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 |   All that remains: in afterlife as 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. 20k views |
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Obshchak Some torn to the ground Some burn to the ground Others removed brick by brick Redesign for the times When the lease comes up Or just fold up When you have a bad day and need a reason... Formerly: New Zenith To Hell…(all started with arc as writer here from the trials of Rising Stars to Preferred Author to WDC Quills Best Poetry Collection... "Whoever fights monsters should see to it…he does not become a monster.” - Some guy, I guess. Look it up? I’ve been to the abyss and back. Not so bad. The loneliest happy person you'd ever meet, when not the saddest person who needs to be alone. In an ever-changing world, we need to handle topics at the ready. If you roll over and give in to the narrative without lending a voice, might as well hand over your civil liberties. Voices could connect to true conscience and spirit for honest and open discourse. Why feel so redacted? Unify on issues or don't but put drama aside. Open minds require complete objectivity. Or, agree to disagree and have a beer. Just writing what I feel without the narrative-altering mind f---ing with my head. [MY Chorus] In your house, I long to be Room by room, patiently I'll wait for you there, like a stone I'll wait for you there, alone - Chris Cornell, RIP Some other stuff ▼ My recent poetry:
Sometimes epiphanies about my insights on writing and life and what goes on... Blah, blah, blah ▼ ![Merit Badge in Rare
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I like your work!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Rare.gif) Thank you WakeUpAndLive️~Happiness  for honoring me with your kind words!Read here some old blog entries...  2018 Highlights ▼ More... 2018: The Quiet Ones ▼  Brian K Compton notes an echo~  |
| I don't talk about basketball in my blog anymore. I go to the gym 2-3 times a week, sometimes spending up to three straight hours in pickup games at the YMCA. My game recently improved greatly, but I needed my wife to shoot some video to see how I'm moving. I'm somewhat hesitant to put my head down and run full steam most of the time because of my issues with eyesight (legally blind from glaucoma). Can't be displeased with the results from what I saw so far on video. I don't want to upload entire games to YouTube and taking it from a camera, so there are steps in editing process that I will need time to complete. I write about my experiences in tweet form now, at one of my three Twitter accounts. The rest of my thoughts were going in hand-written journals, but lost interest in doing that, too. |
| plain and simple...this is THE song...for me: Another song that got me excited and still gets me to sing along...when alone... I'm a huge nerd who loves 'Chuck' and the ever so digest able 'Cake'... |
| It's been awhile since I've given a review to a thoroughly meritous work. And once in awhile, got that much appreciated response to my effort. Been looking back at my ten years here and have identified highlights like this that brought me joy... "Invalid Entry"  |
| Blue Quiet Somber like chilled rain clinging to this dull glass, you won't get inside where darkness is cast. Illuminating blue light is warmth. No fire can smoke hard enough, burn as bright as the rage within. But quiet now, the damper open wide, wild seek refuge near, use the dead of autumn to clog my heart. Here in the dark, we cloister together alone. Still, but not so dank I can't draw breath. Lungs oscillate, let me know time Is eternal. For now, squirm to find dry room in these rags. Squat and blink at satellites searing a velvet vault. Dreams slowly steep the drowsy head, a canvas of unfiltered vision. 10/10/18 rewrite: Blue Quiet Chilled tears cling this dull glass, dark void Illuminating blue light warm, warming smoke inhaled hard burning bright damper open wide, refuge nears, wild the dead of autumn Unclog thick cloistered scales Invisible peel dank with decay Steamy breath surfaces oscillate beautiful fire eternal, here In the dry room blink, satellites near Our velvet vault. Dreams steep drowsy laid a canvas unfiltered Full. |
| I'm reminded how impactful one line in a song can be, especially when it reaches out to you as the last crescendo is dying. One song, Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody,' comes to mind. "Hit me where the wind blows," comes low and soft, almost inaudibly. I feel poetry can similarly capture that magic. The poem I just penned attempts to encapsulate the purpose and tone of the narration...
I used italic for the final line like Freddie Mercury modulated his voice to inflict feeling to give pause. Happy National Poetry Day |
| I discovered in newsfeed from another writer that it's National Poetry Day. Ironically I tweeted something about poetry on Twitter 10 minutes prior to learning this. https://twitter.com/glaedrfly/status/784008521633435648 Since I'm at work with little free time, I am contemplating finding time to challenge myself to write 10 poems today, hoping one will be meaningful. |
| Harmonize... I don't know where the lyric should begin Jump right in? Forsake perfection? What if I don't know how The song should end? What if I'm off key? Too many questions from one Whose squandered opportunity I see you turn away I need your eyes I don't know how the lyric should start With you in my heart I want you near I want you to hear Trouble finding this beauty within Is this the day? Are the words I long to speak On the way? As my voice trails off Need to think some more Stall... I don't know why the lyric should end Dreams so close to touch If I could see the stars And me in your misty eyes Are they for me, because I...? Stall... You take your seat I'll stake mine, hold your hand Try to find what's in my heart This very last time. The music rises, curtains up. You can see... He sets the bar too high: |
| Attention to punctuation and form later... Your glass top world, My cage, Where I plot my escape To seek immortality Where you hide. I want to be inside. So beautifully made up, Willfully I suspend Disbelief That you won't be with me. I glimpse the reflection In the glass Ugly, attentive viewer, But my eyes Won't lie to myself Anymore The dream is dying. Too old, too worn down To absorb these images Once as beautiful as my own In cracked, fading photographs. You still sing to me. My ears deceive, too. But, I'm learning Experience is about the past There can be no fairytales When beginnings are just endings Of what we seek. It's been so long, I don't know what I seek Anymore? Is it you, or Who I used to be Filled with as yet Unrealized potential? Your glass top reality Could be even more saddening. I don't know why I pine. It may mean I am near The end of my time And we never danced, Truth and immortality. Sing me another song? Shed a tear So I know We share the same vision Together in eternity. We're all alone (together) while dying, amid a sea of unrequited love washing away our memories. |
| I'm blessed to be a member of Writing.com and to be able to share my words. This time of year, with the big birthday celebration, there is so much going on. I really want to dive in. But, everytime I get the notion I draw a blank. So much has changed since I started at this website and yet it's the same. So, maybe it's just me. I don't know. I can't bring myself to answer emails on time. I look at events going on but I just don't know what to do. I stopped posting in my notebook. I just don't know what to say. I'm drifting. I think writing is beyond me now. Just want to sit on the front porch rocker, observe some sunrises and sunsets. I yearn for a still day where I can hear my own thoughts and reminisce when I had high hopes. I'll keep checking in. 9.3.16 |
 In The Supple Green Stoic, you tower -- ignoring me? I lay awkward, spine exposed, wither in the wet/warm supple green. Others cast off, away from your love. Shuddering divers flat fall to an armless mother who mindless comforts all. Why don't you need me anymore? Why am I to die among these strangers, my supposed kin? Why aren't they questioning purpose, fearing wicked, playful air whirling us further away from your sheltering, inattentive love? Be faithful? Hold on? Where are the promises to materialize, lift me higher, nearer to you? I fear I will bleed into this fertile woman who melts me, destroys me with her strange need to feed you, so offspring might dutifully unfurl, nestle in your branches. They too will fall, only to repeat my mistakes. Cycle of death, your vigor, breathes life into something I'm not a part. Just stay in the moment. Don't think. Trust this blood-sucking woman to unhusk your essence, fondly remember youth and ignorance, while you cling to life believing in purpose. relate to the fallen leaf, questioning my purpose while dying 9.12.16 Original: (Punctuation and form need work...) Stoicly, you stand above me -- Ignoring me? I lay awkwardly, my spine exposed, withering in the wet/warm supple green. Others cast off, away from your love. Shuddering divers flat fall to an armless mother who mindlessly sits with us all. Why don't you need me anymore? Why am I dying among these strangers, my supposed kin? Why aren't they questioning purpose, fear the wickedly playful air whirling us further away from your sheltering, inattentive love? Be faithful? Hold on? Where are the promises to materialize, lift me higher, nearer to you? I fear I will bleed into this fertile woman who melts me, destroys me with her strange need to feed you that the offspring might dutifully unfurl, nestle in your branches. They too will fall, only to repeat my mistakes. Cycle of death, your vigor, breathes life into something I'm not a part. Just stay in the moment. Don't think. Trust this blood-sucking woman to husk your essence, fondly remember youth and ignorance, when you thought you had it all. 9.2.16 relate to the fallen leaf, questioning my purpose while dying |
| Discarded, Brown and rumpled, Slotted and sorted By dewy blades of green; Refugees cloister, Purposed to mother, Soaking the arriving Radiance. I feel an autumnal tide washing me out of summer. Humidity shudders. Breezes brush lines of laundry Where a child once played In fading light. Mother calls me, too. Beauty can be coaxed from ugly mystery, A process that might frighten you. |
| Then, I stare at this dim Glass top adventure, Illumed in simulated light, Justifying nothing. Look. Pines soar straight up, One hundred feet From nose to sky. Why don't I witness? Because I can't see. Lay in my lap, Thermal creature. Free my mind, Adventure. Take me to vision, Because I can't see. Mind aches, eyes dry, Memory bleeds Onto the floor, My chaff castoff, exhausted. A garden blooms by inches. Wet grass gently bends Under feet; nimble, bare toes. But I can't see anymore. Painful to bear witness To what I once knew, What I think I know. I recline alone With this barren brood; Saccharin journeys Emblazoned On a once fruitful mind. Savage and cruel, Dark mystery awaits, Unlike the panorama Laid out, stretching, Ever changing, If I just set one limb Outside the fateful door. Idle still, Disturb not The wandering one, Sitting alone, Full of someone else's Documented imagination. |
Hope in the Margins/ No Ink for a Dreamer Those few fleeting moments of hopefulness: marginalized, incalculable, elusive; hanging on to get them back -- retuning, harmonizing, visualizing -- gone. What was I thinking about? Waiting for a moment that seldom comes. What does it look like? When will it reappear? Will it be standing by me and leave the moment I near? Retrace your steps. Where to begin? Live. Pray. Love. Return is never easy. I held her in memory. I danced with the notion. Fantasy. Ecstasy. Delusion. What child shall I be that you might witness? Smile. Wink. Fade. How shall I sing my lyric? Coy. Charm. Heartfelt. What will I plea? Time moves slowly; escapes too quickly. Throw the car into gear? No. Stop. Park. No joy for this ride. Shut in my shed, I fear -- those eyes I dreamt; the lips I desire, warmth never felt, cooling, colder. I lay my pen on the mantle -- no fire. I shred this paper. No ink for a dreamer. I was preparing myself for a cup of coffee and started to imagine how I might feel drinking that brew. Sometimes, it's the window of opportunity for some great inspiration. Other times, I idle in my thoughts hoping to unlock some mystery to life by jotting down the words that surface. But, I get stuck and just push forward. This is what I came up with (this time): I'm not worried about form, yet some of it helps with expression. Life is always uneven and if we try to make perfect in structure we cage our beast. I prefer to think it is tethered. And while I would prefer a disciplined monster, I understand his need to be appreciated the way he is...warts and all? We're not perfect. We can act like it. Hope others buy into the illusion, but it's only our delusion. Isn't it easier to come out with it? Rather be ugly than false, but afraid of how I'll be viewed. I'm flawed. I make mistakes. I want love and forgiveness. I never want to sit in judgment of another, put in a position to help them with their own delusion. Truth should be easy. But it can be indigestible. I know my flaws. I don't parade around with them like mustard on my face. But, I don't write these words in permanent ink on my head when there is so much more beautiful and right that gives balance to my life. Repurpose me. Shelter me. I'm here, full of love, life and still willing to learn. And the clock just keeps on ticking as if in perpetual purgatory. |
| It feels like we are a nation of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). When will it be enough? How can we stop the tide of violence in America? Is peace an ignorant, forgotten relic of a dream from our past? Why so much unrest in America? These spikes in our country's tumultuous times make us fret. Look at what our children can see on television, on the Internet. Are we supposed to live in fear? Lock all the doors and hide? I'm not the sort to be one of those gawkers or 'rubberneckers' at a freeway accident. Just as I am not likely to Google or tune in to news sources for details about the latest mass shooting or carnage. I get the gist from the headlines, teases and unavoidable cooler talk. I'm disappointed in how the media cold-heartedly disseminates information like subjects of a Don Henley song. And maudlin. Media is self-serving, even though they serve a purpose. Don't sit around a coffee table sipping coffee and shaking your head while taking a moment to stare at the camera as if you commiserate with me. It feels like speaking out as just one person goes nowhere. Seems like there's millions of message boards on the Internet, places like newspapers to opine. And most of us agree bad men will do bad things with weaponry that can be used to either kill or save us. We want it to stop but it doesn't feel like our government is able to enact policy or remedies. Protesting seems pointless, and sometimes, undesirable. We get no where. I've been on the other side of social injustice. Sometimes, I unwittingly provoke it. Misunderstanding, rising anxiety, no leaders to help resolve burning issues fester the minds that need a salve of education. Maybe we're heading away from democracy and toward a police state, as our country tries to justify the need for control in our part of the world. And yet, we are not as bad as some of the other countries that do exercise restraint and get push back way worse than here. I think our president could step up and address the nation on violence. It would likely be controversial and stir debate, because we want less government control not more. We need a leader to lift us, remind us to be strong. As parents, it's time to sit down our kids and have an honest talk about the world today. But too many of us can't wrap our heads around it. What to say? Assure them this is a great country with great opportunities. People are trying to take our freedoms away. We have to be steadfast in our beliefs, need to teach ourselves well, learn and remember how and why this great country was founded. Tuck them in at night, say a prayer if that helps. This is more than a bumpy ride. Strap them in, kiss them and hope for the best. We can never get down or blame one another. We should be checking on our neighbors, spreading good cheer. Don't lock yourself away. Lend them your eyes and ears. We lock arms and unify in our nation's core beliefs. What's unfortunate is we put too much stock in sports, entertainment, distraction, the latest fads and what a dysfunctional family like the Kardashians is doing. We are so obsessed with putting up walls that we've drowned out those things we need to pay attention to. Tear down the walls of indifference. Really consider the avenues through organizations that do good, spread peace. Even if it's through a local church. Participate until you are satisfied you are earning the reward for your freedom. Count your blessings while you're at it. Politics are cartoonish and divide. You almost want to ignore it. We have to push for change, for REAL dialogue. Stop letting government run over us with policy and support visions for a more hopeful tomorrow. Perhaps, we feel cut off, left out. Leadership is needed, too. Not saying we need more politicians, just more voices to unify and keep it real. Most of all, we can't let them wear us down. We cannot let hate become justified by those who carry out violent acts of any type. We need to come from a place of love and patience. If we tune this out, it doesn't go away. It only gets louder. Let's not become desensitized, as we nostalgically reminisce about a time when innocence was revered as greatly as our freedom. |
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![Merit Badge in Second Time Around Contest
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Congratulations on winning the Grand Overall Prize in [Link To Item #2164876] with your beautiful poem, [Link to Book Entry #933358]. This poem really moved me. Great writing!
Rachel *^*Heartv*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Second_Time_Around_Contest-2164963_14.gif)
In the Falkland Islands, internet is very limited and very expensive. The place I'm currently staying only lets me use it in the middle of the night, so when I have to get up at 3 am to check my texts (no cell service to the US here unless I'm on the internet) or WdC, I don't do nearly as much as I used to. 
I currently have 2 very long emails I still need to get to from several days ago. Anyway, I miss everyone, but I also miss sleep, so there's that. 
Have you spoken to the doctor about your vision problems lately? I know there are special glasses for it because I have to wear them to read much ever since the brain injury. It's part of why I now only listen to audiobooks instead of reading regular books. It took 8 years for anyone to diagnose it because I have a brain injury and while one might think it would be obvious to me that I see double, it wasn't. Partly, my brain does a fair job of compensating. But also, partly, you use your brain to realize and understand that the 2 images you constantly see are double vision and something you should mention to your eye doctor. Since my brain was damaged, even basic things like that can escape me. 
I never once thought to mention it, even with annual eye exams in the Army and an exam every 2 years at the VA. Though, in my defense, since it happens in something like 41% of people with a brain injury, it should have been discovered by an eye doctor much sooner. 
I know doing that activity is a CRAP TON of work. But you made a difference in lives, not just his, but for all the people he's reviewed since. 
Well done! 
