In a star-crushed night
something rammed the side of my flanks
woke to an impish leak
trying to suckle the life out of me.
Then there was a black water silence.
It's not like bad karma to suddenly drift away,
so beneath my leaking float
the rammer will probably stay.
Early morning was spent bailing and patching
luring the silver shoals of hope within range
bailing and patching
nibbling and napping
obsessing
prodding the sharkness away-
Quiet day
no breeze-not even one little wave
a hot brain day
missing my chatty gull friend today,
maybe I was supposed to be its sacrifice.
Launched the final flare at a fancy yacht mirage
filled with cheap bikinis and plush caviar-
I rolled over the dream breakers, into the yellow morning
Quite late for work.
Needy newborn
Is it milk you want
Gotta stop that crying
Can't have you guant
Tiresome toddler
Does your diaper need tending
Gotta stop that crying
Can't have you mending
Chatty child
Is it an answer you desire
Gotta stop that asking
Can't have your mind in the fire
Testing teen
Does your ideas need adjusting
Gotta stop that rebellion
Can't have you giving in to all that lusting
Aware adult
What is your heart's passion
Gotta ask for what you want
Can't complain when you expect a ration
...of care
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-28-2026
Joy to early wakes of feeding cries
Love to fur balls on my clothes
To touch the softest fur of ginger clumps
Reminders of your chatty notes
My little ginger cat
My murderous ball of fluff
You make it easy to forget all the other stuff
Popping out from under time's ruffled sun
a regally vested, chit-chatty Robin.
Cheerily navigating the lemon lime grass.
Perhaps looking for a beetle or crumb.
He daintily hip-hopped into my ring
on legs of beige twigs and lute strings.
Gently tilting a Tiffany-kissed beak.
Offering a daisy chain of silvery peeps.
I thought him just another avian busker
hustling up a mate and something to eat.
I'd little to offer and vigorously apologized.
He just glanced toward his robin egg sky.
Then offered me, in pastels, a Basho haiku.
I volleyed back with crayon-streaked senryu.
Before gliding off to sweet memory land,
he gifted an orange gem from his regal vest.
I considered this day to be impeccably blessed
by Lord Robin of the lemon-lime grass.
A True Story
Glory of tandoori story or Brit palette whet reformer korma
Vindaloo or sag aloo woo you or coo crazy about jalfrezi
Gets hazy as things mesh came fresh from Bangladesh
Can’t naysay Indian takeaways most days top performer
Made for Brit eccentric never ever looked a bit authentic
Teach explore each region with its own locavore legion
Preach mountain ranges to cities and fountains changes
Neighbourhoods vocally hooked homegrown locally cooked
See wee chatty seller with natty chapati smothered in gee
Poms popadoms covered with mango glow aplomb or roti
Lentil dahl elemental or experimental flurry of curry in a hurry
Ask a fella stellar biryani actually Indian or factually Pakistani
p.s Oh and no argy bargy about the Raj but do so love a bhaji
being ditzily chatty
and ritzily catty
pulling pink taffy
is making mink daffy
being a teensy bit wild
and in no blatant way mild
making merry is easy
and sometimes slightly tease-y
being more than in-the-know
even though I live in a cave below
helps me to observe keenly
the neighbors, eavesdropping seemly
The emperors have no clothes on!
People are living in a trance
Psychologists like to call it cognitive dissonance
Perhaps even a carefully crafted chance
To see what isn't there, only to praise a hollow show,
While truth and reason disappear, common senses go.
It’s just simply a situation gone sad
I can’t help but wonder, have we been had or merely gone mad
The people fear to break the silent spell, to voice a single doubt
For they are to be canceled, labeled rebels or terrorists, and quickly cast about
Instead, they applaud the phantom apparel, with oblivious, hypnotic cheer,
Ignoring empathetic whispers in their hearts, that scream truth so clear.
But chatty whispers grow to rumbling cries, a stirring overcomes the digital crowd,
Suddenly, an innocent video, goes viral, distinct and loud.
"The emperors have no clothes on!"
An echo filmed of pure bravery
Hopefully, others will follow, setting truths to be viral and free
Reject conformity and fight for sovereignty
For all to hear and see
The emperors have no clothes on!
Our excited Easter Bunny was a woman this year
She popped in and threw eggs around, full of cheer
She has quite a fluffy tail, my daddy said
Mommy gave him a look that nearly struck him dead
The eggs she left were decorated in glitter with touches of gold
Some were vintage in green art deco, others just looked old
We ate the ears and heads off our chocolate bunnies right away
This will be a great day! I heard my grandma say
She was heading to the kitchen to fix us potatoes and ham.
No one can cook better than our favorite cook, Grandma Gram.
Mommy followed her in, probably to learn her secret recipe.
I already knew it, for she had shared it with me.
Daddy said “isn’t it time for church?” I ran up those stairs
For my new Easter frock was gorgeous; I put on airs
You are a beauty, Grandma said. What a gorgeous dress!
At the church we said a prayer for Daddy, for he is a mess.
He’s a good mess, Grandma said. Afterall, he is her son.
And he is my hero, my Daddy, and a lot of fun.
He would have a difficult time sitting silently here.
Church is not for my chatty loud Daddy dear.
My hair is a whimsical canvas my crown
It’s so versatile pinned up or flowing down
An expression of my natural creativity
Hair is a blessing of my femininity
Sometimes I let the pillow style it
Go with the flow wearing my wild wit
In this way my hair is a cocoa cloud
All soft and fluffy unruly truly proud
Sometimes the rain puffs it up
I don’t complain I just embrace love
If I wear a natural Afro style
Or twists with bliss will make me smile
I can never go wrong with braids
Long or short the patterns make waves
Take it down and enjoy it anew
Crinkled and wrinkled my hair is the truth
Even if I have had bad hair days
Can cut it short or even shave
Hair is an expression when I’m feeling chatty
Fine like vine thick like brick stringy or nappy
Is it still life? Her Quest for Identity.
Tis' stilled life
This still life
Distilled wife
Still - That's life
Mime wife.
"Playing dumb while acting the role."
The unspoken influence of mothers on their daughters.
My mother in her work environment, and my mother at home were two completely "different" personalities. At work, I saw her happy and bubbly, extrovert, chatty, friends with many.
At home she was subdued, walked on eggshells, kept us quiet while my father was at home. I understood: better to keep quiet, than be beaten. I'm breaking my silence, not hers. :))
Aqua Marine: 4th April 2025.
A long time ago when our first grandson was young -
I think around the age five or six -
there was a phone call we made to him
to say hello and talk with him for kicks.
We'd tried to make it short because of his attention span.
He’s a kid who later became a not-too chatty young man!
I felt surprised and a bit insulted
(was talking to our grandson such a bore?)
when he said very soon and matter-of-factly:
“What am I still talking to you guys for?”
Ireland
quite grand
with gold
to hold
in green
we seen
beer flows
all knows
take in
head spin
drunken
shrunken
the mood
some food
happy
chatty
and dance
in trance
no dull
a lull
in spell
as well
next day
must pray
the soul
black hole
I am a tiny fairy,
with a chatty friend dragonfly;
our garden is lovely and airy,
my wings are broken, I sigh.
Dragon says that I am pretty,
he hums when my world is scary;
we are happy though itty-bitty,
in flower sanctuary.
Dracula would go on adventure
and loved to drink in local culture,
but he discovered, alas,
that strange food gave him gas,
not to mention one heck of an ulcer.
During a weekend in Cincinnati
he met some women who were quite chatty;
but their lewd and crude talking
was really quite shocking
and it simply drove him quite...batty.
In Bucharest, he became fascinated
by a vampire he later dated.
She was a Contessa
whose name was Vein-essa
and she liked her tea de-coffin-ated!
They would travel to museums and shows
and especially enjoy art nouveau;
but they most liked to spend
leisure time with a friend:
the vampire artist Vincent Vein Gogh.
My Grandmère and I have long, gossipy conversations,
where we fall into our own chatty, slumber party rhythms.
She’s met or knows everyone important, and people tell her things.
They DM her or whisper secrets of lives ordered but loveless,
of careers choked by excesses and indiscretions.
She gets stealthy, leaked business reports of purported fortunes gambled and lost or of innocence wasted in bittersweet embrace - delicious, tangled narratives that expose the gaps between facades and realities that can’t be purchased.
Sometimes we pop popcorn on our private ends of the Atlantic
watch Netflix, share secrets and laugh conspiratorially.
.
.
Songs for this:
Us by Regina Spektor
Young And Dumb by The Bird and the Bee
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