The unique bleat of the ram’s horn (shofar) draws the crowds
like the wailing at the Temple’s western wall, its symbolism plays loud
Yet it is not the essence of the Jewish New Year
which is belonging –
to his own people, one must first connect
And if he will not, God too he will come to reject
All living
creatures
are lonesome
for God
Giving
them purpose
their light
in the fog
Not feeling
sorry
or thankful
in vain
They crave
the connection
their nature
— ordains
(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)
For as long as I live,
no matter how far I wander -
through loss, through battle,
through tears, through fire,
through every place I have drowned
and every road I have run -
I will always find my way back to you.
See you tomorrow
Have a good night
Terms of endearment
Say it in a moment of tenderness
Mean a lot to people
Don’t forget to say it
And say it often
How is your day?
What’s up with ya?
What’ve you been up to?
How should I say it?
There are many ways to say it
To reach someone to make a contact
Have we forgotten it already?
Where have you been?
Haven’t seen you lately
I wondered when I get to see you again
That’s a lot of days when I last saw you
What’s happening?
How is your family?
Things are good?
Talk to me
When did I last see you?
You miss me?
Say it play it whisper it
And it would be like brand new
A new contact
Just like you never left
Reconnected
Strengthened
Breathe life into
“Dry bones” - Ezekiel 37
See you tomorrow?
old hands count the coins
quiet morning passes by
someone helps today
Back to my place, the first place that I knew.
First had the feelings that I often do.
On the same roads, feel the lay of the land,
All that I knew once again close at hand.
Many years passed and I know things have changed.
Perhaps I won’t like it at all, rearranged.
Did the land miss me? The way I missed it?
I’ll go and tell it and there I will sit.
For a while anyway.
‘Til it’s time to leave,
Past, present and future together I’ll weave.
The most defining feature of a physical
Family is identified by the blood
Of its ancestors.
The most defining feature of a spiritual
Or Christian family is identified by
The blood of Jesus Christ.
Full circle may not signify completion.
You know why I don’t like your game?
It doesn’t allow for evolution.
I’ve outgrown you, learned on my own.
I feel like I’ve aced the uneven bars.
ln the beginning we were like magnets,
it was an endless loop trying to get to you.
Words on repeat, songs on repeat,
our late nights left me exhausted at work.
Now I am forced to walk on egg shells,
the behavior appears to be never-ending.
It’s a constant state of changing places,
we are always moving but never in sync.
When are we going to both hit clockwise,
unify and again accelerate forward?
Vesica piscis would be better than this,
at least then there is a common thread.
Completion may be accepting uneven,
walking away could bring you full circle.
The catch is what is left incomplete,
maybe the endgame is initial connection.
My knuckles are raw from the cold subway pole,
and the guy next to me smells like damp wool and cheap coffee.
He’s staring at a cracked phone screen,
his thumb scrolling past headlines, dinners, divorces.
We don’t talk.
Nobody talks here.
But under his heavy black winter coat,
somewhere behind his lint-covered tie,
a small fist of muscle is slamming against his ribs.
Thump.
It’s a clumsy, desperate noise,
like an old radiator knocking in a basement.
It keeps time against the black tunnel outside the window,
a persistent thudding negotiation with the dark
that just asks for enough time to get to Tuesday.
We walk around pretending we own the sidewalk,
worrying about the rent, the teeth that need fixing,
the text message left on "read."
Every wet breath is a lease renewal
signed in the dark without our permission.
I look at the girl across from me,
her eyeliner smudged from a long shift.
Her chest rises.
The cold world looks the other way,
indifferent,
and lets her have another minute to figure it out.
It’s not a grand design.
It's just a truce.
A messy, fragile truce,
kept alive by a pound of red meat
stubbornly refusing to stop hitting the wall.
Have you ever heard my voice?
It's not mine, but of my soul,
Calling you, my solstice-
Come silently and console.
The day forever remains incomplete
Unless the light of sun illuminates it;
So too my soul is adrift,
Until the radiance of yours embraces it.
It is stronger
than sympathy
Words are rattling bones,
when the meat is gone
The world is hungry
while you are bored
The divide is insulting:
cashmere and caviar
versus clouded water
and calloused feet
“In our city of lost alphabets”
I hope to find a mirror
to see myself
I wasn't with the answers
I can’t afford to go there,
nor am I strong enough
to understand the intimacy
of starvation
James Baldwin described it palpably
in ‘Black Boy’
The last stage of hunger
is when grass is an option
The minister ate
all the fried chicken!
The kids naw
on wishbones
and fiddle with sticks
in the dust
There he sits, in second grade
With his Mama not letting go
She hovers with intense intent
Trying to show, she knows how to grow
He finally gets out on his own
And makes choices she'd never make
Running rage like a chess game
In everything manipulation takes
She's old like worn wood
He's fragile, yet stands like a loyal son
She's sorry for not doing better
His movement makes her aware of everything she's done
No clear choice has ever been made
Agency has never been fully in tact
The infection claimed the connection
Dead skin keeps them attached to lack
For generations the cycle has run
Patterns etched on cave walls for proof
We lived, we died, nothing to tell
Just a record of connection gone aloof
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-26-2026
Two hearts blend as one,
Soft as morning's gentle light,
Bound forevermore.
Lillies placed upon your chest,
beneath the earth you're laid to rest.
I visit with tears to heal my soul,
they water the soil that's black as coal.
The earth is moving beneath my feet,
Your lillies have popped up from beneath.
I smile and take a refreshing breath,
The lillies have grown from your chest.
Straight from the womb and your heart,
You gave the lillies a good start.
We are strong and bold and beautiful,
My tears reached your soul it's undisputable.
In thy untroubled ashes may our distance be light.
We live in one another still.
The emphysema of night presses into our lungs
and I walk towards you like a thought I should not keep
no glow - only the purple bruise of air between us
your silence is jagged, honed as a blade
somehow, this view left me ... dismantled, piece by unseen piece
fear feels domestic here, like folded linen in a locked room
I dissolve before I can speak out loud
and still, I step closer because trust is the only light we are allowed
and when we finally reach for one another, it is not sight that holds us -
but the quiet certainty that neither of us will let go
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