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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
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Making sure everything goes down with a yank before someone has to sit where I've been at. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 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  . 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.  You suffer, but you suffer brilliantly. Wow, what a great writer.  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!  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 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.   ![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)  August 28, 2006 this blog opened ▼
No specific aim going forward (2014) ▼  Now: I was such a whore.  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.    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 ▼ |
| Did a lot of reviewing for the Angel Army this month. Not going to make 400 reviews with all the sickness we had at our house. But feeling better and tapering back on my meds. Yet, still playing it safe. I wanted to enter the 'Dear Me' contest, but I'm too screwed up to figure out what my goals should be. Everything has been short term and long range just scares me. But I'm working through it. If I had one goal. I would complete a novel. My second would be to see my book of poetry into print. But there are a lot of other issues not related to writing that will have to come first in order for the others to play out. The encouragement I've received here is great. But I think I've lost sight of what I want to do with my writing skills and have to give that some more consideration. It's too easy to get caught up in contests, awards, merits and status that one aspires to achieve. I have little else to go on when looking for recognition. I did find, however, that reviewing will get one noticed. It's taken me awhile to come around to the notion that good reviews are in demand and that I can sometimes provide them. My only shortcoming is my eyesight. Reading longer or more complex works can wear me down -- eyestrain and just the frustration of knowing how limited my resources have become. It plays games with my head. That's probably why I overachieve at everything else. I want to feel I can still do something and be the best I can be at it. Sort of a self-preservation strategy. But I'm glossing over facts that are too hard to confront. I got this prompt to update my journal and so here I am. But now, I need a shower before the little one gets up from her nap. Ciao! |
| I finally had a doctor check me out and I have bronchitis. Lots of wheezing, trouble breathing when I lay down, hacking cough...I proably should have paid closer attention, but I couldn't. I'm exhausted. My little one just went down for her nap. And Alex has returned to school, so I have from now until 3 to get some rest and see if this stuff is really working. I have some catching up to do...emails to response to...Tirzah's short story to read (You should check it out...I'm too tired to post a link...it's called Damaged)...and bunch of other stuff. I go now. |
| I'm not one to complain, but these past few weeks have been rough. And it goes back as far as mid-December. I have a temperature and symptons similiar to bronchitis that have made it difficult to sleep. My wife said my constant wheezing sounded like mutterings from the kids in their rooms, and even had to check once. It sounded like I swallowed our cat, but I didn't think she would crawl in my mouth in the middle of the night! But on a more serious note, my son will likely miss his fifth day of school. His temperature reached as high as 104 and we've had him on tylenol and motrin. I had to bundle him up today, and my two-year-old daughter, to have them checked at the hospital. Fortunately, Maddie had an influenza shot at her annual appointment in November. She's skated by so far, except for a bout with a virus late last year that caused her to throw up and feel miserable for about 24 hours. They bounce back so quick. Alex has had the virus twice, threw up twice, and missed two days back then. He recovered quickly those times. But now it is different. Doc said he had an ear infection. We picked up the prescription and started dosing right away. He was pretty rough midday and then started perking up at bedtime. I'm hopeful that he'll feel well enough to return to school in the morning. He's got a lot of energy, which I envy. I've been hacking up flem and had this wheeze in my chest before his temperature rose five days ago. I thought I was going to shake it today, but it came back. I claim ignorance when it comes to these illnesses and depend on my wife's understanding of medicine with her background. Before I met her, I refused to take anything, even aspirin. Well, maybe Nyquil to help me sleep. But with glaucoma, I can't take that anymore or any decongestants. I'm quite limited when it comes to cold meds. I take a lozenge, tylenol and alleve to ease the sore throat, aches and temp. I'm already on five prescription drugs that I have to take morning and night. I've got the dental appliance for my apnea that I have to wear nightly and keep sanitary. I've tried to handle all this, responsibility to family, and give the best effort I can at WDC. I hate failing anyone that I make a commitment to. That is why I fail myself and put the needs of others first. And then get in trouble for that when I over commit. I get a greater sense of satisfaction and immediate rewards from helping others. I've put the book deal and my writing on the back burner. I had decided I wanted to complete a novel this year and also pick up a laptop. With all this stuff swirling about my head, I find it is easier just to shut it out and work on the things that will give me instant fulfillment. I'm working through this with the assistance of my therapist of over nine years -- 10 years in December, back when it was determined I was obsessive compulsive, an all or nothing guy, insecure, emotional, living with the baggage of my childhood. I broke some ground. I keep coming up short when it comes to retooling my life. I have so many obstacles to hurdle in my desire to find peace of mind, satisfaction with the direction of my life, and a deeper appreciation of friends and family, including my two little ones who clasp me daily in need of affection. There. I rambled. This was inspired by an email I received. I sometimes forget that others can't see me if I don't show myself. So here I am. I'm sure there is a lot more detail I could go into. I'll save that for my decade long friend. Thanks to all who read and have shared. It's nice to hear feedback from folks who let me know they are in my corner. I know I will soon again be ready to answer that bell. Brian |
| How does one write when their head is not in the game? I keep getting the blog reminders to add something and I keep putting off. But I need to get this nagging email reminder off my back for a few days. I've been sick. My son is the center of this viral storm. He's had thre different bouts, the first two had him emptying his stomach. This is a legit flu bug now. His temp rose to over 103 degrees this weekend while out of town visiting family. Alternating Tylenol and Motrin to keep the fever down. Don't want to give him too much of the Motrin that could affect his liver. I got it second worst. I still went to my workout at the gym on Monday and did a light, half-hour routine of triceps, biceps and abs....yeesssh. Don't know how I got talked into that. But I survived. Had to shovel out from a snowfall that blanketed our drive while we were away. I was pretty much light headed and a weakling after that. I missed my Tuesday workout. Don't know if I'll be ready for Thursday. The more I exert myself, the longer this thing seems to play out. I hack so much at night, I can't get good sleep. Slept in a separate bed to help the other half get rest. Only she was up with the kids with there symptoms. I've got to haul both of them to the doctor tomorrow. Wonder if the pediatrician will give me a once over, too. I could go for a lollipop and a Sponge Bob sticker! Okay, seriuosly. I have been avoiding writing. Haven't felt like it because of these colds and the lack of available time. But what do I do when I have time, squander it doing other things...reviewing, scroll, bots or away from the computer I watch television. I just want to be able to focus all my energies. I'm a bit down because of the situation with my brother, too. Had a chance to spend some time with him over the weekend. We never talked about it, like I figured would happen. We watched football, ate and said goodbye. I guess that gets me caught up. No spellbinding, thrilling, adventurous ride with this write, or any other for that matter. Adieu. Ciao. Aloha. Happy Trails! |
| Feeling mortal is the greatest stealer of momentum. I can only imagine what must be going through my brother's mind. He had cancer before and beat it with surgery and some radiation therapy. This on the heels of my Dad's death in 2001. Dad had lymphoma twice -- the first time, at age 80. He beat it with chemo. When he was diagnosed again three years later, on the heels of my Mom's death, he couldn't take life anymore. I tell everyone Dad died from cancer. Truth be known, he took his own life. In the months preceeding Dad's death, my brother had been on suicide watch. He never told me that he had taken away Dad's guns or anything else that he could hurt himself with. I wished I had known. Knowing what Michael is facing now, I'm staring death in the eyes and I don't like the familiarity. I worry about Mike's spirit. He came to visit last night. I couldn't broach the subject. I asked my wife, 'What am I supposed to say.' She just told me to just be me, spend some time with him. It was my wife who told me about his lab report showing a new cancer gene, a cancer different than the one he had before. She had advised me not to miss out on any more opportunities to bond...and it hit me. What is Mike going through? He was upset with Dad for taking his own life. Mike was the one who found him in his truck in the garage. He phoned me that day to tell me and I had never heard him sob before, or tell me that he loved me like he does now every time we get together. I never imagined he could be that shaken, because he was the cool one, always calm and collected. A meticulous master of machinery with race cars, semi trucks, classic autos and more to take care of, Mike was as easy to understand as the wink of an eye and a coy smile. In my mind, he's Elvis and Brett Favre rolled into one, only cooler and tough. And to sit with him at dinner last night and not know how to begin a conversation literally tore me up inside. I could barely look him in the eye. Do I fear death? Do I fear seeing him come unglued the way my idol had before? I haven't been able to think or do anything remotely constructive in the last three days. My avoidance system triggers alerts every other moment, forcing me to sink deeper in despair, into the reality of this careless, wreckless life. How will death find me? Will it take my wife and/or children before me? Will it take me away before my children are old enough to accept my departure? How will this all play out? I do know I have to do something. I came here thinking I could resurrect my writing dreams of publication, but I wonder if I have deluded myself. There are things far more important than seeing my words in print, or knowing that I am accepted by writing peers. I enjoy writing, but not now. I can't give thought to publishing a book of poetry or completing a novel. I get interrupted with these notions of how insignificant everything seems in the shadow of the grim reaper. I don't want to play drama queen, so I suppress my anxieties. I keep these issues from my family and try to find distraction. Writing.com was my distraction. But I got a big wake up call. I have to think this one through before I commit another ounce of energy to reading, writing, reviewing, etc., etc. and start thinking about the things that will give back to me before time has elapsed. I need to stop feeling like I'm not worthy and jump into this fray called life. If I get punched and bruised in the process, so what? At least I'll know I lived. |
| Tonight, I laid with my two-year-old in her bed after reading her night time stories for the first time. I learned today my brother Michael has cancer again. |
| Okay, I'm going to try. It has been over a month since my last confession, father. Father? Oh well, I've been kicking around story ideas and trying to stay away from the lure of poetry. In the meantime, I'm in and out with a review here and there and trying to lend some help when I can where it is needed. My personal life could be better. I'm idling here, looking at all different paths I could take. Each one seems to cancel out the other and my head starts spinning and I leave the room. I have so much on my mind, so many distractions, and no way to sort out some of the stuff that comes my way. So I try to latch on to projects that appeal, that I can handle at the moment and hope for the best. Ever get like this? I feel guilty for not doing more around the house. My wife works full-time. I stay home with Maddie and get Alex to and from the bus stop and that's about it. There are household chores. I'm expected to cook once in awhile. I wash and fold laundry, and sometimes put it away! I don't handle the bills or the checkbook, per say. There's a lot of little tasks around the house. There's a lot I could be doing. But I'm just sitting here staring at my computer, thinking or not thinking. It's like I'm waiting for something to happen. Some great inspiration, notion, idea. And just two days away from my wife's birthday. I've made no plans, have no gift, frustrated because I'm afraid I'll screw that up, too. Okay, pick myself up and try again. I'm sitting at this computer, thinking how I should be spending my time. How best to budget it. I haven't a clue. Maddie goes down for a nap once a day. I could get something done then, but I'm so happy to have my mind to myself that I want to treat it to a TV show or computer game or a nap of my own. Why is parenting so exhausting? I think it is because I am not proactive enough to plan out my day, activities for Maddie, things I could do that would make for a complete schedule, like a train running on time, like a real job! Oh yeah, one of those. I'm used to working under that umbrella that provided me the creative outlet to exercise my mind and body with menial, logical tasks that followed a certain order, a pattern that allowed my critical thinking to have it's assurances I'm sane. I'm not sane. What should I do? I can't go out there and try to find another job. I've contacted the Council for the Blind and I am on a waiting list to get into a program that will help me locate and get trained for a job that I am suited. How about writing? I'm blind. That's ridiculous. I can't write. Can I?  Now that's more like it.Ah, so what do I write? I need a boss, an editor. I need a lead on a story, an assignment. I need a routine, a clean desk with sharpened pencils and notebooks. I need a laptop I can take anywhere to be alone with my thoughts. I need, I need...and what have I got? I wishy-washy brain that is decaying and rotten. I'm not good with change. I think I need someone to bail me out. I want to look to my wife, but she has no interest in most of this stuff. She would like to help, but we have so little time together. She would like to see me become a successful writer, but not at the expense of family and homelife...sort of. I'm not sure. I think I get mixed signals. I don't think she really thinks I can be successful at this. She says she supports me, but like I'm chasing this goose that I will never catch. She would like me to be Mr. Mom. I can do that. It's not as fulfilling or rewarding, just because I've got to be the disciplinarian, dictator, rule the roost. It turns me into a psycho-Dad. I just want to play on the floor with blocks, watch TV and pretend to be their horsey. What's the harm in being a softy? It means more work for my wife? Oh, yeah. That. So here I stand at an infinte crossroads. No traffic to get in the way, unless you count all the speeding thoughts flying out of my head, running back and forth, disobeying every traffic rule like a bunch of confused drivers. I think I'll sit down and wait this one out. Maybe get a little sleep. What? It's past my bedtime. Again? I do this every night. Waiting for something, one thing, that will let me see the light at the end of the tunnel. Literally and figuratively. Lord willing, the day will come. God Bless! |
| I am eating the heels from left over bread bags tonight. I hope my wife will be happy to know that she doesn't have to watch mold growing on our kitchen countertop. I eat heels on a whim, with peanut butter. I can't plan to eat them, just sit down and make a to-do list and write 'eat heels' today, and then cross it off for a sense of completed satisfaction. Okay, that's done with. I am trying to keep the dream alive. I have now located and uploaded all of my fiction files written over the past 20+ years. I did not want to pull out the original manuscripts and retype each one. I know there will be some editing ahead, but I look forward to seeing where my craft began, developed and arrived to where it is now. I might take a break from poetry. But, I'm whimsical. So, I cannot plan. I just try to have my tools ready and waiting when my muse strikes my head and tells me to loose words I trap in my soul much like dirty sneakers banging around inside the washing machine, stripped of laces, tongue hanging out, hanging on until the ride has ended and return to the fresh air that soothes its withered flesh. Hmmm, write a poem about sneakers. Okay, that's on my to do list now. Next up: I'm a bumbling fool. I joined a writer's group that is just beginning to form and decided to invite as many people as I could think of to get a group dynamic going and bring all the writers of similar tastes and interests under one roof. Oops! My email did not link the site where they could join. Then, I can't find the email (the whole blind thing). So, I think it was Axilea who was forming the group and tell everyone only to find out, no it was not her. Embarrassment is mounting and I recheck my email and finally with the help of KarisJeri I finally have the correct link and it only takes two email tries to pass along the right info to get everyone to join. It's so much funnier and comical the way I dealt with it in emails, which I will have to post here soon, before the moment and emails are lost. Sorry to all those who I confused and thank you to me for being such a great publicity director. I must have had over 20 emails on the subject and think the interest was heightened by all the drama. Good luck TeddyBear13, group founder, who may or may not know yet of my stupidity but will likely hear several different stories before long. Well, I'll just end for now. I sit in front of this computer so much, I can crack my back and neck just by sitting erect. Need sleep, too. My hair is losing sheen. I borrowed that from Chip Skylark, a former member of 98 degrees whose real name eludes me, from the cartoon Fairly Odd Parents. Yes, I watch cartoons. Have you seen these things nowadays. It is amazing how dialogue and plots can work on adult and child levels and still get an E rating. So, okay. I'm done. |
| Been away from journaling for awhile now. The whole 6th birthday festivities drew me in and had me pounding away at my keyboard for hours on end, much to the chagrin of my wife and the pleading of my children. I have returned to a more normal way of life. Been penning new material for contests and came up with three poems and a short story (dialogue) for prompts. Entered Journey's End in the 42nd annual Newbie Challenge, Before I'm Rejected By You in Poetry Prizm, Passing Days in the Twice Monthly Poetry/Short Story contest, My Body Pains For My Love in two contests, Charles Theme Park and Rip My Heart Out, which allowed two entries so I added my newest Her Eyes. I need a break from all the writing, but my brain is locked and loaded and needs to keep firing my rhetoric and musings into the flesh of my mead. Found peace and the freedom to write some stuff at Barnes and Noble a couple of times this week. So much easier than writing a line, give Maddie her sippy-cup, write another line, yell at Alex for hollering, write two more lines, and tell the kids to go play in another room, and then, erase all four lines and start over from scratch only to have my wife tell me I need to help get the kids ready for bed. Yesshhh. I'll stop here. She's upstairs waiting. And the kids are asleep. |
| Finished off two poems today and posted. Not a huge response yet. I've been trying harder to get my work reviewed by visiting various message boards and the other gimmicks. But it's getting to be a lot of work and I'm not giving as much attention to my writing as I would like. I log on like five or more times a day whenever I get a reprieve from the children. Cannot wait for Tuesday when Alex is off to kindergarten. I will miss him terribly but I will have much more time to devote to Maddie who hasn't got the benefit of the early education Alex had. Since Alex is already reading at a first grade level and solving Math problems, I can let the educational system pick up from there. I like reading to them and using animated voices and different interpretations and recitations to keep them interested. Alex was a huge auditory learner from the beginning and I hope the same will be for Maddie. With her taking two to three hour naps midday, I know when to put the focus on writing and my webpage. Eventually, I'll have to stop producing poems and get back to the fiction or autobiographical work. It's going to take a lot of organization and effort just to get the work underway. With my limited vision it is becoming harder to read the fine print, and things are slow going. I have to give myself more time to let stuff sink in for some reason. I don't want to believe it's the senility, but the lack of a visual presence to help me with recall. My notebook is filling with a torrent of scrawled musings and ideas that I can build on. I can't shut my mind off sometimes. To cope with this, I have decided to commit a certain amount of time to work off the cuff and if it keeps coming to stop committing it to paper and trust that the mind is going through an ideation process to lay the groundwork for future work. Besides, Jen doesn't like the sound of a pencil scratching on paper in the middle of the night. So I either have to stay out of bed, or find another place to lay and write. There are so many people that have responded to my work so far and I hope I am not neglecting them in return for their kindness. It is difficult to balance with the writing, but at this early stage it is key to develop some relationships along the way that will benefit both sides. I am quick to promise replies to emails even if I know I haven't the time. Right now, I am cramming to write this before Jen comes back down from reading to Alex. We have Blockbuster movies piling up that have come in the mail. Got 'Derailed' and 'Producers' to watch tonight. Jen watched 'Hoodwinked' with the kids while I was out grocery shopping and trying to get some digital photos developed at a local grocery store. I'm chomping at the bit to get myself a huge block of time alone once I am ready to let the graphite rip. My one draw back is my hands cramp up much more easily now from writing. Plus I have a home and garden and kids to manage. The elusive laptop is waiting in the wings. Thought I would get one in the near future, but I got my head up a Mac and Windows programs are daunting to someone with limited vision. But if I want to get published, I need to use MSword. So, one day, the cabin in the woods. Perhaps, at deer camp with my three blind brothers. Hopefully there will be fewer of them, since they will be shooting weapons. No accidents to report as yet. I'm be called upon to be the camp cook, since giving up hunting as a teenager. I could not see myself killing game. I can see the benefits of hunting your own meat, but after you add in the cost of a rifle, bullets (with target practice", maintenance of property and blind, license, travel expenses and more; you're better off getting some sliced turkey at the deli. Of course, there is the process of skinning, cutting and storing the meat, too. And if you don't have the resources to do that, then you pay someone. Yeah, I'm good with just cutting up some of my juicy tomatoes and slapping them on split top wheat slathered with Miracle Whip Light (plug) and packed with my favorite luncheon meat (with a dash of salt). Ah, yes. The two poems I posted today. I wanted to touch on that. Jet (abbreviated from Jet Plane and pilot) was written for a girl I had daily encounters with in college some 15 years ago. Hi Ruth, wherever you are. She was a receptionist at the Public Radio station where I worked. I would loiter about the front desk area some days, whenever I felt the welcome mat was out. She was pleasant but a bit distant. I was generally known as a serious person; but I did know how to make small talk, as did Ruth. But there is only so much you can say about the weather before heavy topics tend to land at your feet, and I'm sure that closed down the window on our sessions. I happened to see her quite frequently in the coffee shop on the main floor and said hello a time or two. One day, I was in one of those melancholy moods. I wanted a deeper connection with her. But, I didn't have the heart to 'pilot it for fear I would provoke another deathly disaster.' I lacked the confidence to get in there and try a little harder to get inside her head. So, I had to write about how someone with such affected beauty could have a profound impact on me. I could imagine that she had some difficulty with 'fighter pilots gunning for her eyes' as a younger girl and probably got into some predicaments that were then making her uneasy. The poem was clunkier and rough than the restructered piece that landed today. (Metaphor alert!) I had the misfortune of seeing her in that coffee shop again and got up the nerve to talk to her. I pulled that piece right out of my notebook and got her to read it for her response. Right after she was done, I told her that I wrote it with her in mind. I think she was spinning inside her head, and I remember the distinct feeling of being cut off right then with an excuse to be somewhere. The pleasantries after that were seldom, and I regretted that moment ever since. I had hoped that someday she would see the innocence of the poem. She might have thought it was about sex, but it was simply the fear of trying to reach someone on a deeper level but couldn't get up the nerve. I saw something in her that shielded me from getting within arm's length. College in the early 90's was a difficult time for me. I had my first surgery for glaucoma after being in school six months. The stress of taking a full slate of courses, working two radio jobs and losing my only means of transportation in a rollover accident that I walked away from took its toll. My local doctor should have been sued for malpractice, but I did not have the energy. I sought out the best doctors I could find at the Mayo clinic in Minnesota. I missed a week of school and had my Dad come with me. Talk about drama. 100 percent Italian with the passion to boot. He had us in the cheapest hotel he could find and ended up sleeping in a bed together at a boarding house one night. He stunk and snored. I know he meant well, but it was the roughest experience of my life. I was faced with total devastation of the sight in my right eye and was given a fifty-fifty chance of losing it altogether. I had to take as much blame for the loss of vision. I drank more and more. I failed to consistently take my prescribed medicine, three different types of drop. (which should have been a big sign that I needed surgery sooner) I didn't fully comprehend how my vision was failing me until I saw the halos. I knew about the strange aura about lights and what it meant for someone with glaucoma. I had since I was 24 and it was a hereditary gene handed down from generations on my mother's side. I even wrote term papers on it in high school. I was in denial. It was a huge wake-up call. And yet, after the surgery I become further depressed, drank more and went into a spin when 1992 rolled around and that second 'treb' (trebeculectomy) was required. I could kick myself now. Again, the chances of losing vision was great. And this was my good eye. If it had become damaged beyond control, I would have been on the trail to braille. There were complications after the surgery. My doctor did not want to alarm me. He took me into an area of the office with three white robed men who propped me in front of a laser. Zap, zap. Didn't feel a thing. Put the bandages on and I went home with a salve to put directly on my eye and a steroid drop. Came back the next day and I was dubbed a 'miracle.' Don't remember how that was qualified, but I felt God had spared me in that moment. My salvation. And still, I did not fully comprehend or appreciate it. But I managed to live on and preserve as much of my eyesight as I could, but declared legally blind six years ago. This year has been my worse. My eyes are constantly cloudy. I don't use artificial tears enough. I don't give my eyes the attention they deserve. I just don't want to think about it, but here I am. Okay, poem number two. Blunt the transition! Scripted was supposed to be about another girl who I met at the Public Radio station who was coming on board to be an announcer. She was fresh out of high school and I was approaching (ahem) 30. I tried my family charm on her and realized what yokel I was. She was a bit more sophisticated than I had imagine and my advances, though tame, were rebuffed. I had the misfortune of having her in my Romantic Lit class. I found it hard to interact in discussions, in part because of my inferiority complex (a much longer story) and my fear of being exposed any further in front of her. Since we still crossed paths at the station, she happened to mention the course we were in from time to time. Some subtle reminders of my lack of participation and how it should relate to what merit I should receive from our instructor. On an aside, one day she was complaining about the grading for a test we had on a particular poet. I did not want to engage another discussion, fore I could see it coming. What grade did you get, Brian? She already told me she got a 'B.' I one upped her with a B+. Oh, the injustice. I was waiting for her to ask me for the graded document, but none was forthcoming. I would have been ready to produce after some alteration to my B-. 'Scripted' was to be titled 'If I Could Speak' with a Keats-like ode. However, that experience with Nicole washed away from the recesses of my mind over the years. The only thing I could think of was repression as I saw the jumbled words sprawl out on my yellow notepad. And the parallels were building. Our government and conspiracy to commit our riches to war so that the powerful can sate their lust, while our leaders put a spin on everything and use the tainted media to deliver an array of messages that addles the minds into apathy. Those who choose to speak are extremists because the masses have been oppressed. it is easier to laugh off hard times than to meet them head on a wrestle them to the ground, especially when we have been divided by various forms of media and conquered. So, I go on to say in the third stanza, that if I had a voice I would speak for those who are waiting for the apacolypse and judgment day when the pain of the oppression (cited in the first two stanzas) will give way to the divine, the sweet release from the wicked world and into the kingdom of heaven for those who believe. There are days when it feels so near. I worry for my children that there may be no future. No clean air, or drinking water. Poverty and the oppression of a government that slyly rewrites the rules on Animal Farm walls. 1984 has been here the whole time. Because it was predicted by Orwell, we were not allowed to see the existance of Big Brother. It comes in various forms. Most commonly, global employers (who can shape the minds of the workers) and the rich (who can buy what they want and deceive us into turning our paychecks back over to them). And there's internet and television, so that we can be sated in a virtual fantasy instead of living in the real world. Sorry all you gamers out there, but you need to let go of your joy sticks and various forms of controls and support another form of our infrastructure that will give back to us much longer than the devils who rule. And that is Mother Earth. If we can override what seems like an insurmountable effort to stave off the spoils of greed. You could be burning down churches one by one. The masses are thinning. The devout are drying up. I want to turn back time and get rid of all these useful nuisances that suck the matter from our ears and spit it on the ground. I'm just as plugged in to the formula as anyone. I avert what I can, but the $50 a month modem cable is my lifeline into another world where so much information is stored. How to weed out the lies from the truth will depend on what my life experiences have taught me. And I fear I'll be fooled again. and so on and so forth. boy is my brain drained. notice the lack of capitals? Okay, I'll sign off here. If I squint, I can reread this and see if there are any loose ends to tie up. And sorry Aamie, if you're reading this. I still want to get back to our emails. It has been pleasurable sharing thought with you. goodnight and goodluck! do i have to pay a royalty if i use that with every close? ah, well. |
| I confess, I'm not a blogger. Eventually, I will learn how to thank those who support me in my reinvigorated writing endeavor (psst, I'm not using spell check). But I have many people to thank for all sorts of input on two new poems I posted over the last few days. "Invalid Item" "The Evergreen" The feedback for Evergreen makes me believe this is my best work since Garden Waste which is an oldie but a goodie at 18 days old. "Hidden Flower" That poem caught the attention of someone because an unexpected gift to upgrade my membership landed at my doorstep. Thank you, whoever you are! It has been a rollercoaster ride since losing my job about three weeks ago. I held on as long as I could, knowing my days were numbered. In the process my bond with God strengthened. Just two days after writing a poem and praying God share with me my purpose in life, I was thrown out onto the street. I didn't have to brush myself off. I was lifted up and lead right back to where I left off 15 years ago. Writing. Now this ride has had some hills and valleys, twists and turns, and the occasional nausea these past few weeks. There's the matter of finances, how to manage my spare time and troubling over whether I should seek other employment. Fortunately, I'm blessed with a loving wife and two adorable and intelligent children. So, I'm trying to reintegrate myself to daily chores of the stay-at-home Dad, which I was pretty much anyway. My wife works full-time. I get to cook more, spend more time with my garden, read and play with Alex and Maddie all day long, and slow down life and really contemplate the important things. Now that I have stopped to smell the roses, I write about them. I'll conclude here, sparing any possible metaphors I will start sewing into the fabric of some elaborate tale (or just another rag off the K-mart clearance rack). And one special shout out to (the late) -----------. You've kept me on my feet and remind me that there's no place for doubting myself, especially now. I have the means and the opportunity. Time to do something with the 20 plus years of writing and life experiences collecting cobwebs in masked tape boxes in the rafters of my garage. Taking a drag on my virtual cigarette, "Good night, and good luck." |
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— 21
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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*^*
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_and_Light-1936078_14.gif)
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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!
Rachel](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Shadows_=38_Light_II-1936078_14.gif)
— 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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CONGRATULATIONS for winning 2nd place in [Link To Item #2254385] !!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Contests-235.gif)
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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 
18
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Congratulations on winning Best Medium-Length Poem, Free Verse in the 2021 edition of The Quills!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Award-1375927_6.gif)
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Thank you for your generous donation to [Link To Item #quillhome] ! *^*Quill*^* Every donation is used to celebrate WdC while recognizing quality work and acknowledging community involvement. Kindest Regards, Lilli](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Quill_Sponsor-1375927_6.gif)
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Congratulations on being our Honorable Mention in March of 2022 at [Link To Item #2216416] !
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For placing 3rd in the Bard's Hall Blogging Contest, June 2022](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Bard=s_Hall_Blogging_Merit_Badge-2094227_12.gif){kind=icon}
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