Yesterday you asked me if I was coming back
The birds went silent
The wind hid behind the trees
And time stopped dead in its tracks
As you.
And everything around us awaited a response
I was nowhere near ready to give
My face held a puzzled expression as we kept walking
I forced the air out from my lungs
Unsure of the right way to say no
So I said “Maybe”
Time went back to chasing the sun
And the birds started singing again
As I whispered to the wind
“I'm never coming back”
you cry when you come
make others cry when you leave
try to laugh meanwhile
air in starts the life
air out takes away the life
life’s an air bubble
rain sustains the life
heavy rain perturbs the life
imbalance in vain
Place: 2 nd
Finish In Ten Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date 6/28/2026
Mirror Inner Girl
your oval little-girl face; running muck
ground was your undoings
shattered bottomless thing
though cold the glimmer on barbwire
remember your walk, darling girl
feet air out by dragging the glass
new when mirror image rests —
memory is just in the morning,
dark as footprints that still melt the frost,
and leaves that never stay on or off the ground.
Creak, creak
I hear the boards speak
The wolf is running about
Don't wiggle
Stifle that giggle
Never let the air out
Little girls learn
How to quickly discern
The choppy river in motion
It crawls, then falls
Into fragmented balls
Reaching for the magic potion
The smell of cedar
Damp chicken feeder
Pinches nerves in a knot
Just trying to live
Through pain that gives
Innocence a black thick blot
I hate sound
That surrounds
The mirrored soul with glue
I'm tired of healing
The huge onion always peeling
Layers of skin to sinew
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-28-2026
My panick attacks is like I'm crawling out of my skin like I just peeled off every layer one by one. I'm shaking like I just swam In winter. And my air is like a bubble I'm the back of my throat and I can't get it out but I hear the air coming out. It's like I'm feeling death for the 3rd time each one worse then the last it's like I'm a cat and each death is more gruesome than the last, and when I finally get that bubble of air out I'm still shaking but I can feel the breath now and all I'm left with is air and thought I didn't think just ones placed in my mind it's like a shrine marked by people I didn't ask for. And when it's all over I put my skin back on and wait for the next life to be waisted.
India ascent to mount everest
India known to be finest economy
But dead economy echoes nation-wide
India known to be military might
But india is outweaponised by enemy's hypersonic jets
India known to be emerging hindu nation
But no reincarnation,no salvation
does India suffers from activities deficit phobia,sovereignty deficit, phobia,height phobia?
india's highest peak expedition without getting eaten alive
Into the thin air,out of thin air
India ascent to mount everest
The extermination of my self-identity
comes easy when taken from the tongue.
Words hanging in the balance,
breathe in the air in which they are strung.
Wrap tightly around my neck,
wringing the air out of my lungs.
Infestation of the mind and of
a heart so fractured yet so young.
Carried deeper into a world of hate,
so I let go of the hand that I once clung.
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY SAY WE ARE ENOUGH.
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY SAY WE ARE
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY SAY WE
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY SAY
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL THEY
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH UNTIL
WE ARE NEVER ENOUGH.
Do
not put
me in a
box where I can't
be seen. I will not
hide anymore, I must
be set free to fly. Do not
put me in a box, where I can
not breath. Yes I need fresh air to breath,
friendships suck the air out of the air. No!
No!
life here
for us now,
I need to move
far away from you.
No more hurting for me,
your words hurt. Your silence is
wrong, my life will be very fun
filled with joy and happiness with you
not in it. I am now saying good-bye.
Put a little cardamom in it.
Spice it up!
Cloves are great for health.
Add that in too!
A pinch of cinnamon.
Wow, what a robust flavor!
Don’t forget Ginger!
Peel and feel the texture.
Drop it in!
Pitch black tea leaves.
It leaves you with a strong, but bitter sensation.
Hear those bubbles sing and dance while boiling,
Steam shoots up in the air out of the tea kettles’ spout,
like a rocket to the moon.
Yes, I can drink this to the moon and back.
A tasty concoction of flavor in this tiny little cup.
Simply just pleases your taste buds.
Stems from the country of India.
Spicy and yet so sweet.
Makes your day complete,
rather than incomplete.
Under the summer heat.
Or embracing the streaks of cold air,
while wrapped up and gulping,
then saying: “This beverage is just one of a kind”.
Love, betray not my trust
When I have given it all to you.
Leave me not in the dark
When I have held high the light for you
All the way through the stormy night.
Abandon me not to the streets,
When I gave you a place to stay inside my heart
When everything seemed impossible.
The air, out there, is hot and cruel.
Bite me not, when I have fed you like my own
Not on dry bones but rather, my own flesh.
Love, let go not of my hand
Lest I fall off and die!
Stay with me, stay with me!
And, when you are to raise your foot to take a step,
Go with me for I want to walk with you
All throughout life’s pits and paradise.
Love, give me love
For that’s what my soul thirsts for in the desert of loneliness.
We've got to pause and ask ourselves: How much clean air do we need?
Quote by: Lee lacocca
The air that we breathe must be clean
Too many infections we’ve seen
Difficulty breathing
Is a horrid feeling
To keep air clean, we must go green.
Trees put oxygen in the air
No trees at all would bring despair
No one would be alive
No creature could survive
Thank God for the trees He put there.
All those in the world that exist
Must each do their best and their bit
To save earth, save the trees
Keep plastic out of seas
For clean air out there, please do it.
NIGHT BEWITCHES
Night offers that welcome darkness
With only the pale moon to observe
When undefined things will emerge
And those rare emotions can surge
Strangest sounds that touch a nerve
And images, proud of their starkness
The witching hour will come at night
Feeling cold running down your spine
The chill wind blows like a soft moan
Now sure that you’re no longer alone
You know something crossed that line
Whispers dance in the air, out of sight
The shadows are barely sure they exist
Moonlight casting weird shades of grey
The dark cloudless sky feels undressed
Things scuttling around, as if possessed
All scurrying to avoid the dawning day
An enchantment opportunity, missed
It all starts with the touch of your fingertips it sends little electric waves throughout my body.
The way your eyes look into mine makes me want to devour you.
I want to taste every last drop of you.
The taste of you.
The smell of you.
The feel of your body against mine makes me get lost in you.
I want to totally loose myself in you and stay there forever.
I can never get enough of you.
But reality comes crashing down and sucks the air out of my lungs making me wake up.
Then you're gone.
writing a poem in the middle of a pathway
dying slowly from losing her because of myself
the paper is blank
the pen is unused
the tears come from nowhere
i am in a familiar place when i am lost
then all of a sudden, the words come, but then they leave again
i am cussing the air out, but there is a mirror in the sky
the paper is now filling up
the pen is now taking labored breaths
i am in a familiar place when i am lost
now the rain sneaks up and begins to fall quite heavily
my poem is ruined on the paper, but not in my head
i wish i could afford a computer, but i will just wait for the rain to stop
somebody must have heard me because 'boo!' says the temperamental sun
i get another piece of paper and start the poem over again
it comes out a bit differently, but the uneven rhythm of it is still the same
it is amazing what a broken heart can say
when writing a poem in the middle of a pathway
dying slowly from losing her because of myself
the fears come from nowhere
i am in a familiar place when i am paying the cost
Up in the above
roof gardens pluck air out of thoughts.
Changelings run between
brick walls
one is dead-eyed and evermore shall not see
yet it grows itself upon a dendritic tree
to hear what the empty places speak of.
Long moved furniture’s leave there after-images
they remain as stains upon inlayed grains.
inside the crumbling interior of bare floor
wood owls slowly turn spiral eyes
to see for those no longer here.
Above this homeless and dreaming mind
a straight-backed chair plays a dark cello
most melancholy are its tunes
that resound on ceiling and echoing ground.
The space within the structure will one day rupture
but for now a ghostly grey-matter
knits together
the under, the over,
and that room
where music sighs between two lovers.
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