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Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind

I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost

         |
I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me


This poet’s words collect, arrange on a kaleidoscope spectrum. The experience of discovery through writing is the truest reward that has allowed me to grow and learn who/what I am — what other people get naturally, immediately, while I stomp around in it.

Been blessed, but pushing it — envelope, world and all inhabitants away. Push buttons, find boundaries to trip traps. No clue why cat curiosity, living in your dark. (Bored, perhaps?)

Now and then, push dirt out of this hole; someone/thing/entity might envision me how I need to be viewed (if I knew what that was). Cryptic, yes. Try living in my dark, find comfort amid strange, virtual, wonderful walls that tower above, tempt me to scale.

Been more than I could imagine or expect here. But, achievements aren’t going on a LinkedIn wall *Think*. I dig deeper than I should, often without forethought. Aimless words, brave or veiled cowardice, flinchingly flung, inadvertently hit targets? Get a ‘back off’ shoulder shot when asking your motivations here. Not fair?

No prize to eye; not incentivized. Dealt the worst two cards before the flop, do best with what’s in hand.



My Pluggers:
You are an icon here.*BigSmile*
You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.*Heart*


It’s like plugging myself, but using other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "Poetic Referendum(s) On Life"
Your poetic muse is on fire! *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. *Cool*

 
Published four times with one a literary journal, including… *PointRight*   "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.

*Toilet* *RibbonW* Merit Badge in Taboo Words
[Click For More Info]

Brian,

Congratulations! You won 1st Place in Taboo Words with your fantastic poem, [Link to Book Entry #1027659]. 

I absolutely loved this! *^*Heart*^*

Rachel Merit Badge in Poetry
[Click For More Info]

    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

 
Love my process constructing and sharing visions in words collected (no small task considering personal and physical limitations, see below).


August 28, 2006 this blog opened

BOOK
SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days  (18+)
All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know.
#1300042 by Brian K Compton


No specific aim going forward (2014)

 
What I used to say: 'Maybe, I just don't get it. Watch me fumble with my version of reality, expose ignorance as truth. You don't have to get me, either. But, wish someone would explain me to myself.' Now I say: *Cool* *FacePalm* Now: I was such a whore.
 


*Laugh*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.*RollEyes*
             



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

The Best Poetry Collection on Writing.Com
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August 24, 2021 at 8:30am
August 24, 2021 at 8:30am
#1016048
sunny wisdom seeps
between hairy branches
         coming into focus through
         this smeary glass
dull day oozing
through crusty images
         obstructed view
thick heat rises up
from glistening green
         having received
         nature's early donations
a disheartening vision
scanning across
a dry intersection
         focus on their cottages
         divided, quiet as yet
when will we all wake up
to greet
another unremarkable day
on this street
with similar views out windows
         and wonder how to waste
         yet another day
in lonely captivity?



8.24.21

i must care about writing again, because I'm adding punctuation (one way to gauge my mood)...but not add a line count because I don't care to prepare these words for judges now, or anymore (but Brian, how will your community recognition total ever climb? *Rolleyes*)

got to stop writing to music videos and get ready for another day of toil (reality)...not what the judges want to hear...next...
August 24, 2021 at 8:11am
August 24, 2021 at 8:11am
#1016047
I'm just going to go with this thought:

I'm like that monster that
doesn't know it's a monster until
it gets a hint from
the view in other's eyes.

If they're not running from his countenance,
they're hurling rocks,
prepared to fight with a fire
he doesn't bring.

This man without a true mirror,
who just feels, then acts, with his heart,
stands alone in your
cobblestone streets longing.

Are there scars upon my face
that I cannot see, or
do I ignore what is as plain as
the cliché appendage?

Your fires reflect in these dull pupils.
Your heat singes tender skin,
blistered and ravaged by wounds of words
I neglectfully cast, come back.

Wounded in your town square,
surrounded by visions of you not there,
I sit upon the fountain's edge
yearning the knowledge to understand

why am I a monster, again?


8.24.21

What's more crude than a monster, those who would apply labels?

That was too easy. Wrote in less than half the blogged song's time (longer to edit). Godless, again. Thanks Dandy's...
August 22, 2021 at 9:38am
August 22, 2021 at 9:38am
#1015977
The red Yeti fumbled,
tumbled, sprung
from the headboard, releasing
a gusher
from its top.
Pepsi and spiced rum spewed a geyser
in free fall
into a steam punk hat laying atop
the stove top
Abe Lincoln lid
on the carpet beside
his nightstand.

He longed for a refill more
than a rag
and detergent
to scrub the scene
of wasted inspirant,
concocted earlier
above the kitchen sink
in dim, happy fluorescence.



8.21/22.22

Completely random and separate:

&?@!#%&! Programmers And Random-nality Explained (Computers Cheat At Cards!) --

The computer’s skill level was determined by giving itself better hands than its human opponent.



I apparently made up inspirant and wanted to include aspirant, though it will take a revisit to consider this.
August 22, 2021 at 9:29am
August 22, 2021 at 9:29am
#1015976
Can I build a metaphor for box springs?
You lay it on the frame to receive
the burden of comfort,
mattress your master lays upon,
pillow talks with.

The grunt beneath speaks with
dust bunnies, asks the child’s monsters
be reasonable, covets
the forgotten, lost troves
daily unwitnessed, tucked away
until the dread loneliness of cleaning day
and a mattress flip.

The dark and lonely domain is an underworld
of under-appreciated castoffs from Eden
by a cruel god who
will hear no complaining
of the strength it takes to hold all
and receive no love
stuck, devoted as each mattress sags,
replaced for one more ample
to get through the long nights.



8.22.21

maybe not

while personified, drawing parallels to personal experience, akin to the doormat
August 20, 2021 at 11:32pm
August 20, 2021 at 11:32pm
#1015924
Write To This

When I can't self-subscribe I dive
into a world not my own
to imagine myself in this space
Walk away from that race

When I can't get a handle
into a life that doesn't jibe
I visualize an aura glowing
where my words get flowing

Why won't they realize my eyes
hold dreams they'll want to see
to imagine a space together
walk away from this forever

What will it take to get comfortable
in this happy, shiny bubble?
Your grooves where I try fit
where I want to get lit?

Your song fades away...
this pale look on my face...



8.20.21
just something I wrote on the fly...

Track two?

August 17, 2021 at 10:09pm
August 17, 2021 at 10:09pm
#1015788
All the beautiful words collected
in your basket,
off you journey,
handing fistfuls of glory to
an elderly man in the park,
partaking in final Autumn, to
a child mastering chalk lines
on cracked pavement, to
a young couple nuzzling
beneath a spying oak, to

Earth, scattered
on a dutiful, green lawn
we all walk upon, wondering
the meaning of all this.
The sun glares down
where the girl spills
her own life
beneath murksome reeds
edging a film-green pond.

The basket tumbles
down the hill to meet my hand,
trying to understand
life's cruelty. Explain,
why am I alone
in this final Autumn.



8.17.21
10.1.22 edit

written to Godless by The Dandy Warhols


August 17, 2021 at 9:59pm
August 17, 2021 at 9:59pm
#1015786
She would say how beautiful a sunset
with our forest on fire.

8.17.21

August 15, 2021 at 12:14pm
August 15, 2021 at 12:14pm
#1015662
         Some float down
as if from heaven, twirling,
mating with the air, bouncing
on the invisible mattress, slow
spin back and forth to meet
a calm green scene fading,
present to onlookers like me.
         Some tumble through
like wild gymnasts frolicking,
colliding with hard earth, dancing
about obstacles on their course, hyper
join a swarm of mates to meet
a village of cloistered inhabitants fading,
appear before bystanders like me.
         Some take their time,
as if mother won't let them mature, hanging
lonely, a child absent after recess crying
for a purpose in this late season, fear
natural selection to pluck them from despair, cloy
for her arm, hide in her nest, never to meet
true heaven on earth, feed sorrowful eyes of witnesses like me
         who long to join you,
and you, or you, but serve
this perch by the window, now
or for eternity. A dull heart fears
go out to play, as if some final day leaves,
in life viewed this way.



8.15.21

Cued up a song, thinking I'd blog about a basketball life at the YMCA and was disturbed by other thoughts, also cued up and ready to roll.
August 12, 2021 at 8:27am
August 12, 2021 at 8:27am
#1015541
Weight so heavy
cripples
Inertia on this floor
         smooth          linoleum          comfort
No argument here
Face flat
         on a cool surface
by the door
locked

Dust collects
on skin less like flesh
Never bother
get up
         Always
feel a cool surface
         a dry stream purge
Carry me
down this alley
         avenue

A hollow heart
grinds blood
Hollow head
grinds grist of thought
         slowing
beneath a table
shadowed
covered
surrounded by
empty chairs

a wide kitchen hush
lost village
         a ghost town
Me and dust

Tumblers fumble
The dull door unseals
Through that portal
         all lost
to another time

Stand sober
Crumbs wipe away
Excuses to be made?
Why?
Just,          why?
fantasize in such
a primitive place
where no one else
can see          me?

Though
where I wish
be found
before primordial decay



8.12.21/8.14.21 edit
52 lines, too long, too unstructured for any contest I know of.


It started with six lines re-edited into oblivion and taken over by an imagination that tends to get lost while seeking its way before sobering reality sets in.
Or,
I might just be talking out of my ass, as they say. Ever just laid on the hard floor for a temperate place to let the mind wander away from reality? You can't think like me until you're willing to let your face lay with the dust bunnies.
August 5, 2021 at 10:53pm
August 5, 2021 at 10:53pm
#1015218
Should I be bitter?
I'm a mix.
It's more interesting.
You cannot cultivate a taste
as I offer the core of me,
sliced, yet
not bleeding out. 7

Should I be scarred?
I have a remarkable body,
more interesting
than the pale flesh next to me
blathering about the weather,
the ball score,
some political rant
none of us have a hand in. 8

Should I be vexed?
Not at your disinterest,
though I'm curious what makes you
tick, tick, tick. When, do you
go boom!? Will your remains
be strewn in bed,
in your car, at your desk
where you're chained
nine to five?? 9

Wait, shouldn't I
be asking the questions?
No time for contemplation about that.
I'm about to take another bath,
lather myself in this vat,
remove dull oil and tar
of an ordinary world,
sip my weight in gin
mixed with something sweet.
Cherried stems top my treat. 10

Guess I'm done. 1



8.5.21
34+1, if we need to keep track.

just rambling now. Though, I think an attempt at social commentary about my newest rant about illiteracy that abounds in a community that proposes what? be ignorant??


August 5, 2021 at 10:11pm
August 5, 2021 at 10:11pm
#1015216
No one eats cheese as old as me.
If I were wine,
too precious to uncork.
I'm not even allowed on a shelf,
locked away in a cellar
with no temperature variance
outside 52 to 55. You would think
I'd be eyed by
all the lovers and dreamers
of special concoctions like me
that took their time to age,
bitter yet sweet, though
not tempting enough
for all the passersby who
barely get a hint
of what I'm eminating.

Reflecting, deflecting
in the dark
in the corner, in my
purgatorium/cemetarium,
wax me, cork me, full
of life's scintillating nostalgia, but,
oh no, not for you who
dines with store-bought cheddar,
aged 90 days in resealable cellophane,
sipping a glass of twist top
Moscato plied from a pulpy bath
at an industrial vineyard.

I'll age a little longer, inhale
some of what I'm breathing,
as I cozy up to dark, bourbon mash.

Enjoy your microwave corndogs!


8.5.21

Hmm, ageism? Not so much in this community, me thinks.
Yes, I made that word up:
http://ninjawords.com/Cemetarium
Pinterest it like Lou:
https://www.pinterest.com/louhellbaby/cemetarium/

Where are you, Bethany? You should be reading me.
August 4, 2021 at 11:50am
August 4, 2021 at 11:50am
#1015134


I make no apologies
For my humanness
When under duress
To find a fit in what
Always feels like a new place.

Faces I can’t see,
Let alone envision,
Never materialize before
My wondering eyes.

As I bumble around,
Step on your shoes,
I’m making every possible mistake,
Shunned by some who
Don’t know the first thing
About compassion for a fool.

With perceptions so long
In the making,
Can’t gravitate, elevate without
This awkward rambling.

Aiming for clarity, purity,
Feigning perfection,
I'm lonely, rejected because I
Cannot assimilate.


8.4.21
August 4, 2021 at 9:41am
August 4, 2021 at 9:41am
#1015126
Are you real?
just like the images that arrived
before your appearance,
now standing by my arm?
so near my flesh,
my heart?

How could I ever imagine you?
materialized?
in this scope where I look out?
seek you?
A thousand puzzle pieces could not
assemble a vision
so pure, so real,
forcing me not to believe
what is real —

the flesh of you,

so near a cavern echoing,
filled with your multiplying voices,
calling so near
my beating existence.

A river of blood
absorbs your impactful light.


Let me take a moment
to breathe, as if
my first inhale of the most premium air.
Let this be my life
beginning again.

Are you real?
or imagined, like the poem?



8.2.21
xx lines, x verse

Written to Pink duet (aloof on title, they all sound the same), half dreaming if ever to meet a celebrity like her, how we would communicate, knowing it would be difficult to impress upon someone so in demand. You would have to openly declare this, why they would have the feintest interest to commune with words I could share.

Since I'm making stuff up, I should write fiction and get paid. My net worth is not in a well stocked cache of managed funds/accounts but in a heart devoid of the true appreciation of just one who fully gets me.
August 1, 2021 at 9:50pm
August 1, 2021 at 9:50pm
#1014860
Young
beneath the stalks
your dad’s garden
we hid
schemed
gathered in corny forts
free
silent

We heard green grow
between the ears
sunny
yellow
inside our heads
shaded
from a sinister sun

The toiling man
with his hoe
told us to go
shooed us
like rabbits
into other yards we spied
as we played
sought
the tiniest nooks
crannies
that held our beating hearts
bedamped heads
where we fled
from imaginary foes
tussled like heroes
into the dusk
an abyss of time
seldom glimpsed
before light fled
through onlooking trees
down to the ground

Though
we did not dread dark
just a scolding

Where do you hide now?

7.31/8.1.21
40 lines
July 31, 2021 at 3:04pm
July 31, 2021 at 3:04pm
#1014806
the color blue:
markings on a pale wall
by the unhinged door.

gentle notations
rise to meet another
in graphite
on satin-finished trim.
         darling with age,
         no cleaning agent dare scrub
unless we give this house up.

         the first day,
you stood obedient for
an angling stick atop your head.
         she reached beneath,
         scraped in permanent blue, while
your backpack laid idle
by the closed door.

your brother, three years before,
ascended by graphite.
dark markings intermingle
amid your rising blue.

such hope sends a gaze
         reflecting on
those first days,
your noggin and wide open grin,
         now foggy mornings of yore.

every marking inked,
as high as it will go,
on the finish with
a final date installed,
I now realize

the potential of you
         is a memory,
         not the future
anymore.



7.31.21
34 lines

To my darlings, Myles, Camden and Madeline, wherever they may yet roam.

For:
"Monthly Poetry Contest
July 30, 2021 at 7:15pm
July 30, 2021 at 7:15pm
#1014766
Riddles Like Bath Bubbles

A life spent placing myself
on a path to serendipity,
hoping to capture uniquity,
reinvent a cliché language
like re-equating a theory of relativity,
reconstructing riddles of math,
long since solved,
without its rudimentary roots,
recreate for minds exploring a future
and not the past, when I
simply need live in the present
for clarity, sanity, watch
the other scavengers collect clues,
as I solve this game
in my head, in the shine and gleam,
never having to tell what I’ve found
and what I haven’t,
a sort of serenity --
bath bubbles you cannot clutch.
I'll never thrive on your divinity.


7.30.21

One sentence, run on, to make a point
July 22, 2021 at 11:22am
July 22, 2021 at 11:22am
#1014130
Cool
White
Dawn

We were looking at charred remains,
embers not as bright since a chill dawn --
still
white
smoldering --
nothing compared to the colors sparking a black night.

A fuel-soaked concoction, once enflamed,
glowed romance, softened eyes,
brushed hues on two pale faces.
Rose-boned skin inspired
by wood
used
up.

We lingered too long.
Now this thing
is ash.


I ran a grammar checker over this today and it wanted to change 'enflamed' to inflamed. However, the only distinction between the two is that 'inflamed' is more commonly used in the US, while each is defined the same. So, no errors.

I still struggle to see how this poem lacks in competitive value.
July 22, 2021 at 8:39am
July 22, 2021 at 8:39am
#1014121
Saw/buck

In my mind,
the places to find
money unclaimed and free,
that I found just for me --
came from the street
outside a place to eat,
under cushions of the couch,
hidden deep in the pouch,
or,
in a wallet owned by dad.
Would he miss one if I had?

In my youth,
when I lost a tooth,
a fairy stashed it there,
under my pillow with care --
a sawbuck just for me
inspired toothless glee,
smelling better than laundry.
Yes,
crisp and fresh,
sometimes I wish

I saved it in a bank
like a Swiss franc,
earning interest annually --
but, not so in reality.

A sawbuck for me,
was enjoyed merrily.
But, they're all gone
like the end of a song --
each fed to the alligator,
the depository incinerator.

Memories of that cash,
now dreams up in ash.

Fun Facts

Sawbuck

The Writer's Camp Static Version I Deleted

Fun Facts


July 21, 2021 at 3:01pm
July 21, 2021 at 3:01pm
#1014074
Writing to myself so loud,
         as if you’ll hear.
         ears burn down,
         disintegrating words so hot...
you melt,
excite,
invite me out of these woods
amid owls who don’t think
like me, don’t believe
I’ll make it through
         this one long night.
         bones chill in rags,
         ill fit for a vagrant in evergreen,
         who wants to be seen
by a clean white moon, muted
by clouds, but soon piercing
a scene, hoping
you’ll defile this nature,
should you liquify,
as I spin words measured
by reason, crystallizing hard
in wide blue eyes --
this stature thawing in your view,
a silhouette
until Luna hits me right
where I take my stand.

Melt with me where we
could be one.


7.21.21
28 lines, free verse

July 21, 2021 at 7:25am
July 21, 2021 at 7:25am
#1014040
Another Highball Down

Savor
Where is the love? In a highball glass? Or,
straight from the bottle?
Is the love in
mixing the drink? Is the love in
offering this concoction to another?
Watching them enjoy
your liquid creation? Life is
however you mix it. Love is
however you choose enjoy it — either
in the preparation or
in the consumption.

The bottle is never empty, my friends.

6.04.19

Addendum...

But,
I'm currently out. *Laugh*
Because...
it's a
magical
refillable vessel that
needs
needs a
little time to, ah
find the right
combination of
sunlight and shade
away from the
deciduousness of it all?
My mouth...er,
keyboard, that is.


7.21.21 (TD+1x3(2)) not equatic? not equasible? *Rolleyes*
we can't define everything with our diseased minds (I really hate this process)
Please, Brian, don't google all the values for a period in this construct. Let it be today. *Facepalm*

Resource:
"Glaring
I plagiarize...myself.

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