Liquid lightning in starry sky
Ride the moods in ebony eyes
White flashes of electricity
Tracing silhouette of black tree
Where branches dances
with white wind
Illuminating leaves of light again
Silver strikes like a battle ax
Setting fire to house white neon attack
As firemen clothes glow yellow and red
Lightning strong like sky has bled
It’s streak of light across onyx sky
Makes for an eventful exciting night
Moth-eaten hag was a big battle-ax biddy
A hackneyed hag who wandered New York City
Grandam of the alley, a smelly aged fish wife
Aren’t you glad you did not have her kind of life?
Don’t be so hasty to judge, said my friend.
She had cats and companions to the very end.
The homeless took care of her, they loved her too.
Who is going to do the boo-hooing for you?
He took the punch
Without a flinch
Men don't hit women
But he wasn't giving in
She threw all her hate
Into the sword out her mouth
Before the battle ax
Took her out
He would call the law
But no one would believe
That violence would come
To a coward with knees
She filed report after report
But no one will come this time
Seven is the number
Where death intersects the line
If one could only go through
Without going back
To the very environment
That isolates lack
The truth of LOVE
Might have a chance
To restore the beauty
And cause the soul to advance
...into glorious light
written by Trudy Schrader on 10-28-2023
sat on a pallet
with big blow hit my wallet
met with a mallet
read all of the facts
body looked like battle ax
that never attracts
walked along with Luke
disagreed and did rebuke
a crazy old kook
would be atrocious
did eat things when ferocious
also delicious
Standing in attractive armor,
devoid of battle-ax.
Encased by imagination,
fantasies surpass the facts.
To battle, with raging virtue,
resist against all vice,
surrender is irresistible,
the victory is to entice.
Charisma - the victor's weapon,
leads to a heartless defeat.
The fairest of the gender,
drops to her knees and weeps.
WET WINTER OF SPRING
O wet wet Winter of Spring!
The cool rushing season of rain.
O Adam’s sons and daughters,
Inspire the West! Upend the fires!
The battle ax lays low the forest,
Leaping with dinosaur shadows.
A flicker of water would quench
And lick up the ferocious ash.
Abash the seams of the living seed,
embers of the demonic weed of hell.
Sweep clean the hearth, sweet Eve.
Deliver woe to the child of dust.
O wet wet Winter of Spring!
Delicious child of Georgia heat.
Applause from heaven sounds
As you deliver bad news and retreat.
The stagecoach overhead
Rushes for sodden gold.
Hear the stampede of men.
Horses snort out the stench.
Lewis and Clark needed for a venture.
Or the Balta sled with cure of snow.
Even Chinese water torture land ho.
A river of enormous size would quench
The Western beat, the trodden heat
O treacherous molten seizure of land
Trade with the Eastern blizzard of rain
Boats bob in Georgia. Flames tame the coast.
O luscious Winter of Spring delivers a sled full of woe.
8/1/2018
Today's Date July 24. 2015
Contest Entry---First written Spring 2015
game bullying, hero, silly, sports, strength, word play,,
Champing At the Bit! ©
I hear the roars in the almighty arena
I like to see many a game played out
I am a contender ready for sport
Out for a rematch when elected to strike
Bringing on 'mite and dare' with battle-ax!
.
Inside fielders, outside shots
With vinegar, brawn, spit and guts
Side lines, guidelines guard rails spin
Play your bit and take over until ‘taken’
“Roll me over in fields of clover” again
“Let's roll out the barrel” once more
“The gangs all here” for (old time’s sake)!
To ‘bare’ false teeth replaced from knockouts
Falsely breathing like the lion when times taken ‘out’
False starts, ball belongs to the court ‘out of bounds’
Man ‘sports’ a rebel cry with clansmen at the helm
Fight your battles; fight your wars, fight to finish!
Wine, women and song-
delirious impressions
both over- and understated.
Nonsense to the uninitiated.
This is how my daydream began:
gyrating on stage with long hair
like and adolescent shaman-
visions of a young Jim Morrison.
Wine, women and song-
punk, funk, southern boogie drunk
battle ax guitars, pounding drums
blacken and brutal beer soaked bars.
This is the dream come true:
an insidious reality
that suddenly struck rude.
Nonsense to the uninitiated.
Now, it is still the wine
women and song that I long for.
Indelible impressions
both over-and understated.
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