fools. And, you are…? But, you…know as much of me as you want. What more can I offer you today? I have leftover dignity and steely resolve, reproducing daily. Reason I came here in 2006, before all butterfly fancy and aimless balloon chasings. Thanks. It went…that way… 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. End of these days near…ing… --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() 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 and Sight" ![]() Your poetic muse is on fire! ![]() ![]() Published four times with one a literary journal, including… ![]() ![]() 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. I'm Godzilla ▼ August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼ ![]() ![]() 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: ![]() |
November hush, colorful castoffs sleep — their dreams fade, interlocked on a hard mattress. Soft, pristine descent of tiny-winged angels come. Gray time swept up into prolonged nights, resist allure of outlasting that twelfth chime. Memories cascade — serenading symphony comes — Her holiday confections rise in oven, whisper to a soft nose, as I cuddled in hand-me-downs. Decorations ascend; presents find their shrouds. Music wanders about a quiet truce in our home. A temporal refuge, our family's respite. Time to unwind, be present, and be family. Thanksgiving's embrace, feast tradition, revel in comfort food and kinship extended. Trapped in snow globe of nostalgia, Kresge Drug Store's magic orb, gazing scenes imagined within, immersed. Beneath the next tinsel-draped tree, a child's haven of stick-sap and dreams mingling. Face pressed to cardboard nativity, wise men, cows, humble manger and a solitary bulb, humble star, celestial and warm guide tiny dream scenarios. 11.28.23/23 lines, free verse 12.26.23 minor edits, tighten, tweak, tastier words. In this free-flowing verse, enjambment weaves the memories seamlessly, capturing the essence of November's nostalgia and the timeless magic of family traditions. Prompt: “It is also November. The noons are more laconic and the sunsets sterner and Gibraltar lights make the village foreign. November always seems to me the Norway of the year.” — Emily Dickinson
Never entered…too busy…forgot…public now… Impetus: Its post leaves down, raked to curb, before fresh snowfall. days are shorter. Night seems to go on and on that I don’t feel tempted to stay up later. And when I lie in bed, I’m transported, I recall the sweet holiday confections emanating late from her oven to my anticipant nose, sense heightened by sounds of decorations going up, presents wrapped, soft holiday music, quiet truce between parents. Family had more time to wind down, be in the moment, be family, repose, with no current distractions but free time to commune, eat comfort food, enjoy extended family at thanksgiving, timeless traditions, as if trapped in an old Kresge Drug Store snow globe, the kind I stared into for long periods of time, imagined myself inside, or would crawl under the freshly tinseled tree, risk sticky sap, face in front of a cheap nativity of fold out cardboard and glued on wise men, cows, sheep, Mary, Joseph, baby in manger and the one light bulb protruding from the hole in display serving as that star, illuminating tiny dream scenes. How to put all that in free poem, structured, with enjambment was difficult. How to edit this? I’ll take another run at this someday. 12.01.23 |