Bison, bottle up a brew.
Boiled above a fire.
Mantle earth, the stoked red flue.
Core beneath, blue dire.
Trick of modern man, orange plan.
Deadpan, zombie horde.
Tub in which they scrub, black ban.
Widow white, reward.
Awesome force, know risk? Remorse?
Killer's knife, off course?
Paranormal, high horse? Source:
Zoanthrope or zorse?
In fact, formidable? Sure.
Underworld, thy tour?
Bottled essence, keeping pure?
Disease fatal, cure?
Opponent or enemy?
These problems reduce.
Latter, sink it in the sea.
Former, set to use.
Priory, civil or short?
Element, burn fine.
Spark in heart, green out of sort?
Lachrymose, lark, line.
Brine salty sea, zymurgy.
Brewing up a drink?
Life is vicious. So are we?
Anyway, ink. Blink.
Rook roundabout, riddle read.
Shiny objects sought.
World, tan tweed, grit game glass greed.
Sold, old? Bought, robot?
can I borrow your marsala or not ? never again !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 3–9, 2026)
Genie, old genie, grant me a wish.
I wish life would get better than this.
For a fortune in happiness,
A lifetime of bliss.
Any life would be better than this.
Dust collecting on the bottle,
My wish so simple, so pure.
Surely it wouldn’t leave me craving more.
Shackles of life,
Ruins in shambles.
You and I are the same—
I, the bottle.
You, the dust.
Trapped.
The feeling of hopelessness and despair,
Trapped by memories
I can no longer outrun.
The loneliness settled like dust,
Covering the dream that once was.
Please grant my wish,
For it is not a long list.
I waited for magic,
I waited for change.
But the dust kept falling,
And the bottle stayed the same.
I've seen a ship in a bottle
and a barque inside a jar
how they got there I've no idea
perhaps a retractable spar
mariners made them
when all at sea
or in the doldrums
averting voyage-long ennui
what it signifies I know not
but there's a punt
in the bottom of mine
maybe an impediment
to catch sediment
when storing
or accommodate
a thumb for pouring
yet it does not improve the wine
Plodding through desert land
Thirsting for a sip of water
I came across a wishing bottle
Inviting me to see my daughter
I lost her long ago, in many ways
With each person who bid me adieu
Never thinking her presence a nuisance
But watching the flick of the finger shaped like a shoo
...shut down
She is me, I am her, again and again
My mother sits as her, wanting sincere care
Grandma has arisen from her grave
And she's brought her own chair
Wait! She's wielding a whip of control
Her face is angry, eyes still and dead
She has filing cabinets against the wall
Keeping account of every word that's ever been said
...stone cold
No one ever wanted anyone that came
Did they all just endure and treat
Wound after wound healed and scarred
While cracked heels and blistered feet
Walk on..walk on...never relief
The promise of water is nothing but hot sand
And generations of daughters yearn
To be held by a masculine man
...transformed
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-14-2026
Letters from Thrídrangar Lighthouse
I stand on top and wave to you across the sea,
From the loneliest house the world has ever known.
Like a lost star hung over the cold north.
Silence breaks when storms hit the stone walls,
Moon sends his light and calls my name for sure.
The air is freezing on the roof, I feel like a sinking boat.
I am the keeper here, in this white-walled place,
Writing you letters, my beloved, in short.
One day you will read them and send flowers back.
Sometimes I seal my words inside a bottle,
Throw it from the tower where the ships go past,
Hoping the tide will carry it to you.
This light shows ships the way through the vast sea,
So they will not be lost when the night grows black.
But my letters are lost in the weight of the sea.
A lighthouse is the last hope for those without direction,
The one thing that calls them home again.
I keep the light. I keep waiting.
Let me drown in this bottle
Poverty, loneliness, uncertainty
Let it flood my empty soul
With the bitterness of this sweet liquor
To throw myself into that deep sea
Of promiscuity with bravery and courage
Not to die starving for bread on this journey
Perhaps this way I'll find that sublime happiness
My certificates don't even sustain a sip
For they have no warm backing due to the rain
Rain that flooded my skills and dreams
Reducing them to banknotes worth more than the diploma
[...]
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum~
Paul the squirrel beat his acorn drum.
He swung through the pines with a raucous cheer,
rum sloshing wild as he commandeered the pier~
the boldest little buccaneer ever to come.
I stare into my bottle of wine
as my mind unwinds
and takes me back to a glorious time,
when I felt blessed
and our love was sublime,
because I was blind at that time
to anything negative in this world,
'cause I had you,
the one who made everyday
sunny and crystal blue.
But that was two lifetimes ago,
and I've got to let you know,
I'm still
holding on to memories of you
that I can't let go
because I miss you.
They say time heals all wounds,
yet this rule sort of proves,
this doesn't apply to me and you,
because my pain is constant
and feels brand new.
Thoughts of you
are why I can't seem to be able
to control my emotions,
my life,
is moving in slow motion,
and I'm coasting,
with no destination in mind.
In other words,
I'm lost without you.
I stare into my bottle of wine,
as my mind unwinds
to a sweeter time,
when my life was sublime,
and what I thought was love
was divine,
because you were mine,
as well as the rhyme
that gave my life true meaning.
But I stopped dreaming,
and the only thing I believe in
is my new friend,
my bottle of wine.
The Black Poison Bottle
The Black Poison Bottle (very tight),
half full of arsenic, missed Halloween horror Movie Night.
She moped into another dimension in half-light
where everything was not allright, everything was in 5D. There was no comforting moonlight!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The glass remembers light,
sharp edges soft with time—
each fracture holds the sky
like a half-spilled prayer,
while the streetlamp hums
a hymn of shattered dreams.
soggy tiny message in a bottle
floating for six weeks
lying at the edge of a beach today
discovered more than once
because people keep reading it and throwing it back
the ocean sits patiently waiting for a reply
Born in a barn raised on a farm
makin' hay come what may
won't do what I'm told
can't be bought or sold
with a mind of my own
don't need politicians
prophets or priests
deciding my decisions
drink from the bottle
drive full throttle
don't get me wrong
know where I belong
ain't got no social graces
know where my place is
do what nature taught me
down in the lower forty
where rattling the bars of their cage
'til the cattle come home
chickens from afar were induced
and returned to roost
while at day's end
the scarecrow he an' me
we be best of friends
It brought back old memories I thought I had buried,
Memories I believed had faded with yesterday,
But they came pouring back like rain.
The fragrance revived a sense of gloom,
Flooding me with moments we shared,
Her voice echoed in my mind,
And her smile returned to me again and again.
The scent was her favourite;
It surrounded her,
Bringing her sunshine,
It was her vitality elixir.
Now, the fragrance has become my torment,
Unearthing a painful loss.
Her absence is a hidden darkness within me;
Her depth was truly one of a kind.
I sit alone on the porch, remembering her wise words.
Though she has departed to the beyond,
Her light can still be found.
It’s a mystery that blossoms on a tranquil night.
September 22, 2025.
We were running on courtship.
Emotive urge to surge in opulence.
Days were passing in passionate mood
depending on one another
with love and mutual confidence.
One day you gifted a perfume bottle
telling ' This fragrance of jasmine is my favourite !'
I was eager to spray at that romantic moment.
You objected, 'No. not now !
I'm going tomorrow to meet my parents
to fix our wedding date.
For a week, just wait.
I'll open the bottle and spray on both. "
You left !
Weeks after weeks are passing by
I'm waiting with hope and patience.
The sealed perfume bottle
is reducling me.
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