poetry left me
got all clogged up
in ego
the words stopped
I was asleep
I didn't know
even though
I wanted to
wake up
before I die
I mean
go to sleep at twenty six
and get buried at eighty seven
let the media
eat your brain and
you walk with dead
fake it
love falsely
and you're a zombie
you can't hide
from the Universe
it still has you're back
even as you choose fear
over love
split me open
like a chicken
stop my heart
and detour the dead
I want to live
no matter how much
it hurts
if for nothing more
than to finally learn
to trust the Universe
choose love
and be awake when
I die
If you’re very lucky, you may find
The type of handyman
Who can take care of the problems
That you now no longer can.
Climb a ladder to the roof? No prob -
It’s what he likes to do
And while up there, he will clean
The cloudy skylights, just for you.
Clogged up gutters? With some gloves
He’ll scoop out leaves and dirt and gunk,
Staying cheerful through it all.
(I know that I’d be in a funk.)
When he’s finished, he will lowball
What he thinks that you should pay.
Do you know of anybody else
Who’d act in that same way?
Handy Randy is this person
Who is capable and fair
And reliable and really nice,
These attributes so rare.
compromise not your wholesomeness . for they to will be as clogged contortion
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • July 6–12, 2026)
Bloated, worn out and you're dragging the caboose
inside a sequoia log you just can't let loose
Miserable grumpy and feeling clogged
to embarrassed for help trying to pass the log
Prune juice, prune juice swallow a slug
in no time your body will be unplugged
be happy feeling light and floating up
just a swig of prune juice in your cup
The modern diet can weigh you down
sits in your stomach making you frown
Feeling slow and being sad
wanting release needing it bad
Prune juice, prune juice what you need
natures way of easing relief indeed
Lets you go screaming hallelujah I'm plum
with prune juice I'm fluid and done.
Got run over by not sleeping.
Got somewhere, as close as poison in food when you chomp into it.
Got a night shaken from me.
Got blankets grumbling as much as my breath does nothing.
Got sick of the fan tossing on and on.
When anxiety.
Does flip flopping.
It’s like brushing my teeth with gravel.
Got slapped by a clogged drain in myself.
Got it, I suppose…
Roads are all clogged ~ clogged with cars
there's too many too many by far
streets look more like a parking lot
there's no sword for this Gordian Knot
I'm leaving town want to get where I'm going
nothing's slowing me down
leaving town want to get there on time
I'm not dawdling or waiting around
like a hot cup of coffee on a stone-cold morning
or an ice-cold beer on a hot summer's day
it's a new lease on life down the line
leaving nothing behind I'm on my way
I'm taking the train to my next location
no car for me I won't be
driving to a new destination
traveling light making for the station
taking the train I'm taking the train
Teetering on magma.
Just enough copy and pasted.
Jump onto a moving pine tree.
I have enough know how to trim the paint off a bench.
Strip down the clogged drain.
A fire hydrant.
Doesn’t know much about the landscape.
Just knows:
That today is not the day to be temperamental.
It had to be a cross
With arms stretched out
The space of heart
Where fear and doubt
...claimed truth
It had to be a spear
That pierced HIS side
Where blood and water flowed
Out the lies
...that claimed truth
It had to be rape
That claimed the womb
The space of life
Where vision grew
...proclaimed truth
It had to be a rod
The pierced Her sacred space
Where blood and water clogged
And no growth could ever take place
...that proclaimed truth
Until TRUTH remembered
I am loved in every way
In the fullness of His glory
The fruit of our labor
Is proclaimed in every story
He held WORD
Spoken and Written
She held TRUTH
Seen and Hidden
The place of the wound
Where questions arose
Grace, threaded TRUTH
To reveal what LOVE knows
....life is held....breath is granted...we belong
Written by Trudy Schrader on 02-09-2026
Again, I've filled your faith
with black powdered phlegm
when they should be
brimming with precious gems.
In refrain, you cough clouds of blue rain
red roses circling clogged drains.
The hills,once green,now bare
yeild to poppy fields.
in rainy season,fierce torrents race down
towards the valley.
And in the valley,ancient rills-
dug by the kings,
most of them now chocked and buried
encroached out of view.
So water gushes wild
past the old foundations deep,
swallowing homes,roads,and,markets
without mercy in the monsoon's cruel roar.
Coming to my locality,
a rill that drain water stood for ages
encroached by the selfish ones
whose places remain dry
even in the rainy season.
And that rainy season brought
floods to our doors.
Our locality drowned,homes flooded once more.
Then the local club rose,
cleared the clogged course,
and waters receded- the levels fell low.
Relief washed over us.
But this very winter,
scourge struck anew;
encroachment returned
as intruders broke through.
The rill level does not drain;
the cycle repeats
the levels stay high again.
Once more we brace
for the rains yet to come.
It is a perennial threat
to our safety,weilded not by outsiders
but by the majority of people
from amongst us.
The president’s bombing kids again.
Blood on the ground, ash in the air,
schools and playgrounds destroyed the same.
And I’m sitting in my ing rose garden,
silk garments pristine and
picking past the petals stained red,
nose clogged with the scent of flowers in the air
and not those that lie mangled,
torn to pieces,
eternally tormented on the ground.
What a privilege it is to be removed,
to have my head buried in this American soil,
ears chock-full of it so the only sounds
that bypass my earthen defenses
are high-pitched laughter
and commands to bend low
under the current state of affairs.
And bend low I do,
down to the bushes that haven’t been maimed,
the stems of elderly jade
that prospered by disturbing no one
and instead shining with untouched beauty.
My heart turns to stone with every headline,
that same jade replacing vein after vein.
Soon enough I’ll be a statue of enchanting green,
dazzling in the sun,
mouth open too late in a silenced cry
in my own damn rose garden.
The mind is like a system, it has to flow, if it is caged, it gets clogged.
Clogged and hurting it finds a way to release the pressure of the pain or joy it wants to send.
Like thoughts and hurts and happy moments, they want to be out there and feeling grand.
So, like a clog in the drain, our body needs to move and circulate with our own special way of self-regulating.
So, remember if you are in pain, if you have stress, release it in ways that will bring you calm.
Sometimes we can get relief by our favorite sports, like walking, running, or swimming.
Sometimes we pray and release our thoughts in our prayers.
Mind clog can make life hard, so learn self-regulating, and make all your days work like a charm.
I hope my rhyme gives you some thoughts on clogs and self-regulating through this life.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
A metallic muzzle
breaking through a scrubby bog,
an unlikely find out here
in these rain-riddled marshlands,
I finger-dig the soft ground
to reveal the snout of a snub-nosed
clay clogged revolver.
Who hid or threw this,
this ‘who done it’ out here
is an unsolved mystery
laid to rest
in these acres
of wind swept nowhere.
Bluing worn away,
steel beneath dented and pitted,
firing pin corroded,
an old 38 special,
yet heavy still
with some
unknowable sin.
I took it home -
cleaned it up a bit,
but a week later
buried it
under a weeping willow.
I am so consumed with subtle rage.
I feel it clogged in my pores,
wedged in the creases of my bones.
It is caught in my teeth and settled in the lines of my smile.
I shouldn't be this angry all the time;
He contributed directly to the cultural environment that made participation in deportations, discrimination, and ultimately genocide seem moral and patriotic.
I am.
Where in night, down in day
Clutching one's clay clogged face
Dilly-dallying ditzy dances
Dull, dampened waltz swimming with a drunken sway
Methodical movement of the ditz's drunken daze
Dazed dolphins dance down gutteral gin and toneless tonic omissions
Wringing ring wrung fingers, for the ditz's sherry glass gaze
Caught crooning whispers within the careless candid spotlight
Spickle spittle dawned the dolphin's dance, dominance'n drivel
Deigned to sway within a drug infused haze.
Spluttering with the need of stitches, as burly bone ingrowths
Dappered the damper desolate surface
To drag the ditz's measly hip dips, from the four-lipped, two-tipped,
Derailing and de-tailing,
dolphin intrusion.
7//10//2025
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