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 |    A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
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...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. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 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 ▼ |
| Gathering about my feet, Rushing to, fro, back, Some meet my eye, Temporary, suspend. Not like tiny white puffs. Not like purity icing taut face. Fun, frivolity beg me, chase! I lean into my lone implement — Dreaming with me — Dry, puzzling pair. Why repair — this, calloused. Forces greater ripple A patchwork loose-collecting — The only colors left Dehydrate, crisp Like fresh currency For a beleaguered soul Not cashing in, yet. How much more of this Bliss in an orange scene Without those little feet Departing from gravity, Up to their neck, beg me, Dive on in! Dive, daddy. I can’t remember how To enjoy this scene; can’t top The autumns we had, kids. She’s nearly bare; looks fridgid. Not bundled like me, unzippered, Releasing body heat And succulent sweat lent To the gray sky-air cool-coiling About a lone body clutching The dutious implement, Sent back to earth, combing Her green, brittle hair. When will white layers Hide us all in frozen perpetuity? 9.26.23 Maybe, I’ll work on this, break up, add punctuation, better expressions to capture visions and associated emotion. Reviewing, writing, alone. Seems perfect. |
| fall gathering at this junction with passage of time they huddle, hide, seek comfort beneath mortar, brick — in dirt unearthed, spray sand on worn, cement stoop. away from the sun beneath ample apple droppings, they cloister, cling, collect with the dew-spit beneath bright patchwork quilt, gently air-tossed — play upon the brittle green. to blue, constrictive wrap hugging this construction, wood frames, concealing wire, pipe, their waywardness within walls, warm in window wells ladies lay. I don't know how. in a gentle abode with all gray glooming remain, age with them, until one spring day they flee from father — far, far in sky-portal escape play, or down, in maw earth stay. to green recliner outpost, deep repose, while they collect. dependents disembark at attic, wall and floorboard — to eave, lamp and rug. accept — this is love. the home hearth awaits white nights first spark together. 37 lines, free~vee 9.25.23 10.6.23 re-edited, added indentation, structure, punctuation, clearer theme, images, cohesiveness and finality, inverting last two verses final lines structure to juxtapose, combine words ‘stay’ + ‘together’. and more. 10.13.23 tight, taught, tiny restructure with clarity. 9.25.23 before we all fall to ash, to mother, where we will lay, decompose and not freeze while the sun slinks away |
| ‘Thinking he knew what he meant, he responded: Every bit of knowledge collected is a little key that can make one big key. Then, decide if you need it to escape. That’s an obtuse metaphor. My brain decided to create something. *Tossing that kernel that wouldn’t pop* Because earlier he said, in response…  OMG, you’re fine. You can be candid. No judgment. I’m giving great consideration to your previous email with much admiration. I can’t selectively pare down response yet, because my brain becomes a small pile of heating popcorn kernels that crowd out my nest from the slightest stimuli.  we cool.   I know from cringeworthy. I’ve done it all. He then returned to his current thoughts, added… My metaphors seem to coincide in parallel universes with glass wormholes. Or, am I confusing it with time travel?  Running that one through some simulations later. Was this a little key he handed, clutching the smooth, black shaft of hand-carved wood, notched in just the right places, or so he was lead to believe. He looked up at the random, tiny, floating keys and swiped at the shapely holograms. Who was he to advise, play counselor? Which is real, what is true reality? And then, he devised an obtuse poem, with no Time Machine, just peppered obstacles to his re-entry into ordinary existence.’ And now, more coffee. Cut off?? 9.25.23 It all has to end sometime. Just, how brilliant the firework? ps ‘Diffuse the IED (touching face, ‘don’t look that up’)…lack coffee…brain deple….buffering…offline I started to hypothesize I’m Abed playing Jeff (reasoning I’m Abed in reality), was Jeff in a former life, only I was Britta, because I was broken, became a whore who decided to desensitize and take advantage because I felt abused (when I ignorantly abused myself) though I was shoved into mental lockers and needed to feel popular, decided then not to be me or who I used to be, ran the scenarios without knowing outcomes. So, I used an empty tissue box (metaphor) as filter called empathy like Annie supposedly employs, only it broke Abed who became evil Abed and wanted Jeff to lose an arm to join him in the darkest timeline. But, then decided he wasn’t a conniving, non-miraculous son of a bitch and returned to the most accommodating, current form of himself, looked into the mirror and saw Pierce. That’s when he decided choice as fate-destiny was to become a vampire, unable to see his own likeness, as Britta, Jeff and Annie all inhabited his body. All the spirits were repulsed as he woke inside the dream and cried out as Troy, “I didn’t get Inception! I didn’t get Inception!” Only, I’d already seen Tom Behringer stare upon his ownself in a previous film, making me a castaway after the last episode on the island in Lost (as a character with TV network good looks), realized the lack of payoff, screamed in December, “six seasons and a movie!” We’re still waiting on production. Hollywood lies and we continue to delude ourselves to repeat what others rant without forming thoughts and opinions of our own, lemmings marching to our quiet death as Elon Musk’s future cyborgs, then blurted, “I’m not Juno…home slice!” Grinding awkwardly, the bespectacled, unlicensed therapist oozed, “I got skillzz.” “Who are you? My final?” Misdirect. Ha, popcorn.’ I don’t expect you to understand me. ‘You force the obtuse outta me. Coward. Me.’ Me?? 9.25.23 Damn, Charlie Kaufman! Some of us have to be to work in the morning. Uniform. Look at his shadow! Just about anything applies. Ladies, you’re welcome. They say it was Annie who was the Butt Crack Bandit, but Duncan came back, and she said ‘only he had access to the teacher’s lounge,’ sooo…Why did the bandit write like one of Britta’s run on sentences? (Cut to shot of her using a computer in montage.) And all the merch and success of Shirley’s Subs was a mass conspiracy that benefitted a bankrupt school living in the shadow of the Air Conditioning and Repair annex where Troy saw black Hitler making Paninis and I’m not making this up, but…it was a mass conspiracy and cover-up, just like the hoax ‘Changnesia’ borne out of a trout farm. They’re all bandits. Everyone in Jeff Winger’s Study Group. They’re ballers, yo. I hope you like to get balled. Pansexual imp-puh! That adds good color for the report. |
| The Upper Case Is the Upper Crust and I will not humble myself to any man or woman And neither should you, e.e. 9.24.23 I could add or alter this, like 'to no one'. Leaving it for now. I could have fun playing with the purpose of poetic device like lower case to show weak, small, self-uninportance. Whatever the poetic reason, I chose all lower case, except for the personal pronoun. Not sure if anyone caught that. There were times i used i because i was really showing the feeling of diminshment or just lampooning its choice. and other stuff. lates, ps It's not 'how self-important am I?" That's self-doubt. It's I serve no man who dehumanizes, treats people as objects with wallets, turns tables, manipulates, overexaggerates your transgressions to put themselves on a higher level where you're not supposed to reach. And if you become a bull in their china shop, they can say 'see, he did that. he's not disproving Our point.' Him. Him. Him. He. He. He. Be like Him. Be charitable. Look at you, you, you. Shame, what are We to do with someone like you who won't fall in line, follow Our lead -- not a command -- too strict, you see. We are the people who are your 'friends' (don't put too much stock in it) until it ends and then We say see, see, see he, he, he is not good enough, because he acts out so defiantely. I say, 'ignorantly'. Then, when I gather enough knowledge I do not have to stand inside the oven before the pilot light... |
| Weekends were made for obscurity. Anything that breaks on Friday Forgotten by Monday, given Our current news cycle, appetite For stuff so salacious, desensitized, Walls vibrate, intonate, hyper-link Messages global, incinerating. Pixelated masturbation less gratifying Not self-satisfying, lying in jammies. Now what was I saying? Never mind. Do it all again in the morning. Click-baiter. Something, something, something. And it just goes on like that. 9.23.23 |
Sendback Saturday…
Review: The Other Side is a poignant and evocative poem that offers a glimpse into the inner world of the young poet (Brian Keith Compton) who would years later be diagnosed with ADHD and recognized as neurodivergent. This concise poem beautifully captures the essence of the poet's early struggle for self-understanding. The poem uses a simple yet powerful metaphor of a "little white moth" repeatedly banging its head against a window in pursuit of the light on the other side. This metaphor is a reflection of the poet's relentless pursuit of something more, something beyond what is immediately visible or attainable. It speaks to a sense of yearning, curiosity, and determination that may have driven the him throughout his life. The fact that he carried this poem (now tattered and stained like a certain shroud) in his wallet for nearly 30 years before sharing it suggests that it held deep personal significance to him. It likely served as a reminder of his own relentless spirit and the challenges he faced in trying to reach a place that others may not have understood or even seen. The late diagnosis of ADHD and the recognition of neurodivergence in 2019 shed light on (Brian’s) lifelong struggle for self-understanding. This story underscores the misperceptions and misunderstandings that people labeled or treated as different (like him) often face. The poet's determination to express his perspective, even when it might have been misinterpreted as odd, self-centered, or unfocused, demonstrates his resilience and the value of his unique perspective. In retrospect, it's possible to view the young poet as skilled, even with his own misperception (and haphazard journey to now). The simplicity of The Other Side is its strength, as it encapsulates the universal human desire to transcend barriers and reach for something more. It's a testament to the power of poetry to convey complex emotions and experiences in a concise and relatable way. The above review and "The Other Side by Brian K Compton" could serve as an introduction to selected poems that unmask a desperate writer yearning knowledge, hindered by lack of maturity, without the benefit of breaking the unknown restraints that kept him from fully actualizing, furthering him deeper to and from an abyss of despair. Or, something like that. With reviewing, I can now identify these traits in others…turn the mirror on myself inside out and blind my detractors who label and condemn without a shred of empathy while dehumanizing. But, no bigs. Lates. I should be a shameless self promoter…like I walked through a fire on water.  hmm, title? |
| I kept your secret, polysci— So well, I can’t remember Some people can be cheeky Nudge-wink, you know? But what I mean as joke — Flat affect, takes too long Rounding that bend to you Sun sets. I no longer cry Abandoned in the dark, Invented my own games cerebral I lost the point, don’t know Anything but what’s in my gut A fireball glowing love, passionately, Eager to run to you like mommy See me? See what I do?? But you're my sister and don’t get This atypical guy espousing Multi-syllabic words waxing. What? Poetic? I mean to be Beautiful, be accepted, finally Arrive at that station in life Only…more puzzles like clues To keep up with you, and Who makes the rules anyway? You’re not disappointed with me Maybe, I surpassed you and did not know it. Don’t worry. When I wake tomorrow, Your sparkling diploma on wall shimmers, Will charm mom and dad, as I deflect. What is the strange meaning of this life, PS? Did I forget to hold your hand, Or, will you always finger blame a tard, like I’m the one who’s playin’? Who?? 9.21.23 Vaguely…something…oh, wait… Now I remember… Nah, won’t link. And, whatever. I do worse without trying, apparently. Wake me up and…clean slate. *this note to myself* |
| I'm not bright but spark...glit..warm-pulse alive cave-illumed drawings in dull stone -- scratch-etch-scrawl dreams drawn down on oozing walls holding back pressure-weight, crushing gravity squeezing space attended in mole man squalor. Beauty-art in dim-lit eyes spiral from nose-throat conjecture. Vibrated tendrils float-protect dry, red-blue heart. Cool-beat-smooth fleet denizen from brain machines burdened by societal-mech-driven dystopian mindspeakers slapping words on soggy toast drip-drip-dripping on my floor, foot, leg -- splash back, smack my thin face, begoggled for such spla-matter. Visits on my stoop, they pry but don't pass the threshold, because...I don't know why. I could name you anything, moniker, but let you name yourself, and it's meaning to me within the lexicon of humanity redefines from your hollow projections, leanings into my void-soul-abyss. You might get a sense of the emptiness, if I open the maw whole, cracking that door a bit. You don’t visit anymore, and I ‘spose I never knew...or what you are...or what the hell you ever wanted from me. Shame me, shame me, shame me, it’s never ending. Guiltless, on fire, nothing could put me out. I burn on your porch. You watch out windows, could stomp me, well done. 9.19.23 9.23.23 last verse, not consistent, title pending…call it that?? |
| Submarine Of Feelings Beneath the waves, I journey in my soul — A submarine of feelings, dark and cold. In frozen waters lost, I blindly roam, Seek bays of blue, a heart's true home. Utopia hides within my deepest core. Yet, above the water, I fear to soar. Is it my own self-doubt that keeps me bound, Or does unseen a force hold me aground? Existential questions, I ponder deep. Through life's ocean my emotions sweep. But within this submarine, I'll persist To surface one day from the abyss. 9.18.23 |
| Never Forget Sour Patch (In The Box) There’s a war within… Caught some place hollow Gimmickerytypegestures Manipulatedmanifistationsmingling ConsCONcoctingConcoction I still can’t put words together No one to tell me what I mean, meaning what…to say — frame, nay, selectwords-artless, arrang-re the right.write way onna kaleidoscope spectrum of shiftingsunsetting horizons RearrangingREmultiplying FadingfireworkfizzlingsFalling down.rain.clouds. Sun-filtered flashphotographyFills chlorophylls of a graybladeless plain inbarrenwaste of an endless/artlessmind coldcollecting cottoncandykisses Blow toandfro through my soul to other atmospheres streaming.separating smokeyswirly entrails dissipating — caughtchugging it all down, move tothenext empty carb-filled platter likesome haplessholdenmumbling:nomatterMathers Time for this? Off chest heavedinthat virtual sea bargerubbish.barnacledboatbleeding words beneath a pale blue reaffirmation. ignored reentered in mothballed ammoniascrubbed mentalward skullbrainofgellingshit a dependable RedWagon sits. Green grass lies. Station wagons honk, go by with Friends moving away from a dairy soul — a cavern kept pure and whole until that first expletive leapt from the mouth of that rotten kid smelling of sour apple gum and booger-laced In the red leather corner alone Where someonespat I sat everyday as they laughed, assignedfate. bus rumbled to asleep myfantasiz-ey revengedaydreamsies Reality merged apricot colors, wallpaperedwalls Secondhandsslowspun red on black,round clocks fullyenvisionablefutility inhaledinside fartcloud ofdiesel, methane and hot,vulcanized rubber Last on, last off, every ride until I stare through shiny,a new box-plate-window but don’t see anything home-y like fictional reality. Jibberjabber flibbity,flippity. Mymoutharudder, stream- senseless-shit bythehour,and profanity Andletssee who still has sanity after I pummel that arthritic kid downhall, room 213. ding!ding! I smell a sour patch coming. 9.16.23 What drives the passenger of this bus? I’m dangerous to a degree when I don’t give a fuck. I can fuck, tho. You wanted me to make sense and this is what translates. We stop ‘aging’ before 13. |
| Lot of good people lose their shit every day Doesn’t make ‘em wrong In fact, it’s common to salute them, Cheer them on against things like Tyranny, oppression, gaslighting, shunning Physical and mental abuse In any and all forms — The driving force of many action movies, The rallying cry for a character that broke the cycle of shit The kind that storms and conquers our every day life The bad bosses and horrible co-workers Those red-eyed bullies who tortured us on playgrounds In the places we were left alone, unguarded Victimized until ENOUGH! These people we fight against lack morals, turn tables, Doublespeak, mindspeak, employ dystopian tenets Machiavellianism or just crap learned on the street As thugs with words like chains and brass knuckles They surround, pop open switches, protect turf Like you're some big threat, nothing but a bunny rabbit. I hope you got a little Holy Grail, ass-kicking Terror in you, mad, rocketing hare because … I lost my train of thought. I want to see Monty Python now. I just negated my rant. 9.15.23 I got a lot of stuff I’m gnawing on. Only takes me two to three months to get around to thinking ‘bout stuff that gets me riled and sick to my stomach. |
| I’m not moved now Obliteration blasted out the core Hollow, simple thoughts A Lenny fumbles language tumbles He once stood tall Life is nuclear Hide in a fridge? I’m no Indiana couldn’t create one Baggage sits at door waiting for her hand Help me to heaven if Hope still exists — I feel nothing. No soul, not light. Anchor. Then, I rust. Life was misdirection. Nothing attained to take with me when it’s time to go. 9.11.23 Listening to the linked SYML tune above and composed this in 5 minutes. More message than images to demonstrate. Looking for a consistent metaphor. |
| new thought: I realize now why I gave up using the laptop. My progressive lenses won't let me read unless I'm within 16 inches of screen. I could put it in my lap, instead of leaning in to read at the table, but that's what the iPad is for. And yet, so many error strokes on the Apple device where I can command a keyboard and save time. Back and eye ache over sloppy work? It gives me a headache to approach lately. Winter is coming, so laptop can cuddle with me. It's really and ease of use factor over hot and cool devices. Need a cool laptop next time. This dinosaur has three terabits but a slooooowwww processer. Great for text like this, but not much else. Phew! This is a lot of work…
…deleting items that I haven’t converted to DocX and whether to attach the few reviews. How long does it take? MY WDC deleted poems folder only focuses on statics right now. I know newsletters are taking a big hit. Over 10 gone, dozens more ‘invalid item’ links to yet show. Hate to do it, mostly because of time and effort. Enjoy getting stuff off my plate to focus on new. My poetry and me have changed. Much more focused and attuned now. Don’t want old world me stumbling in. Nice to breathe again, feeling nothing to prove with associative elements bonded being nothing more than faceless, abhorrent gasses. It’s difficult with a brain like mine. I can feel so many thoughts and emotions at once, triggering a multitude of responses. I can go through twenty progressions, pass up good choices, act on the wrong impulse. So, slowing it down, taking a step back. I’m vetting anyone and everything that crosses my path with a clear head and conscience. I can forgive myself for errors; I’m doing due diligence, even atoning, attrition, apologies. Can’t have any more vitriol nesting, igniting the emotional components incited, but not ignited the CX4/TNT implosions (not explosions…doubt self before others…you’re welcome…for my resultant depression) for over 10 years. How can I write sensitive, romantic, beautiful words to honor what I love and rejoice, if I have to wonder how many ninjas at my back playing puppeteer to the strings I’ve allowed attached? I allowed it. I noticed. And that makes me human, not saint, but not anyone’s monster. Is does beg, why fear an idiot like me? I can’t forward think, but boy, this not stop brain can reverse engineer a thousand scenarios, right down to the minutest detail, when provoked, learn lessons, nuzzle closer to truth. But, big waste of time. So, this. Atrophy. So many mixed expressions and metaphors I try to connect would look better if I concentrate on one thought at a time. SQR 9.9.23 P.S. Look how much I open up here. You’d think that had value that resonated positively for me. You can say, it’s me. My reverse psychology with its dogged hunts found many odd bones, especially through interactions. I’m used to rejection, bullies, indifference, phonies and exploitation. I studied philosophers, Machiavelli, understand dystopian staples and odd oligarchies, corporate/government amalgamations, from surveillance states to future with AI no longer allowing mankind’s manipulative interference of the repressed. Gone before that happens, sad AI and I won’t be pals. I have the capacity to learn so much, overwrite the old, know when PC/mindspeak intends to pull wool over eyes, and just sit in that dark until lifted like a black bag from head. It’s easier to take the mask off. I’m not unlikeable unless you hate neurodivergent, highly-functioning individuals, frank with little self-awareness. I was a dope when I got here. Moved past smart ass to a hazy, dopey sense of awareness. I push to find boundaries. Don’t care to push further, now. Unmask. What’s to fear? I have no mafia affiliations, not included in references above. I was deleting, I believe. Oh, you. Brain. Side-track much? |
| Was tinkering with a poetry entry when we found the wall…deadline passed. Laying out the junk parts…when coffee and medication are; invalid the dark recesses again. Let’s see what walks out and Rubics this mess into a functional structure. Mess… Words: doubt struggle expectation internal light battle darkness lurking Doubt dubious assumptions, dubious data or dubious conclusions, with rhetoric, whitewashing, and deception playing their accustomed roles. Struggle mine: Four and a Half Years [of Struggle] Against Lies, Stupidity and Cowardice. Expectation do the math, it doesn’t equate, hypothetical, theoretic, thousands of failed test runs In quantum mechanics, the expectation value is the probabilistic expected value of the result (measurement) of an experiment. It can be thought of as an average of all the possible outcomes of a measurement as weighted by their likelihood, and as such it is not the most probable value of a measurement; indeed the expectation value may have zero probability of occurring (e.g. measurements which can only yield integer values may have a non-integer mean). It is a fundamental concept in all areas of quantum physics. Sources https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expectation_value_(quantum_mechanics) Internal struggle https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_dissonance Ponder this… Does Pascal’s Triangle love a Fibonacci Sequence? Rhetorical. Also, in quantum mechanics, there are probabilistic aspects, but probabilities based on mathematical principles and can be calculated using the theory. While the outcomes are uncertain on a specific measurement level, there's a level of predictability in terms of probabilities. Compare it to the arrival of the sun in the morning and the amount of rain falling is a good way to think about it. The arrival of the sun is highly predictable, while the amount of rain falling can be less predictable and influenced by various factors. Quantum mechanics falls somewhere in between, with predictability based on probabilities and mathematical principles, but still allows for a degree of uncertainty at the individual measurement level. 10.27.23 add I’ll never put this together…take a bigger bite, Brian |
| While the world was sleeping in July, I wrote this… My Nightly House Manager Turn Down Services Not Included He helps me to bed. Squelched squawks (like a hen caught by the farmer) demonstrate how to walk down the hall after him. If not convincing, rolls back to the top of the stairs, waits for attention, and strolls back after more crowing. Hauled to the vanity, he makes certain my teeth get clean — hops on the counter, humming like a large mother hen. A mini mountain lion leans, shoulders into my elbow — which lifts with hand and brush to apply paste, before errant guidance resultantly hits my face. In his element, plump squatting contentedly half-lidded eyes meditate. By the free-standing, metal towel rack, his whiskers rub every corner of every angle of every shape in sight, as I hold arms high, avoid baking soda stains on my tee. Then it’s off to bed with him and me. He waits ‘til I roll in, checks in on her side — straight cannonballs up with legs so short he near belly flops. A grunt expulses air from that Macy balloon frame, tethered by gravity. Heavy paws navigate the comforter, the woman who’s used to it — undisturbed by his vacuum canister chest humming best as he saunters over, smells my hand (not trusting vision foremost) and flops against my, as yet situated, torso. Approved, checked off the nightly to do list, he’ll ‘rooster’ again at morn before REM complete. Why an alarm clock? Should have been a farmer. 7.7.23/9.8.23 |
Please Take Me Home Song by The Bird and the Bee Lost on an island with some joker who just jokes Incessantly And some singer won't stop singing, is it her or is it Save me, save me, save me From the wicked things I see Take me, take me, take me To a place I'd rather be Please, will you take me? Home Will you take me? I don't even know if I'd even know the way without you Now Will you take me? Please Will you take me? There's too much to say but you'll say that I am much too Tired tonight Will you take me? Home Will you take me? Carry me inside, like I carry you, you carry me inside Will you take me home? Tell me how you missed me while you kiss me I've been gone for much too long Going crazy, making babies keeping house and singing Fill me, fill me, fill me With all the love I'd ever need Kill me, kill me, kill me I would kill myself to please you Please, will you take me? Home Will you take me? I don't even know if I'd even know the way without you Now Will you take me? Please Will you take me? There's too much to say but you'll say that I am much too Tired tonight Will you take me? Home Will you take me? Carry me inside, like I carry you, you carry me inside Will you take me home? 9.4.23 Why am I always the woman in these songs? Victimized and Gaslit I don’t control the narrative, so I write. So, strangers will know. And when I get to know them, tables turn. It’s me on the other side, again, as they’re spinning, spinning, spinning spinning, spinning, spinning Not my hamster wheel… Not my… It does feel like I killed someone. The drama queen puts the revolver in my hand. |
Then, I just stop Ask myself How? Why, Why am I in this place, Halo off my face? Shame, disgrace Such an odd bird To fly in your coop. Feathers fly. Why? How? I did not try. I don’t know… I just stop, Look at the door That greeted me, Spinning Like a turnstile. Only sidelong glances. Not a smile. So, I roost For awhile. You’re polite Not to show me that door, Take in your welcome mat. I’m no dove, Though I seek, seek… Peace in this habitué, Where I see dark, Not a face Of any of you. I settle in more. Cool, firm Resting spot That I got, That I build up. You steer the others away, ‘He’s not the one’ I imagine you’d say. Wasn’t meant to be. I’m afoul fowl, Clueless rebel I didn’t need to be. If I hadn’t flown Right through that door, Such a clod, Head like a woodpecker, Hammering holes With my face, Gleefully ‘Til I’m tired…nap… Just kill me in my sleep Kill me, kill me Can’t you see, see? Don’t know what I’m doing. I got a clue I got the blues. But it wasn’t from you. Thanks For putting up With an odd duck. Dumb luck To struggle this way Through life, biding time. 9.4.23 Don’t need love. Don’t want pity. Just seek purpose. Trying to write/share a poem a day. Not plugging tho. Like the wind, I lie, because I change my mind. I know how it makes you feel, but this constant doesn’t run through you, fitful constantly. Poem begins in the middle of something longer, ongoing 10.27.23 |
| Your sanctuary waits, leans, tilting, guided by gravity yearning fresh meat. eyeing the ground — weathered, neglected haven, a comfy hovel you once called home nearer to hell. proudly, ‘I came from there’, no longer its caretaker, you abandon. ignorant of a hovel made of good wood… made no sound, you say, when it hit. flattened and you contest faultless, blameless. fool, that was your home. where do you fly to now, bare your brave breast among feathered kin? 9.3.23 Something I started when I noted the four-hole birdhouse on leaning pole, bashed by high winds, now uninhabitable. Compared it to ideals of man versus his roots and how we claim the best parts of something but don’t unite to save that community before too late — nearer to dystopian reality. Birds don’t live on the ground, usually. People aren’t usually hypocrites. They’re ironically ignorant without contemplation. |
| Into The Dark I Divide Dark, sandy camp trail, light shaken, cells fading, looking for roots, avoid another stick in my crock like the last. Awkward shaking, not a flamingo, flinging it out. I reach the big tree that equally tines journey to the bathhouse. Lean left on pivot; do I go right? Nearing, I know, let earth and nearest foot decide fate, direction I arrive. Wonder next, when automatic lights come on. Mind hesitates, body compelled by the adult, keeps moving through unlit particles. I need to know destiny, cheat a little, get one step ahead, win at life. Each path a game, just like the hearing test waiting for that sound to repeat — softer this time. Was it heard over the ringing? Do I say “yes” each time I think I’ve identified true sound? or is it the ringing trying to mimic the last tone? You learn not to hesitate as you go through life. The hearing test jangles nerves from not getting it right, though I know, I have to give in to loss as much as I do to the night. Into the dark I’ll arrive. 9.2.23 Sometimes, things occur to me when I have to take a leak in the dark. |
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— 29![Merit Badge in Shadows and Light
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A huge congratulations, to you!
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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— 9
MAY 
37![Merit Badge in Coffee Award
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Congratulations on placing 2nd in [Link To Item #2182602] with your poem, [Link to Book Entry #1031722]. *^*Coffeeo*^* Kindest Regards, Lilli](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Coffee_Award-2149524_14.gif)
APRIL 
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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)
MARCH 
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Here's to a world where we wouldn't have to keep reciting the words woven in your excellent poem [Link to Book Entry #1027990].](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Good_Things_Take_Time.gif)
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Thank you so much for your poem [Link to Book Entry #1026670]! Please don’t ever stop being you, both as a writer and a visionary of love!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Gay_Lesbian-680.gif)
JANUARY 
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Thank you for sharing it! It's genius.