*Magnify*
    June     ►
SMTWTFS
      
1
3
6
7
8
9
11
12
13
14
16
18
19
21
23
25
26
27
28
29
30
Archive RSS
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://writing.com/main/profile.php/blog/ripglaedr3/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/22
Printer Friendly Page Tell A Friend
(120)
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
Previous ... 18 19 20 21 -22- 23 24 25 26 27 ... Next
November 18, 2021 at 8:20am
November 18, 2021 at 8:20am
#1021856
Not
morose thoughts
of life after death
surfacing,
air escaping,
dreaming of some
accepting heaven.
Not
foolish thoughts
to finalize
surfacing,
but escape,
dream of some
haven embracing
a lone refugee.

Why
do these
minuscule prisoners
seek asylum,
to free my brain?
They teem
and bond and
offer credence
surfacing,
clouds of steam
producing enough water
to send
a surging river
seeking, yearning
freedom of thought:
break
the levee.


Where
will I flow then?



11/18/21

note
November 10, 2021 at 5:52pm
November 10, 2021 at 5:52pm
#1021343
Hazel eyes widened,
gathered light,
became amber-glowing —
two suns rising on our horizon.

I wanted to behold longer
but my own eyes wandered
to the spreading smile —
two soft, red lips,
shapely like her heart.

Did her cheeks blush,
body elongate to receive
this solemn figure?
Her chest puffed,
as did mine with pride
that this woman would greet
so fondly a solemn man
standing on the bow
of some great ship.

A spool sputtered inked tape.
A chance transaction ended
before newfound courage
could discover a route
to her hidden Atlantis.


11.10.21
12.31.21 edit plus add

borrowing from another writer to perfect amber eyes description.
November 10, 2021 at 6:14am
November 10, 2021 at 6:14am
#1021307
I’ll just start driving through the neighborhoods of my mind
         - nothing is what I remember -
if I sleep
I dream all unfamiliar people
         - oil paintings drip to the floor,
         beg me step in the puddled colors,
         walk new images from feet to my family home -
it’s a mess...

like a bridge
I could dream this vision to the past, too.
but construct it with my waking mind,
hoping to reawaken what long has been idle
         - so I can meet you again -
         - man in the mirror that no one seems to know -
         - I forget him too -

I walk through these neighborhoods in my mind.
no one home.


11.7.21
11.10.21
11.21.21 last edit?

I may never finish this...uh, metaphor...I took a stab at it.
November 10, 2021 at 6:11am
November 10, 2021 at 6:11am
#1021306
From The Sideline (Watching Cancel Culture)

My life is unlearn everything you know,
or components of it,
but figure out on your own which parts. Or,
just throw yourself out.
Or, just accept you’re defective, reduced to public scorn,
labeled a Karen or Boomer, some kind of racist.
Just conform already
(when you figure it out, straighten out, resubmit yourself for consideration)
and get with the flow
(or fake it perfectly),
keeping your head low
(knowing ageism is around every corner),
and maybe, no one will call you out.

You might survive this
(or it redirects, changes mid-stream in 15 minutes)
as you eye the cellar of your thoughts.
There’s no escape from drama or indifference.

Be neither protagonist or villain and watch and cringe
or laugh from the sideline.
Let’s not learn their game, okay?

half-time, fourth quarter, two-minute warning, heading to overtime?
You, with your sports metaphors. Take a timeout.


11/10/21
November 8, 2021 at 7:26am
November 8, 2021 at 7:26am
#1021130
I can save the world, civilization, with a pen stroke.
mankind survives on my words, illuminated, projected
in a universe, inner sanctum -- postings from an underworld
where words are flesh-eating monsters ravaging all.

my pen is bright Excalibur wielded in informative fashion,
that I might save the ignorant, defenseless against famine
for words bleeding on luminescent pages like ink
but don't stain, revolve on waves of intermittent light
wavering throughout these shared galaxies of rubble,
shine through channels and portals mirrored and deflected,
bouncing off each rock into a black space without gravity,
boundless for some other cosmos in hopes someone will hear.

I can save the world if I write these odes to someone who'll listen.

I am not infinite, trapped in a bottle of time, cast to a sea
that rolls away from this orb on waves out to a heaven somewhere,
should it exist, unlike the purgatory I now realize
eating me and all mankind from within while we look out.

is there some message of hope out there like mine? wait.
I haven't said anything yet, because it's all just a dream.
all of this is the collective imagination of something greater,
if you listen to mouths with way too much money, like elon musk.


11.8.21
12.10.21

just some nonsense. or is it? unedited or edited. let me go back to sleep and if I wake up...

Short Version:
Turn The Page
November 7, 2021 at 12:11pm
November 7, 2021 at 12:11pm
#1021073
The Unpinning

I'm going to tell you why I don't need your love
and then turn
as if
to someone else for a hug
and remember why I'm alone,

why I slumber in a blanket fort of dreams
constructed in my child mind,
clinging like those clothes pins
to innocence
since you dragged me out,
asked me to play,
taught me your games,
told me I played wrong.

You told me I let you down when we lost,
bluntly told everything
that was wrong with me,
then treated me indifferently
when you had other friends,
sending me to solitude

to think what I had done decades long,
forcing others to experience my pain,
relived again and again
with every grubby face
evilly staring back.

how to purge this hatred you taught me,
how to live in a fortress
with someone who'll help me take down the pins,
fold and store the bedding neatly,
sparing a few to sleep on
and dream
like I did when I was a kid.

but as a grown man, I only see forward
a grave
and no flowers,
because you killed everything that blooms.



11.7.21
4.9.23

finding myself and not blaming me, or others, but the cruel, vicious life cycle I wasn't prepared for.
to say I have a new tormentor is erroneous. but, say I discovered the truth about mean kids and how they set out to destroy you, thinking it would make them bigger people for swallowing innocent souls. My soul has long since been taken, succubus...succubi?
November 3, 2021 at 8:58pm
November 3, 2021 at 8:58pm
#1020771
Flurry at twilight, snow capped heads brushed
to the stomped upon mat

Waves of Autumn wash out,
as a fading sun collects black volume.

All our warmth in smiles, marrow-wracked,
legs gather by the stone mantel

The eager quick-claim chairs at her call.
Hunger sated with a final feast.

Harvest's remainder, shelved through Spring
on cool cellar shelves like treasures.

Beneath her quilts, reclined,
stuffed stiffs chew mints and marshmallow dreams.

Confections adorn the fireside table
for the tipplers and sippers of hot chocolate milk.


11.3.21
14 lines, free verse

FORUM
Thankful Poetry Contest  (13+)
An uplifting annual contest welcoming short poems about thanksgiving and gratitude.
#2235153 by 🌸 pwheeler - love joy peace
October 29, 2021 at 8:49am
October 29, 2021 at 8:49am
#1020362
Life from a limited vantage
is all I see out this window,
from morning until night,
imagining the expanse when
he creeps over my neighbor's house
and vanishes behind my own,
as if I'll follow room to room
and spy from each window
the offerings of light pouring down
that I could inhale, ingest, take
for my own until stubborn clouds
obscure these visions of hope.

when I'm alone in my bed
and black creeps beneath the shades,
lowered during the day
because I could not accept his warmth,
I keep praying someday
go out and let wet leaves stick
to my wandering heels, or
wade in a white drift to
a covered automobile to clear,
sit within and let roar alive and idle,
suck the last gas out of me.

But, it's not possible because
I have no garage to dwell in.



10..29.21

just one of those whatever comes to my head offerings, like so many others.
October 29, 2021 at 7:34am
October 29, 2021 at 7:34am
#1020357
Like milkshake melting
from your touch upon cold glass,
heat the heart of me.

Lifting to send me
down tender soul, fast coupling
a dreamer with you.

I would drink you up,
too thick to pass through cup I
grip by eager hands.

In this restaurant,
waitress wonders what I want,
sitting here alone.

Peer her bluest eyes,
when I realize and gulp,
suck the mixture down.

My face forms a frown.
Soft, she hands the bill to leave,
icy in my gut.

So, goodbye to you.
Grab my wallet, settle up,
when you grab my hand.

And then you tell me,
smiling, this one's on the house.
Twinkle in your eye
.
I'm about to cry.
Not a brain but a heart freeze,
stutter my next words,

'can I ask you out?'
Tucking the pad in her sash,
pats me on the back,

"I'm married, but please
keep on coming back, because
your my best patron."

"The next one's on me,
and tell me about yourself,"
when the ice begins to melt.

Abrupt, I took leave,
the milkshake inside of me,
suddenly to pee.

Will milk be my friend
until the bitter end, because
frozen inside me

is embarrassment,
not having done due process
before it warmed?



10.29.21



"when i see your face
Hear the laughter in your eyes
my soul comes alive!"

Fisher aka Kathy Fisher

Something inspired by Kathy Fisher Haiku song which used the form for it's chorus. It had a flow and rhyme scheme, where I have forced a bunch of haikus together with some lyrical intent that really are hard to choke down like that frozen milkshake.
October 27, 2021 at 8:35pm
October 27, 2021 at 8:35pm
#1020272
Must I possess inspiration to
reach, clutch, lift
this quill
to stab the very heart of you,
stain a page pathetic
with dreams...?
The dim light emitting
from two eyes glares
at a cursor pulsing.
Could a quill stain a brain
stabbed at its very heart?

Green it is,
but not earthen.

Blue and red spew, mix
on this clotted terrain.
I wish for the season
of penning vacuous odes
to end. These invisible breezes
barely brush a cheek.

Inspiration was
a cruel mistress.
I desire snow now.


10.27.21
1.7.22 edit, add
October 26, 2021 at 7:07pm
October 26, 2021 at 7:07pm
#1020203
iridescent,
just a little glowing,
throbs in this night.

stars cascade on me
as I gaze, wishful, hopeful,
dream to hold you near.

iridescence,
just a little flowing
through these dark trees,

globe eyes spy on me
as I leer, lustful, eager
to pull you out of this black
into my arms to dance.

a swirl of light, frozen,
streaks a hollow theatre,
with just a little knowing
I will fill your void
in this immaculate, cool air.

I inhale the essence,
smell your fragrant forehead,
taste the beads of sweat.

we tumble to a thick lawn,
enveloping two daring
to become one, in
iridescence shared,
flowing through us.

dawn will renew our lungs
but not our hearts
until iridescent again.



10.26.21

I just can't tell if readers will understand the expressive nature of iridescence. I learned that humans have iridescence undetectable to the naked eye, and it was theorized what humans would have turned out like if fully iridescent like some of those creatures in the deep parts of the oceans and would we be nocturnal animals. So, I went with it.
October 21, 2021 at 12:06pm
October 21, 2021 at 12:06pm
#1019780
I don't know why
people want to fly.
We don't have wings.

But if I want to try,
I'll take a ride, with you,
however high
you dare to go.

I stop to wonder why
people need to fly,
when they don't own wings.
But I'd take a ride
with you, if you wanna go,
not matter high.

People dream they can fly.
But they seldom do.
Makes me wanna cry,
when they fall back again.

I'll take a ride
because you're gonna try.
I'll go with you into the blue.
And together, we can fly.

I'll never question why.


10.21.21

Lyrics to a song I composed in my head and sang into the steering wheel of my truck. Likely it ends there with all other lyrics I've sung and performed, on the fly-eye-eye-eye. No matter high-eye-eye-eye. But, I always seem to try-eye-aye-eyeah-ayeah.

It's a bit simplistic and more chorus than bridge with a repeating melody I couldn't seem to change up, so I write down before I give-give-give up.

October 15, 2021 at 9:50pm
October 15, 2021 at 9:50pm
#1019442
The Tender Grip

I had a habit of documenting
every little thing you’d do, like
the first meaningful, sleepy gaze
that studied my eyes staring back, or
the first tender grip of my thumb
that connected us infinitely, and
when I made you laugh,
hiding my face to reappear
with a goofy peekaboo look.

Cradled in my arms in a glider for hours,
I wondered which of us was sleepier.
I learned patience in the time it took to feed you,
gently throttle your back,
your tiny tummy upon my shoulder,
waiting for that buu-rrpp
to finish our session.

I’d lay you down in your first playground,
guilty because it didn’t feel my best.
I worried if you’d sleep,
if I’d let you cry too long,
needed a diaper change,
more rocking, another bottle feeding,
or if, you felt alone like me
in this big, wide, scary world.

I thought, if we’re always together…not alone.
The distance from here to eternity, shortened
by the connection of our gazes.

But your eyes move toward dark horizons,
forgetting
I can still rock you.
How inadequate I feel
because you deny these two arms
that shelter and heal.



10.7.21 11.10.21 edit
33 lines, free verse
October 15, 2021 at 9:38pm
October 15, 2021 at 9:38pm
#1019441
One day, the garbage bin tipped over
and a tin can tumbled free,
rolled and rolled and rolled past me;
so I shouted,
'go Little can, go!
Hopefully, you’ll find some new purpose.

One day, while sitting on the shore,
alone,
I saw a stray beach ball cavorting about,
rolling along the tides that dared pull it in,
and I screamed,
'bounce little ball! Bounce
as far as you go,
and hope you find some adoring child who'll play.

Now, I look out my window and see
the remnants of fall and a near naked tree,
when one brilliant, orange, crisp leaf
tumbled free from a pile,
cartwheeling down my street,
and I beckon the little fellow,
'roll, roll as far as you will go,
and I hope you find true purpose
somewhere in the old women’s garden,
or tenderly clutched by a girl’s hand,
lovingly adoring you
until you are dust.

I wonder,
If I run
Who will catch me.
And think,
what a prize.



10.15.21
October 15, 2021 at 7:18am
October 15, 2021 at 7:18am
#1019378
Now darker, you deepen,
steep within the tides of October.
Water rushing out to follow dim skies,
leave a gray grass heavy with regret.
We didn't live or love like we desire yet.

Another season, defective, disordered,
beautiful buds whiter wither and fall,
clump on clay hardening. Cold to touch,
shudder after one last breath
from vexing waves of summer death.

I stand amid it all and wonder how
I can remember you before and not
this way. I stand among all, alone,
and wonder if my arms will open
to receive your tender sighs
before I too am sent to the sky.



10.15.21
16 lines
free verse with light rhyme stanza ends.



We could all reach out to someone, comfort one another, like a community could do. But, if we are not all on the same level of understanding, then some of us fall like petals to that carpet while aiming to fly on tides to some accepting sky.


Here, we lie alone,
a clutter of dead.
Not even swept up,
leech the soil in hopes
we return whole again
next summer.

-bk
October 12, 2021 at 7:45am
October 12, 2021 at 7:45am
#1019179
What are we doing but wasting time? We could be making a difference in the world and basking in positive experiences ever flowing. But we are surrounded by hate and adversity because something systematic forces us to turn toward one another when there is no one else to turn to, no other place to complain. This growing, negative karma is bringing us down again and again. Even though we have our good times, get our heads above water, there are moments we sink and everything feels helpless.

People don't see us the way we intend to be. People like me self-analyze, take different tacks, and get the same or similar responses. I have a reputation. I'm slotted and categorized as this or that and I can see that a rumor mill in my personal life surrounds and encompasses me and I'm not taken face value, but by what other people say about me. It's so frustrating that you want to rage, but know that would feed into what they want and expect from you. They don't acknowledge that they boxed you, they turned you into their raging animal and you have little recourse but to shut it down.

A person sets goals, but has to adapt or change them to fit whatever scenario they are in because central master always needs to be fed in the process. You find that you lose sight of what you want to do because of this and try again and again to become ultimately dismayed. Raging against the machine doesn't function when you are just one. No one is yielding but you. So, there is only dissatisfaction with life and aim and where it is going, which is getting more than hazier, but permanently lost.

You turn toward your loved ones and they are all asea too. There is no rock to cling to. I cannot imagine burdening myself on another. So, this where I am now. This is who I am now. A person without enough salvo to overcome and achieve personal dreams. A person who just goes through the motions until it's realized there are no shortcuts, cheat codes to get through life without becoming like those who can employ such skills. One romanticizes what is the right way, the beauteous way of achieving in life. Because, so many stories have been written by heroes who stuck to their guns and fought to succeed in ways that seem purely fictional and unachievable.

I break here for a little rest after last night's dream where I imagined revisiting my childhood friends in the places we used to play on an ATV that needed fuel and when I stopped to gas I was putting coins in a telephone accidentally and getting crypto currency which I could use to pay for gas. But for some reason, pump number 24 produced a mess where the little bit of gas overflowed the tank and in my panic was told by the clerk that I was never allowed in the store again and thought it was for the mess but because people in the south didn't appreciate my attitude, apparently rude. I was lost, didn't understand, because I thought I was nice to everyone. I wanted answers but the clerk was just doing his job, and I felt that people talk or share public reputation scores somehow without really getting to know me before googling the internet or talking to other people who only see a frustrated person who vents negatively because they cannot figure out how to function in the real world.

I thought about this dream for awhile, talked to my wife about it before she went to work. It seemed mostly about work and 24 is my transgender child's birthday, and it makes me feel I cannot communicate or be understood by anyone as I prepare for another day of indifferent arrogance at work. I take my new depression, ADD meds today, but will add anti-anxiety pill to boot. I'm just going to coast for awhile until I can visualize a purpose for me in this life, which seems slim to none.

October 5, 2021 at 9:38am
October 5, 2021 at 9:38am
#1018736
Permanent 'to do' on my list,
always neglected and wanting
for some attention from a father
who cannot tend to even himself.

The seasons roll by too fast
in this empty room, dimming,
dulling the wild senses in need
for some father to end the day.

I'll risk a look out the window
and wonder if snow arrived.
I'll not unseal that door because
father will stand in the way.

So many unfinished things,
like you and me, kid.
So many days to wonder
will some parent allow us,
play.


10.5.21


my child is going through the throes of something and I'm in my seasonal distress
October 3, 2021 at 9:17am
October 3, 2021 at 9:17am
#1018591

They don't have time for you --
can't tend to a dreamer.

Stoic stalk lowed,
time-trapped sun dial
reversing, pelted by dark, cold rain.
Gray offshoots slow-tumble
in a disposable planter,
weathered, neglected, soiled
and cracked -- not made for these elements.

I feel you proudly sinking, unnoticed
on front porch, passed daily
summer long, since adulation of her day --
Unmeasured collapse, time-withering
slow decay, long before
memories of ravaging frost.

They finally look at you,
can't tend to dreams,
mend what was lost,
a summer long past. Adulation
now gray for a once stoic stalk,
torn from pot, repurposed
to stiff November earth.

Meld with the warm heart of Mother,
unceremonious inter(n)ment.



10.3.21
24 lines

September 30, 2021 at 12:10pm
September 30, 2021 at 12:10pm
#1018406


Finality is the last season,
how my heart fades, once absorbed
in a soul that needed my fuel, fed
itself until we extinguished --
a flame supernova-ed,
in a black hole devoured.
The extinguished could not rekindle
embers, long since sparked alive
by a lingering hope to live forever,
now time-worn.


9.30.21
12.29.21 edit

vaporized
September 30, 2021 at 12:00pm
September 30, 2021 at 12:00pm
#1018405
Another dawn sneaked in
at the foot of your bed
where I wiggled those toes,
once merry little piglets,
hidden 'neath covers,
protected from dread of dark.
Nights monsters stirred
but did not bite because
I was at your side
to chase away any fright,
soothed.

Every day that goes by,
I wait by the hollow door
for your return,
again and again until
you don't need me anymore.
No monsters but me, I feel,
stand in your way. Yet,
I realize there are toes
that need to be tickled,
soothed.

Futile,
how long I wait
until you cry out again
in your monstrous night
to chase away this fright.
I can’t save you anymore.



27 lines, free verse

We’re in the throes of something.

9.30.21
10.6.21 edit
12.29.21 edit



990 Entries · *Magnify*
Page of 50 · 20 per page   < >
Previous ... 18 19 20 21 -22- 23 24 25 26 27 ... Next

© 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://writing.com/main/profile.php/blog/ripglaedr3/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/22