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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. 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  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 and Sight"  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 ▼ |
| The Age Of Repetition never forgetting arthritis Every good boy…sour piano, sing for me? Mind warbling echoes of good boy does fine? A melody once in four-four time, slowing… this…Victoria in my head — etching scratches — Sour as sagging strings, been life-hammered. A good boy was fine, then forgets tempo, hand placement, sheet music lost to the bench? Every good boy sour, warbles, sags, forgets. 3.12.25 Comeuppance for people who punch trees, literally, felt decades later…  T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ Be well, my friends. Stay thy blade.  |
| Red Planet: I’ll be taking the bus… Would I like to go to Mars? Is it made of edible candy bars? Who’s asking? Skeptical stare. If it’s flight X, doubt my ride gets there. Definitely no, if using taxpayer dollars. …when science creates a portal.        "Note: View this Note"  Say no to robotic parts — Elon followers will know. I’m testing those with digits to send to my one. D.O.G.E. refund us?? |
| Then, You Rest I wake with numb sensations that make me wonder if I might be alive if I might rise, hover over carpet, dully view out nose-print pane of memory scenes, if I might go to recollections after thoughts I might be moved through a frame slightly larger than the necessary size, if I might wander on worn hall carpet position to see larger frames with inset glass tempered with just the right scenes where life witnessed grand, if I might see a view of the street should I float down past suspended images on walls of their likenesses if I might make it to the landing open vista to anywhere that I might imagine a horizon that day seek warmth from sun up to set without a regret yet I linger inhabit a world I claimed, but not mine where I’ve laid to rest many years skin-crimp this wrist, twist red, redder, again and again hope hoping put on spectacles to see sights of all that remains in these shadows, where I’ve communed in silent illumination, also wondering, if this is my story post death. I would send post cards from the grave if I could. This one’s for you. Sorry I’m not there to see you open. 12.9.24 (edit coming, for contest) 39 lines She stumbled over skin-crimp, as I didn’t want a tired expression for pinch…still working on? T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| Sugarloaf I witnessed you a thousand feet high. Blue waters purged a blue sky. And your eyes And mine, Alive. Two hands, United elements, You lifted me higher That day we hiked Sugarloaf Mountain. It was not the ore docks, Great steel ships, Coasting seagulls calling — Or highlights of fall colors Above your tousled, honey hair. Vibrant, my soul singing, every second. Memory fails to recall An unknowable song I long strings would strum. On a chill, sunny day — Pause, amid Restless leaves and decay. Cleansed, you freed me From ignorance And solitude, Gave hope I could love better – Love someone like You. 30 lines Entered, 2nd Chance T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| 55 Years To Eternity I’ve laid my eyes on the wall where gray shadows have staid Until shadows contain all light, about this bed where we’ve laid, I’ve never noticed a lick of change. Whether freshly painted in revision, amber light playing on my baby blue, withering branches dancing in silhouette, the only dream realized came true — arms-swept, gowned goddess, you. In 55 years, nothing has wavered more than warm light playing on shadows here. I’ve carried great awe for a heart in love with an aging home to shelter you dear. Wall absent of shadows makes it clear — in great emptiness, filling a solid, blue sea, wall-displayed, you oar eternally across with me. 5.6.25 Title attempt meant to show time progression, as theme is of ordinary lives, eternal, re-enacted by the interpretation of shadows on their wall. He can aver, theirs is a love for the ages none others will see, or be able to compare. 48 HOUR WDC prompt to reflect on music video with the singers message of promise to marry and carry her 55 years. And now, we’re here and it feels like they’ve never wavered or changed. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| You might want to back up. I’m building theory. Google’s “AI” says: "Building theory" refers to the process of creating a conceptual framework that explains a phenomenon by identifying key concepts and their relationships, essentially developing a theoretical understanding of why something occurs, which can then be used to guide research, predict outcomes, and inform decision-making in a particular field; it involves systematically gathering data, analyzing patterns, and constructing a coherent explanation for observed phenomena. Key points about building theory: Purpose: To develop a comprehensive understanding of a complex phenomenon by identifying underlying mechanisms and causal relationships. Process: Observation: Gathering data through qualitative or quantitative methods to identify patterns and anomalies. Conceptualization: Defining key concepts and their attributes. Proposition Development: Establishing relationships between concepts, forming hypotheses about how they interact. Refinement: Iteratively revising the theory based on new data and feedback to improve its explanatory power. Application: Guiding research: A well-built theory provides a framework for designing research studies, identifying relevant variables, and formulating testable hypotheses. Explaining phenomena: Theories help interpret and make sense of observed patterns in a field. Predicting outcomes: Once validated, a theory can be used to predict future behavior or trends based on the identified relationships. Example: In organizational psychology, a theory might be built to explain employee motivation by identifying factors like job satisfaction, autonomy, and recognition as key concepts and exploring how they interact to influence employee performance. To build, I had to run some tests Apologies, Guinea Pigs Each day, new theory tackled. Don’t see it coming; don’t know where it’s going But, they plug into formulas Of systematic, working models in my brain By which my central processor won’t quit… Even after the hardwood fall of 2017, a 15-minute blackout, couldn’t recall before a hard reset. Computed axial tomography grayscale imaging confirmed no bats flew from this skull cage…(continue to link…) It’s where input cannot be unlearned. Attached to emotional components That interact with objective logic, now, As I can reach back in time, recall influences on brain matter rewiring, neurodivergent, ADHD driven and hyper critically thinking Purely as a tool of survival from conformity, normal and as ordinary as any, calmly calculating to remember who informed, idiom, expression, Home spun wisdom, all fact checked And approved results that have slotted in. We travel through historical time, grey matter and me, Revisit old concepts, brought up to date By comparing collected data from a broad spectrum, ranging Interests immersed, parallels within, reasoning benefactors, detractors, since the formative — days dawdled, hours on end, study every hand painted panel, by flashlight in a pitch of black and blanket in a hallway closet, away, where none heard mumbled words, reenacting, reuniting visions of projections knowable Teleporting through universes when self-hypnotized by the unique and varied grain patterns, illuminations by flashlight on green-paneled bedroom walls, to finally arrive at unshakeabke summation… Duh-doi! I.e. — thus, it is proven. Halting here. Phase one, I’ll say. Much more to reveal until my dying day. Anything that doesn’t smell right is like a dirty sock Fueling a self-evidentiary being who will not Accept anything in the shaded areas as truth. Tomorrow’s lesson, and the first of a series: Fear mongering, idiot mouthpieces, Machiavellism, and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Segueing into It’s a Wonderful Life Or, maybe, a nap, track sports and play 137 games of cribbage. Never Three Stooges, nu huh. I won’t poke an eye out. Visit: https://twinarte.com/ ‘Cause I said. I craft stories, hypothesizing and projecting modern day events from around the globe, links to history, cultures, the common wealth, governmental structures and the influences of a capitalistic, monetized society corrupting logic over ethics, and more, in a growing collective of fact checking knowledge, life experience, from silence lying outside ignorance and an incipient void breathing the gases of atoms’ molecular bonds suffocating us all into oblivion, with the inability to let anything go until I can make a case for anything witnessed in motion. Additional babble addled: 3.8.25 after up, mostly writing through the night, as the noggin’ refuses shut down, prefers quiet of night solitude, romanced by the nocturnal and inspired uttering cluttering up a page, such as this. When I have my degree to pursue disputing theory of relativity to show two opposing principles can co-exist, I will finally know how the mathmatival equation for bonding friendship to my core atoms can cohabitate as units linked arms in arm, shoulder to shoulder through life, forming our mobile Faraday cage, and motor to the end of all universes until black matter meets its doom, when it cannot consume one who has found the one mystery of life than can do longer digest the inner workings of a spirit based soul that requires instinct over logic. I’m inert, otherwise. Not edited, hardly grammar or facrtchecking. I’m one person, no audience, soap box or willing to be caught in the cross hairs of the boa constricted walls of an ordinary life. Chair! Not nearly my best. Edited, added, thinking done tackling the most hairy, untamable musings, everybembellishing until the empty space fill with box full ofvNasa parts, remedyba return from inner space to return from the gravitational field, not burning or breaking up on re-entry. Not editing again, just yet. 36 hours since my previous slumber ended, slightly more than half my recent current record. Tired is not ignorance, just not enough zzz to push through a cloud of whirl wind posturings without desire to fact check half-efforted assertions. |
| inertia informed Calm gazing Stares at nothing at all. Dry stalactites drip no tears. The barrier to viewers, or blinders to a bright world, Harsh arriving? Numb to Arrows, rock and stick, a refrain Soothes the brain, with hopeless Wondering: How easy for you, For me, unlike others, late Learned impending fate by refraction — Provoked and saddened, Likened as your monster. 3.5.25 "Re: GET THE PICTURE? - 02. 04 & 05 & 06 .25" T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| Fresh Cut I turned my uniform in on the last day, a procrastinator? or dreamer, dreamily lending blue to sky in fresh cut grass? Every mower in the surrounding neighborhood humming, late summer, as I dawdled with soft, sweet green on my back. I ran to the infield, slid, safe! adding a mud-color compliment. We must have spent a fortune in detergent and bleach. Didn’t need no fabric softener, earth treated worn jeans and tees. Home, our beagle on my chest, rolling on the lawn ‘til supper. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| Fret And Survive You gave me hope when I was punching my way through life. You, not the romantic, mothered me. I couldn’t see a wife. But, day in, day out, hangs on 3rd street taught the unspoken. We knew what we had…maybe why…him? I could only watch. Delusion buried me inside a purchased brown-black grave before owing explanation; took my own lover. Stupid? Thinking…this time…you had to watch, but I would feel foolish learning between your actions and words, you were hurting, too. I had to show you that part of me, the most powerful, learn what you and I had missed. How I yearned, felt your stare in the doorway to my room, frozen, unprepared to move, and you hightailed to another, he rarely there, forbade. denied all I never dreamed, you say I romanticized I never wanted to steal you from another lover Decisions made, purple rain poured out in each refrain — but, dark, down and drowning in liquid of any color Velvet vocals reverbed, scream-bleeding love betrayal Ticking time still red stained, my chords could yet bleed purple, I’m witnessing the brown and black near, moving about my grave Regret not persisting, when held at bay before I knew Could’ve lost who I was, unfeeling, sucker punched by life With that six-string fret, frozen, seized by my own denial, held that note, my tablature speaking just the same I loved you more than any other, when that rain returned again holding that note so long, it’s a wonder this survival. Not going for rhyme at first, decided to give this quick, lopsided something lyrical, which I may take further. A little double play on fret not fully realized. Same girl, different approach, same story. Overplayed, romanticized, she says. Work in regress My roommate actually had designs on her, vulnerable, not in her league, forbidding me like some Romeo who would hurt. If memory, he got the two together, assuming if he couldn’t have her, I wasn’t going to get any closer. I saw her linger too long, one day. I knew but it was my word that caused hesitation, while getting played…he and the other guy, both jealous of me, both forbidding. They cut me off from friend foremost. I’ve only had two true friends that made me a better person in my unknown neurodivergent funk that gave my roommate opening to passive aggressively diminish me, cut me off from all, not just her. Events with shared friends occurred without my knowledge or theirs. Nothing got me more than the obstacles to her, if she could see, why she broke off our meets because of him, but eventually it was okay again. I put myself right back in prison, hurt that she would allow me to visit but pawn me off on one of her friends. So, no one to call but her with a flat tire he and her came out to help me change, because it was rusted to exile hub. In a cold late 1991 night in Marquette, MI, we would all go to a favorite restaurant. I grew nervous, knowing he didn’t trust me, and further settled the matter when I couldn’t find the words to thank him. I’m sure I didn’t pick up the tab…no money. One last angry phone call from her and I was completely alone. This guy, Mike would be out of the picture. She never said. My roommate lost his marbles again, lost face, trying achievement like me, college, two jobs, but wound sneaking off with my former employers van and cops were called. Still an ignoramus, in the public radio station where he stole all my friends and cock-blocked, I heard our new news director reading the story of his arrest on air…not mentioning he was a former employ at the station. Dude was a bit smug, he knew my roommate, too. Felt like a conflict to read that story, or air at all. When he left, I pulled it so the on-air staff couldn’t read it. Caught, they busted me by terminating my job at end of semester. They didn’t need a reason. They just didn’t have to renew. Punitive. And I was looking out for someone who was more roommates, drama queen backstabbed, after several months, I left all his stuff on the porch, his dad was confused when he picked it up. I had a new roommate but a new reason to feel a heal, villainous. She and I had a chance, if she had said she stopped seeing him. Many poems about our last hours, failed stories, not revisiting again. T̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ Ab̴̦̄̈͐̾̑̚͝s̸͉̻̃͘ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̰̅ͅcě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆ o̷͍̥̣̺͋f̶̭̱̘͇͊͋̾̋̄͆ Wa̴͙͓̓̕vě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆l̵̩̘̯̪͋͒͒̉͒̄ě̸̗͓̱̺̮̣̽͆n̴̝͚͎͔̘̅ͅg̸̫͙̻̭͐͝ț̴̵̢̝̗̰̪̠̹̈́͌͆̑͋͂̅͗̾̾h̵̥͉̲̠̍̽͛̌͂̆̚ |
| You BOLD the lines over my words, some one I trusted knew better how to discern from words the actual applications, the actual intentions, the truth unveiled in entirety, not COPY, LIFT, PASTE over the face of me and they WITHOUT the whole story get a simple redaction — untrust-worthy, through delineation how a WORLD dehumanizes by purpose of story… MY WORDS were stolen, misrepresented, doesn’t speak to the WHOLE as tyranny distracts US from ourselves. I’ve learned I have great PATIENCE, WILL, SELF-ESTEEM in the shadows of manipulators and a sea of fools. If you THINK I called you STUPID, don’t worry. I include ME for humiliation and shame laid at MY feet, having answered the door many times before without turning THEM away, the divisive, who stand for pitting US against one another. I didn’t lend to a noble cause — by association — causing depletion. I didn’t lend to ME, how?? 2.17.25 I don’t see so well, suddenly. Only myself to BLAME. |
| Response to newsfeed poser tonight: It: Did try it, moved on. It worries me more that it will take jobs away from not just writers. Though, it needs editors. It fails greatly at times and have noted it will repeat errors. I question if it’s learning through interaction, or learning through itself, uncorrected…thus, changing public conscience when less content is human inspired, created and driven. I have found there is a lot of ignorance about it; it has good applications. It is human friendly. The question of copyright? Ownership?? No specifics: I just know the ignorance amidst writers, having allowed it to assist me. It took me a while of puzzling, without anyone just asking. Very disappointed. Where is bias? I can’t help you with that, seldom approached, less with direct honesty. Not a condemnation, just unfortunate to be in a boat alone with no oars. I’ve committed so much of myself…doesn’t matter now. |
| Played a lottery with words Didn’t risk a lot These eyes cannot read the rot Hands wrought, send to birds. 2.15.25 Nothing of note, not as the undeserved, the one made most reserved, trails…off… Venture? Black crows visit daily. They…are me. We…are one. Try not to think?? |
| Purely Anti-violence… “ Road I cruise is a bitch now You know you can't turn me 'round and if a house gets in my way You know I'll burn it down “ When a person gets in the zone … HOT, While song, write: If I catch fire, 10x greater. Let’s hope my eyes won’t repair. Burned candle after candle down, these tapered things with thin flames, for my night gazes, took my soul when my eyes began to flicker lost without the hypnotic hold. I can live in darkness, not give up Hope, because you dream when the sun is down, live your visions at first light break. That’s where I live, alone. Haven’t been off my spot since. 2.3.25 THIS IS (How it is with me when I can’t stop.) Tap, tap, tap, the iPad went. Rap, rap, rap until I’m spent. Dark, sleep, dream Light, wake, live My heart and head faithful My soul their captor, feeding me daily, a fresh bread. No more time for love I have me ~~ that’s enough. Message is a retaining wall, not the anti-repulse, as convulse, when reading your words conform. See huddled masses, koolaid, gas chambers. Not long until more are dead. And I can’t do a damn thing about it. There are fluffy white canines everywhere. The toothsome I’ll not fear but dread — cloaked, waiting and egos overfed. |
| My brain severed by song-splitting-memory, ignorance since simple college subjects studied. Cable strung decades long, spool backward through jump-cut-frames puzzled without completion. Would this be the year, just as 2025 haunts a hopeless dreamer unborn, wondering how many more seasons to skip, skitter, jump through, arrive nowhere by each year’s end — as yet clueless — misguided, but wanting to believe one dream could still exist. Wipe a slate clean. It doesn’t wash away since linear went digital. Setting this year aside. 1.3.25 With malfunction, how did I get here? This far?? But, different… "Note: 48-HOUR CHALLENGE : Media Prompt Deadl..." |
| With a free hand… Door closes Vacuum seals me in Windowless gazing wallpaper worlds Door opens Air gushing all out Cross-legged ruminate wall-world messages I am free as I was before Thanks To All. 12.31.24 11th hour, 2024, in your houses no ghost roams Poetry found me, not the other way around. It’s a gift…and a curse. But mostly, a burden. |
| Collapsible and Rising Hands tied and in my dark Soon to swing Hope the angels sing A chorus, in death, a lark Plunge me further Toward humility Filled with wonder, alone But not dread that I could lose my head A chorus for you I’d phone in Instead, elevate Toward ignominy I bear this weigh on land legs Cross-strapped for you Because you need me to Stand on this platform Let all pass through Toward indignity One lever displaces a floor, the galvan-blade Sudden game stayed Before a knot frayed, neck coarse Still your undead, spirited Toward humanity The soul of one man, not severed Either, or in any way, Not deprived air in judgment days A tongue stilled. But, a pen-hand Cannot hush, walks tall tides thick Toward divinity See you there? 12.27.24 Made up here in 12 minutes, listening to Rhye “Sinful”. Editing longer. On this scape, no one’s goat. Everything broken before I could enter a POW incarnation of Machiavellian-inspired complication, dystopian wall writ and flawed, because you cannot apply a Chekhov instrument in this…space Every outcome known and knowable, cannot make a true Winston drop, take a knee without the missing physical element…merely a rug tug… not the referential bus, beneath body-tossed. More will than all and …not dead…beca-ause…. |
| You look lonely and worried… Spun out and perfectly content. |
| I Wake To Rest I wake with numb sensations that make me wonder if I might be alive if I might rise, hover over carpet, dully view out nose-print pane of memory scenes, if I might go to recollections after thoughts I might be moved through a frame slightly larger than the necessary size, if I might wander on worn hall carpet position to see larger frames with inset glass tempered with just the right scenes where life witnessed grand, if I might see a view of the street should I float down past suspended images on walls of their likenesses if I might make it to the landing open vista to anywhere that I might imagine a horizon that day seek warmth from sun up to set without a regret yet I linger inhabit a world I claimed, but not mine where I’ve laid to rest many years skin-crimp this wrist, twist red, redder, again and again hope hoping put on spectacles to see sights of all that remains in these shadows, where I’ve communed in silent illumination, also wondering, if this is my story post death. I would send post cards from the grave if I could. This one’s for you. Sorry I’m not there to see you open. 12.9.24 39 lines She stumbled over skin-crimp, as I didn’t want a tired expression for pinch…still working on? |
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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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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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