The pulsing redness of the dying sun,
Began to prevail into nothingness.
Yet all around the promenade
Bright lights shone from the business venue.
They sat on a bench, close, whispering sweet nothings.
The night was young, and they had much to say.
Would they wait for dawn?
Lights shimmer on the quiet sea,
like drifting dreams that never fade away.
She was tired and rested her head
On his shoulder as he held her close.
Then things began to shift.
Around the bay, bulbs were now in full light
The brass band began to blare.
Everyone was happily singing.
And in the depth of the bay
Fireworks cracked upwards
Sending sparkling stars above
It is a journey of excellent exhibition.
The two lovers stood up hand in hand.
And began their walk far from the crowd
Towards the quiet, where the moon had arisen.
A lovely red moon that was their wonder,
Why is there silence so early this night?
No chirping, no hawking, all is not right.
The sunset still offers ambient light.
Long silence is eerie, for there's no sight
of anything moving around, despite
the recent day hours, when sounds gave delight.
I now make some noise, perhaps to incite
some way to move them to run or take flight,
and pull out my whistle, blare it with might!
Up stands a bear with deep roars- what a fright!
A sea of marble markers
In perfect rows and place
Adorn the sprawling green
Above each cherished face.
Beneath the graven tombstones
Are soldiers low and dear.
Void of breath, still, at peace
Full of honor, lost in tears.
No one will forget these lives
Though silent, markers speak.
White monuments still stand
Like glorious mountain peaks.
Trumpets blare their tributes clear
Through heaving, sobbing faces.
Salutes surround the site
Where loved ones kneel in places.
Their dear loss is not in vain
They bore great pain for us.
High is the soldier's worth
Come lift a grateful chorus.
Melody Lane
Andante Way
Minuet Pass
Crescendo Trail
Violins strain
Trumpets blare
Drums boom
Cymbals~ silent
The Mountain goes blank
Look up, say Thanks
At trumpets blare bespoken fair
In all the noise and bluster
Enamored round in stately air
Imbued with heavens luster
He flops at rest stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
He likes the loneliness
as the cab windows gradually mist over
with smokey stars.
Rolling on,
cities of light flare upwards
and beneath them
are the unseen, the dead eyed
that hide under a metro-glare.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with broken dreams and loose ends.
Just driving; hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores,
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes he thinks
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through his fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple,
all those dust painted
played-out rural towns,
the roads are his tunnel
through both beauty and depredation.
Old men on roadside benches
stare unphased by his air horn blare'
as if he himself were an 18-wheeled
rolling exhibit of America itself,
yet no one looks long enough
to care.
I could hear the bugle blare.
Sad news was in the air.
The King's men were oddly aloof
as if they didn't care.
The horses struggled with every hoof,
on an egg that wasn't shatterproof.
I can’t sit still for too long; before my mind wanders and my eyes water,
Through blurred vision how do I tell you the ceiling is swimming?
How could I describe that there are fins in the light fixtures and that the leaky faucet is a waterfall.
How do I tell you that while sitting cross legged on the couch I’m watching the walls breathe across from me and if I don’t blare my music through my headphones the voice that aren’t mine will talk back?
How do I tell you that my heart beat ringing in my ears becomes so loud that my head aches.
That I can’t exhale the stress and it migrates into my temples and no matter how many times a triple a dose the pressure doesn’t stop.
It feels like I’m waiting on a nose bleed.
The porch light flickers yellow in grey night,
Biting cold seeps in, stiffening my bones,
Soon, a shovel scrapes, screeching in the ice:
My neighbour is clearing a snowy path-
“Need help or lights, fixing the tree?” I ask.
These are not grand gestures, no trumpets blare,
Just quiet hands reaching out in the dark,
A warmth sparkling more than fire in the grate:
This, too, is Christmas love, an act to serve.
Glancing with a stare,
pouncing with a thought,
the jungle fever is never far off.
The sirens blare to the senses,
the sight, the scent, the glow is so soft.
The pull is there,
tugging that has no care,
these instincts howl through your soul.
Responsibility knocks,
but the door is already ajar,
marching into this passage
out of control.
There is no turning back,
with this unquenchable seduction
just within your reach.
A longing gaze
sparks the fire,
a touch, an embrace,
finally forbidden desire.
This union comes
in continuous waves,
cresting and crashing
in a turbulent sea.
Then the finale occurs,
bodies gone limp.
The waters calm,
the sun now rising,
the peaceful eye of this storm
will not last very long.
It darkens again,
this time with vengeance,
guilt, shame and betrayal
come for this wrong.
Millions go without food
While feel-good stories blare
Vibrations shatter ideas
That prevent humans from care
Look around next door
Poverty parades the streets
Money minds mansions
While war drums methodically beat
The contrast is a golden calf
Erected at the city square
Rich and poor, sinner and saint
Playing at musical chair
At the front of the class
Suffering is our teacher
Trying to escape her rod
Humanity dives deeper
The soil aids our descent
The weeds gather 'round
We aim for TRUTH
While they purposefully crown
....intelligence
Written by Trudy Schrader on 11-10-2025
Soundless as the moon
at night
like stars emitting light
I wandered lonely as a bird
a top a branch
made up of wood
No whispering winds
no flush of cold
just little old me
No blare no clang
just the April scent
of an ocean breeze.
Double-dutch ropes slap the sidewalk -
snap - snap - snap -
braids whip air,
girls jump in, counting
uno, dos, three,
feet flick like drumsticks.
The ice cream truck jingles off-key,
icy lady shakes paper cups,
piragua man shaves ice into snow -
his knife scraping the block awake.
Pastelillos pop in hot oil -
spit, sizzle -
plastic cups clink with rum and cola,
congas crack, maracas shake salt in the air,
horns blare like chisme in heat.
Heels click-clack over concrete -
punctuating each spin,
each swirl of hips.
Whistles split the air -
one from the lifeguard at Jefferson,
two from the men on the corner,
three from abuela
when the coals are hot.
Somebody throws meat on the grill -
ssszzzz -
smoke climbs windows,
neighbors bring foil trays -
yellow rice, ribs, roasted corn -
each dish a downbeat.
Kids yell cannonball,
water smacks back,
lifeguard’s whistle cuts through splash.
Old heads tap dominoes on tabletops -
crack, slap, smack -
hands older than the stoops they sit on.
The block fills itself
the way music fills a drum -
the street hums under bare feet.
Tonight,
the moon will smell like charcoal
and sweet ice.
I hear the way you talk
of your friends without end,
the gossip goes on non-stop,
about them and their men,
so vicious the things you say,
shock to see, candidly,
imagine what you must claim
about me, when you’re free…
Back it up,
take that sh-t elsewhere,
woman, I no longer care.
Pack it up,
The drama I’ll spare,
woman, I no longer care.
Eyes sparkle when thing go wrong,
like a beast set to feast,
all the chaos makes you strong,
that you seek, like a treat.
Relish when your friends get rough,
their beak-ups, you just love,
you can never get enough,
in your gut need this stuff.
Back it up,
take that sh-t elsewhere,
woman, I no longer care.
Pack it up,
the drama I’ll spare,
woman, I no longer care.
I see your words and lies
going around everywhere,
it makes you feel alive,
when all their mistakes you blare.
Makes you think you’re better,
your ego is a damn addict,
go peddle it online,
I have got no time for this.
Back it up,
take that sh-t elsewhere,
woman, I no longer care.
Pack it up,
the drama I’ll spare,
woman, I no longer care.
It will only end in despair.
whistles blare
gun powder in the air
lead pours overhead
I can't wait to feel my bed
I line up my rifle
breathe and squeeze
my orders are to strife
I run empty so I freeze
the quit nights are haunted
this conflict was unwanted
one more tally added; I can't mask it
make sure they spell it right on my casket
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