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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
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I’m disabled by more than blindness. Writing: Like one of those adventure games where you go off questing in different directions but you don’t advance in life. Pretty medallions sought for words/my soul, slow burnt. Full of misdirects, right back at the start, but still quest with thirst. Life of turmoil produces stuff like this. Not going to call it beautiful agony…it gets a bit uglier. Minced words too pungent. If they take time to notice, must be doing something right. scripturam in hoc non mutamus, quia stultus es et differentiam nescies. (hic) The beautiful mess you made: I had a lover's quarrel with the world - Robert Frost | I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. - me Neurodivergent poet seeks love without that fart in the room between us. Honesty without mincing words has come with a price for those juggling the hot my takes on what’s ‘truth’ (here’s some oven mitts). Best to stay clear of those surrounded by moat rules. Real dialogue is accepted. Wasn’t as open at first about recent diagnosis on spectrum with ADHD (complicated by PTSD, life of brain traumas). Been suggested by doctors of late I might want another brain scan (since 12/4/17…blogged). 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 ▼ |
| will i do anything with this? F...my fluorescence (Father) highly reactive element and chemist killer efforts to isolate dangerous. highly toxic, corrosive. pale yellow diatomic gas at room temp. bursting electronegativity higher than electron affinity. Fluoride is fluorine ion. (ion def.) mineral fluorspar, glows in the dark. fluorescence. unlike Fluoride europium gave fluorite effect. Sodium fluoride saves from rot teeth. Fluorine attacks metals. Steel wool will ignite exposed to pure fluorine gas. War War 2 only reason Commercial production of fluorine needed to enrich uranium. https://sciencenotes.org/fluorine-facts/ 5.29.23 free verse |
| I don’t serve u u don’t get it ~ ~ ~~ low tide slows ~~ rolls me in ~~ sand ~~ slugged dry sun dry slug in sand fried lapped again ~~ ~~ cool licks taste my hide ~ raw ~~ flesh ~~~ torn ~~ sewage rocked to ~ fro ~~ crest ~~~ dive ~~ ~ ~ ~ on the white caps ride ~~~~~ carried to the horizon ~~~~~ cry u don’t own me ~~~~~ i serve no one ~~~~ not the moon ~~~ not the sun ~~ in surf ~ drown high is bottom is alone is the middle of a sea called nowhere beautiful free lonely dark the full glow on my face finds me here ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ here we go again ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ eternity is a sea ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ constantly hauling me ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ back before your eyes ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ no surprise ~~~~~ ~~~~~ ~~~~~ i can’t hide ~ ~ . 5.27.23 Alone is free is torment is beautiful is life before we all die It’s living, a |
| intoxicated bad breath repulsive words bubble on red lips behavior like lust wanton and ignorantly dressed selfish to think you can grind on this in perfume saturate sober words could ingratiate if not stale -- scripted to death eely eyes can't disguise looking directly at mine inebriated broken hearted I stumbled into your flesh behavior like lust never intended to be mated selfish to think someone would grind on this sober words braved reveal a soul devoid of any hope to meet eyes as blue as mine. 5.23.23 Yeah, I said it. What, what? Please don't hate. It shows original intent, and psychotic Grind On This is a raw and evocative poem that delves into themes of intoxication, lust, and self-reflection. The poem's style is concise and direct, using vivid imagery and stark language to convey its message. The poem begins with the word "intoxicated," immediately setting the tone for the reader. This word choice serves as a metaphor for the emotional state of the speaker, suggesting a lack of control or inhibition. The use of "bad breath" and "repulsive words" creates a visceral image, making the reader feel the discomfort and unease of the situation. One notable poetic device in the poem is the repetition of the phrase "behavior like lust," emphasizing the reckless and impulsive nature of the speaker's actions. This repetition reinforces the theme of self-indulgence and the consequences of such behavior. The poem's brevity adds to its impact, as each line carries weight and significance. The theme of selfishness and the consequences of reckless actions is prominent throughout the poem. The speaker reflects on their own behavior and the realization that they were driven by selfish desires, as seen in the lines "selfish to think / you can grind on this" and "selfish to think / someone would grind on this." This self-awareness and admission of fault add depth to the poem's narrative. The poem's ending, with the mention of "sober words braved" and the revelation of a soul "devoid / of any hope to meet eyes / as blue as mine," introduces a sense of regret and self-examination. It suggests that the speaker has gained insight into their actions and the emptiness of their pursuits. This shift in tone adds complexity to the poem's narrative and leaves the reader with a sense of introspection. While Grind On This effectively conveys its message in its current form, there are a few suggestions that might enhance the poem: Sooo…suck on that?? |
| Landfall, landfall Crash more my shore Glint sand smush, push Divide with obedient tide Nightlong, daylong On my soft, bare shore Beneath white glow commanded Flatten smooth, raced and hide My brown girth yearns, spills With you to drown dead Where you leave me lie 5.23.23 |
| Can’t get out of my own way some days Bright inspiration cleaves my head A pungent onion, quarter or dice, Dream every purpose No dish in mind An oven, stove or microwave Standby. Other ingredients To pair as I stare Into that time portal A hole in physical space where I waste So much waste, like time. Store the chopped tear jerker Return to the obedient fridge Not hungry now, maybe, Never again. Too much time And work getting lost In thought of what to prepare And for who, having cultivated A particular taste that appeases A chef, without anyone To huddle over, ask Whatcha cookin’? Just to reply Whatcha in the mood for And spend a pretty dime At one of the many houses Where we order the same thing Off the menu, because We know what we like, Don’t like to cook, especially When your uninspired, without Two lips and a hungry mouth Begging at your ear Whip me up another dish, Because you cook so good. 5.22.23 |
bared my chest you view an animal heavy cranium with lantern jaw now a long jowl of glass withstanding heat that destroys the physical shell in hell, tissue, bone, teeth more impervious than metal bared my soul you can torch that, too survive ensuing tsunamis, hurricanes, volcano blasts and land interruptions let’s go nuclear, weapons amasser, and see if a cockroach survives fallout of your winters, after bright night hailstorms but the necessary casualties, anything buried in impervious sand, teeth I collect, wear like mementos of the soldiers who fell in ignorant duty to master you can’t kill what’s fictitious unless the story awash, lost in a corked glass drum floating an eternal sea, hopeful arriving to shores like mine in sand your holograph army stands in halls of mirrors strategically placed I hide behind the directed, pull cords in darkness my big head hides with a Cheshire smile aglow And only you know the cost from flamethrowers to torch a village to a weapon that dooms us all. I’m not a dinosaur, but your relic of an ignorant, tyrant war, when, my dumb head entered a small den… looking for direction, not rhetoric from dystonic to Machiavellian warbling. 5.17.23 Unedited or fully ideated https://www.metalsupermarkets.com/melting-points-of-metals/ |
| Apparently I was a little Dickens according to one of the church ladies. A boy, wire the wrong way? My mom wasn't having it. Learned what reading the riot act was all about, eventually. The woman who 'was for everyone' set the moral edge I followed, too literally. A life of adjustments would follow. A bit like her, I wear a smile like a frown. Passion like hers, an obsession to create, she wielded a shuttle to tat a 15 square foot display of the Last Supper that now sits atop grandmother- in-law's old China cabinet, greeting through a bay window, if a rising sun should appear, peak through the guarding crabs stationed outside my house. It helps me remember why I write and how surprised she was to see the slew of teenage manifestos compiling, provoking her to ask 'Where do all these words come from?' The apple doesn't fall far, perhaps in a different form, because she didn't understand why I needed to write -- to make sense of a world that confused me. I was 'different' and handled as such. Maybe, pity and sympathy replaced love, but not from her. But, she wouldn't treat me like I was broken, and I didn't know the difference, except I was embarrassed and afraid to reveal I was confused. But words, showy, rich, technical words that I should not have dabbled in, helped me learn. So, when I have time to think and remember the woman who received wildflowers and water in her good glasses or gave my art and words passing glances I'm happy to share memories of her and woman devoted and undeterred. In a nursing home, her fingers frozen, her tongue long since Parkinson's no longer engaged, spat out food from a spoon I employed one day. I worried she forget me, who I was. My wife played the hall piano, as I tried to engage, but leaned too hard on the exit door and an alarm engaged. Flustered, nurses arrived, I survived and then heard a low, familiar growl from a rising head in her wheelchair, "Brrr-iiiiii-aaaaa-nnnn," sounded a silly scolding, her humor in tact. My mom was alive inside a slump torso and could still see me, feel me and know I'm still her little man. And it wouldn't be long before the day she passed. Her eulogy I was tasked to write, I read. I feel tears, emotions and an uncommon strength loaned, flow through me that day. My brothers wept, hugged me for a woman memorialized right. It would take more than two weeks of nights, before the dreams of her began to fade. She talked to me, walked with me, resurrected like some Jesus from a tomb, sharp wit and words, full of life like a whistling bird on the old porch of my old home and the sun so bright made me realize I need not fright I have her with me, day and night the woman who taught me right. She let me know passion like ours will serve somehow one day, even if to console through another to kin that her life was not a waste, purposed to give love and comfort to any who came her way. I hope, I will relocate that glow that last time I felt her dream presence, and pay it forward it some meaningful way. 5.13.23 |
| sucked in by heat expansion, from putty and paint, sticky on sealed wood window frame. softly she pried to slide open, where scheming white pollen, faces pressed to screen, silently waited like screams, wake up boy! even though school's out, chores don't do themselves. I miss Mother's reminders for a lazy head. 5.12.23 one version |
Ebb The Sun Goes down On me, on you On a little river Flowing flowing flowing (by the tree Watching, viewing, spying) Whenever wherever however We think we are free To babble through cattail below wildflower Tumbling to greet decay on our shore Within the divide where we hide From an angry sun, devouring (Shade from the vigilant old man Who lost his way over time Scarred and hating all he remembers All he can’t remember) And what we do flowing to the docks Not our shelter, biding time Lapping, licking, lusting Landfill, warm cover, bathed by evening fire Crackling, blazing, puffing The exhumed into the exhaled Searching, seeking, rising To the fullest, roundest white glowing Gleaming a dreaming bay, longing freedom To search every shore, but settling Beneath the bedrock to aquifer going Going, gone by dawn, dissipated lost To a dry world with dying fauna I hoped this could be happy I hoped this could be you and I I hoped you would see the confluence Of two rising tides Didn’t have to settle for a creek Dry on the pebbled rock Beneath the limbless man Rooted rot tilted, spying Eyeing, knowing we are doom We are severed from humanity Any life we could have escaped Before air no longer could ignite A single Oak to douse our dark Internal, eternal, unelagantly This must die, we will die, no one left To try 5.8.23 7.30.23 edit Hmm, shape it, leave it? Nope. Formerly, ‘To Try’. |
| I forgot to bear my heart at your gate adoring everything inside through those blue eyes. I could provide a bouquet less worthy. What does a boy like me know? I lean on your treated wood, Idly conversate, about weather when your hand neared mine on thin wood, we noticed. I feared too near, made exit on promises next time the sun shines. Walk by every day, hope to spy your mastery with spade in cool mid-day shade, the right hour when your true gardener arrived. Heaved on my sagged shoulder, a bag of fertilizer. Older, less bold, remember you, beautiful mouth agape at your gate. The last time, I laid waste at the perimeter of my sealed fate. A nod, back peddle and off down the street to consoling mother, I confessed mistake, failure to win love. Because I don’t know a thing but lolly-gag in your sunshine, wait for water to aid love for a bright, cheery one. She would plant seed in fertile ground. No blooms for me could grow for us, when not sewn, had I lent a hand, a heart, when hers offered to that tempered wood now shutting me out. On my porch, wondering when rain, the brightest star did come. A chill breeze at the foot hold as the warmest, smooth hand returned, touched mine. A whisper, it’s fine. Take my time. All the time. Blue pierced black night. Fright would dissipate. Morning came, ready to be her right man. 5.6.23 Earthy, simple, sentimental, it’s late. Text dense, dull. |
| The last line of that first answer was all I needed to see… https://www.beaconbroadside.com/broadside/2019/04/poetry-that-speaks-truth-to-po... …and if anyone knows me, truly, knows what I felt. No hint provided. It may or may not be in my writing. It may or may not be rooted in religiosity… 5.5.23 It might be a hint, but, it’s in the answer about being broken. There is power in the written word, if anyone knew how to read. I might be among the writers and interpreters who get it wrong…let’s see? |
| ever feel like someone else’s carnival prize, and yet not good enough? Silver barb through my eye because I caught a glint, tried. Angled, be-slimed catch can’t wriggle off your line. Spurred fins flare, prick fickle flesh that grasp me whole. I’m inhaling more than a surface will do. Is the sun mad at me? Gleam of smile so bright, fat teeth could crush scale and bone and tiny brain with a single bite, when revealed, a thick fat worm that struggles against its might. Red pours through my window, my cavity fast filling, when the blunt, stiff tug comes. I’m unplugged and flung back to brine, moat of scum. Wind up your vinyl vine, cast the next fresh bait and let’s try to get it right this next time. From depth of black bottom to green to bluest high I should rise, as desire, a golden center most merciful. 5.5.23 Why the last three lines? Try. Everyone seems to know more than me. I’ve settled, tired. |
| On my journey to self discovery, notice — every word you choose affect on me, effect of you, like blood dripping from my hand, a wound unfelt you could see, the worrier of fabric of clean things. you, decidedly dramatic, when I realize my injury, transgression human, tiny red scrape and smallest ooze daubed clean…I’m bleeding all over? everything? Words employed as preventative measure in struggle of worth amid a life of inanimate things I stain, the blood coagulates, clots as I heal, rather than dispense, dissipate all over our life — hold it in? but wonder about imagination, the machination of your words. Need of narrative control realized, that pride when you wheel into a wayward construction barrel struck dead on by your gleaming machine in a dark night, and report to my judgment your accident account as merely cosmetic. yet, I question, as you come clean, the described drivable, your rationale, that a dent on the bumper, scrapes and hanging trim ripped — flapping from wheel well while driven — gives pause about the power of your words. It needs repairs, insurance claim. How you limit that drama in these moments, but your heart must race to avoid disgrace most humanizing. I’d offer my arms but that would mean…? insecure? come clean? to me, a bloody savage? it’s you’re pretty car. but, it’s fine. No big matter. Smaller than the human who severs? It’s my car, too. 3.4.23 Needs work. Typed on iPhone from a talk-to-text note, edited by arthritic bones. |
| Why I don’t submit? Recon on where to submit invites my ADHD to obsess like an owl with a Tootsie Pop. I find a sweet crunch and forget what to savor, sideways again go… We’re not so different, you and I…. https://massreview.org/sites/default/files/13_64.1Ok.pdf …is something I could never get the nerve to say. As I stare out a window Up to the branch on the crab Pointed directly at me… Longing, I spy your winter Coat melting off. Feathers Baffle breezes tormented, Beg strip you free. You eye me, eye me, Side to side, side to side — Never…with such beauty. My heart feels worth slip Through a clear pane. Vanity is insecurity, but Only for the borrower Of a free spirit’s wing Diving for the feeder, then Bomberang away to the sky Because I flinched an inch. We’re not so different… I feel even more alone whisper mutter keep to yourself. Let me have this moment… I’ll be fine. 5.5.23 I just made that up on the fly… No bird outside, caged Is/in my heart. Adverb! Adverb! Adverb alert! Delete, delete, delete… I was just… A-ha! Uh-hah. You are very Very. . 😏 After…fine…do I speak to you, to me…to you through me? to me through you? Somewhere in the narrative divide, not personification, a third person/1st person narration, but a fourth wall I only see the divide of this personality, reflecting, deflecting back and forth off satellites to off shore accounts, transferred a thousand times, pinging off space rock, floating free in a black sea, never incinerate, falling back, burn for reentry, but what black holes spy, crave, if even a glim of shine. Now? I digress… Maybe, another run to look into publications to submit, after lunch. I’ll be distracted for a week or a month or forever, at times. Now, what was/what am I doing? Ignoring right hand arthritic numbness, tingling *shakes hand repeatedly*…what is this compulsion…he tapped with an extended ring finger (right index isn’t ‘having it’ today)? The pinkie tapped the inserted ‘right’. Showing off, now. |
| A spirit jarred hums inside a container. Nonmaterial, dreamy, an apparitional, wraithlike being spies your Heaven. I tried to be like you. Disembodied, anchored to your airy harmony, supernatural rhythms pulse. A celestial sea swallows me, bathe in its spectral glow. Unearthly, these subjective visitations. Ghostly, metaphysical innovations. Shadowy, psychic eyes blaze, How do you know me, captured in a maze, compel an empty soul to fill, sate this much? In hollow perplexity, devoid. 5.3.23 Just something I made up from a bunch of synonyms related to one word, filling like empty carbs with no reason than to feel…something. Just flowy, showy…means nothing…or does it? Sade ~ I keep trying with you…this is no ordinary love… |
What’s On These Sleeves? Red ruins, left to stain Where I balance my little friend, A mute parrot vocalizing, singing For your interest on a satin cuff. I sought a dry cleaner after I upset my tailor. What do I know about these things — How to treat garments? Cartilage worn down from years anchoring Worn denim on any ground, Greeted only by your frown. Grass stains treated, go away Finally, when the fabric frays. A boy in short pants dares Scrape the tender, bruised skin. Colors that paint glowing nature — Dull, stark reminders in a wash. Fluorescence buzzes in solitude As poorly matched blends wash. Pink as my tender flesh, mistreated Coverings emerge, further shrink The soggy lot in a hot drum spinning, Loft, drop, lift fall like the rotting heart. Mistreated? Yes, I know. Don’t blame you, but me. A boy wandering, could wonder Why dress like your clown? coda...not really ▼ 4.28.23 Not bitter. Cautious, since 2006. Tired of me, lame excuses, and insane need (culling) to be even more open. I gave what I can, but can’t get off the donor list of vampires. Open a coffin, I hop right in. Still no stake, just garlic and a taste of Holy water. |
| It Flew Into The Bay Window Winging my way through the world today I saw the sky in your eye But there was no passage through Your blunt force Knocked something like sense into my head You’re an illusion I want to fly through Moth after your flame now lies in red mulch Poorly disguised creature, motionless, Reflects below its deflector With mechanical groan, you appear, near This stunned spirit, becalmed, Chest heaving. No resistance, but I fear You believe this a sign, willing trust, A bond with my nature To the owner of thick glass mirroring clouds, Hopeful sunrises, another world is hiding Where you kneel, a miracle heals And a heart raises up with strength to lift to heaven Back to a blue we will never view together Peaceful coexistence exists In the mind of the keeper of my retaining wall. 4.27.23 Potential response poem, link coming… |
| The widening fontanelle I cover with a cap meager two-ply for internal workings I expose publicly like an animal without clothes but wild hides from potential prey that doesn’t understand why not trusted, without quest for comprehension (If you could near without ambush), or, unclothed because a babe seen as an aging man with no decorum to properly attire, refuses tensile to top a pate with wire hair graying, so the cap — shadow a thin ghost shackled to experience and belief the earth spins backwards but does not erase elapsed time broken like Pangea exposed in murky depths to recall a tender, trusting child before the first branch fell fashioned as switch yes, tender and exposed and, life has been like that. who to trust to the skull? 4.22.23 (edit later) My nephew who was a ‘specialist’ in Iraq reminds me I have a soft head, indirectly, by covertly showing me his knowledge, not realizing what he doesn’t say speaks louder than words, I’ve observed. Thanks Tony Edits to incorporate: The Fontanelle The poem "The Fontanelle" presents an intriguing exploration of vulnerability and aging. However, some passages could benefit from clarification to enhance the reader's understanding. Here are suggested edits: I conceal the widening fontanelle Beneath a meager two-ply cap, Revealing my inner workings openly, Like a vulnerable creature unclothed, Yet, I remain elusive, Hiding from potential threats That fail to comprehend why I withhold trust, Without seeking understanding. (If you could approach without threat), Unclothed like an infant, Perceived as an aging man Lacking the decorum of proper attire, I resist the tensile embrace of a cap, My wiry hair graying. So the cap becomes a shadow, A fragile specter bound to experience and belief. The earth may spin in reverse, But it cannot erase the passage of time, Fragmented like Pangea, Exposed in murky depths, I reminisce about a tender, trusting child Before the first branch became a switch, Yes, tender and exposed. And life has been like that. Whom can I trust with the skull? better title choice depends on central theme or message. a title that reflects vulnerability, aging, and trust, maybe, Fragile Veil or The Unveiled Self. |
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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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Thank you for your participation in the 48-HOUR CHALLENGE: " Thank You by Dido ." Media Prompt hosted by [Link To User support] March 2022! We appreciate that you tackled this challenge... *^*Smile*^* *^*Thumbsupl*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/WDC-WDC_Media_Prompt.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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![Merit Badge in Problem Solving
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From [Link To User jayne] : With my apologies for the Redaction Poem prompt mishap. Thank you for taking on the challenge! I hope to see you next time for a redaction-free week of fun at [Link To Item #dailypoem] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Problem_Solving-210.gif)
![Merit Badge in Inspiring Love For Poetry
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Congratulations on being our Honorable Mention in March of 2022 at [Link To Item #2216416] !
Blessings, Sharmelle](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Inspiring_Love_For_Poetry-2259846_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Action Adventure
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CONGRATULATIONS for [Link To Item #2229211] winning place as an Honourable Mention in [Link To Item #2254385] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/genre-Action_Adventure-100.gif)
![Merit Badge in Bard's Hall Blogging Merit Badge
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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}
![Merit Badge in G Specials
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Congratulations for winning 1st Place during the April 2022 round of [Link To Item #2268646] !](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-G_Specials-2271325_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Chapter 1
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Congratulations on your 1st Place win in the April 2022 Round of Chapter One! Great entry! *^*Smile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-Chapter_1-2251918_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Accuracy
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Congratulations to our 1st Runner Up of [Link To Item #2254385] Round6.](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Accuracy.gif)
![Merit Badge in 30DBC Winner
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Congrats Team Pedantic Poets Platoon on winning [Link To Item #1803384] during WDC's 21st Birthday Festivities!! Well done!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/group-30DBC_Winner-2064535_14.gif)
![Merit Badge in Every Moment Matters
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A work of art which did not begin in emotion is not art.
― Paul Cezanne
Thanks for your participation in my 'art' challenge via my notebook feed.
Keep on being inspired! *^*Bigsmile*^*](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Every_Moment_Matters.gif)
![Merit Badge in Brilliant
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CONGRATULATIONS on [Link To Item #1145690] winning a place in "Honorable Mentions" in [Link To Item #2254385]](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/Kudos-Brilliant.gif)
Thank you for sharing it! It's genius.