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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/11-18-2023
Rated: 18+ · Book · Spiritual · #1149750
A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery.
...white-hot coruscating genius that more than once dipped its proverbial toes in the obscure.
https://ew.com/recap/community-season-3-episode-16-inception/




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.
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My *Basketball* goes through —   R S = 2 G M c 2

*StarfishY* ~~~*Fishing*~~~*FishB*~~~*Beach*~~~*Swimming*~~~*Sailing*~~~*TrophyG* *Stop* *Fork* ————————- .

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

 
"Note: Poetry: life’s little interruptions amassing int..."
 

Best Poetry Collection Been more than I could imagine or expect here.
Why Mail It In? In Latin

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


And other people’s (reviewers) words…Review of "The Absence of Wavelength"
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—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
[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

 
18+ Comment: Love my process constructing and sharing visions in words collected (fuck limitations).

I'm Godzilla
August 28, 2006 this blog opened

BOOK
SuperNova Afterglow  (18+)
All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views
#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.
 



             



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 Best Poetry Collection on Writing.Com

Sig for nominees
November 18, 2023 at 6:21am
November 18, 2023 at 6:21am
#1059672
There was a time when staying up late was special.
You could hear the world wind its giant clock.
Since daylight savings time, everything digital,
we wait for sunrise eternal.
We can’t hear. We don’t see.
What’s special that we cherish —
the tradition of anticipation?

Why do we have to learn the ending of every story,
and not fear the trap of our eyes inside a snow globe?

What’s not eternal, is mother tucking me in, placing
two waxy lips tenderly upon a sweat-tired forehead.
Don’t stay up, spoil what waits at morning.

Bright, lumin colors and scents hovered in nights.
All unwrapped now: my gifts, her presence,
what I regifted my children; and what do they give
moving forward from me, her, from Father Time?

Where is that clock? Did we break midnight eternal?
Chains, gears, pulleys…a shop…bespectacled, gray assessor?

A few more grains slip the hemorrhaged container,
spill faster like counted and gobbled pastel beans.
Does the March hare come or a mad hatter?

I’m tired even of myself, questioning everyone.
No one acknowledges, but look over my shoulder at something.
I look behind for presumed ghosts, turn back
and years elapsed; all are gone. I presume

looking, echoing my name amid valleys and dense wood.
I’m alone in November, recall we held each other for warmth
with a tune harmonized from one heart.

Not even a sigh now, unless resignation December.
Its weight of mighty hammer, soon pendulous,

smashes open that gumball machine of time. Snatch up all,
as I walk through and past each of you, invisibly —
the children Wonka never wanted, but one.

The keys to the chocolate factory embedded in carbonate
chocolate time. We could write a sequel,
but not like the first screening, reclined

in tight-hinged, creaking theatre amid landmine
popcorn memory crunch. From bucket to mouth to seat,
eventual gravitational, cement floor, wasted calories.
Even as pale faces flickered, we knew our film souls

losing to the giant clock. What is time really,
without one record keeper, reminiscer and a mother
who tenderly turns pages with a wet forefinger?

The furnace kicks in one more time.
It’s late. Life in the morning.

Time exhales, as I do.


11.18.23
5:41 a.m. before a glim of sun spied in my shed.

Why edit to satisfy the needs of contest promoter or publisher.
Fear the giant clock, our own impatience? I will
read to you from my giant, green recliner. Space for two.

You can feel these emotions when one writes.
Not quite as much on a later read. Give it time. Then read.
Hopeful clarity. Look for the popped kernels in every crevice.

Tell me: was it fun while it lasted?
Make Some Memories.
Be glad for recollections that nourish a tired soul.


O, for the lack of a good editor.
Looks to the northern…lights.


© Copyright 2024 ~ Brian K Compton ~ (UN: ripglaedr3 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
~ Brian K Compton ~ has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/ripglaedr3/day/11-18-2023