Disdaining Poems

Bare Bones

Plastic pink flamingos often placed in the front yard
to replace the candles of a birthday cake. I wonder
how old the neighborhood skeleton is…
—by Poet

Bare Bones

Yard skeleton fell over - first day.
The bones just collapsed - hip..hip..hurray!
     Flamingoes took flight
     from yard - out of sight.
It’s April second, he’s back today.

The fool of a frame, I’m disdaining.
The neighborhood, bones have been staining.
    The spook is a joke.
     He ne’er has awoke.
He’s barely all there and remaining.

OPEN INVITATION

I was with you, in the beginning
Being present for delivery of WORD
Your growth was astounding
And commitment unto death, pure
But then, government entered the gate
And offered concessions for compliance
I watched your back bend
I entered in, you slithered, away
I surrounded you, as Deception grew
A dragon, drenched in sacrificial blood
Destructive fire rolled out of your mouth
Consuming innocence with zeal
Authenticity gone, devoted to kill
Compassion at every gathering
Conform or be deformed by the battering ram
Your war cry...and a blasting horn
Of pie in the sky

May you be held accountable for claiming WORD
While disdaining TRUTH


Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-22-2024

Predatory Transgressor Priests

Accept the "Holy Fathers" stains?
What prideful tolerance sustains
The acts by priestly "Confessors"
Whose transgressions we all deplore.

Their molestations cause such pain
That no repentance can explain
To parishes stretched far and wide -
To innocents they cast aside.

Religious aristocracy,
Duplicitous conformity,
Accepted this hypocrisy -
This predatory blasphemy.

Faux piety to hide their shame,
Disdaining good and shielding blame;
No deft Indulgence could resolve -
No Inquisition would absolve.

Despicable to humankind,
By words and deeds now left behind;
No con nor lies supplant the proof:
The mirror to self-damning truth.

These crimes, these aggravated sins -
Atrocities no words can spin,
Nor can appeal 'yond earthly reign
For acquiesced eternal stains.

Rain Hell

. for public domain

We shed our blood
among thorns and thistles,
playing at war in fields and hedgerows,
fighting against imagined foes;
and when we fell in feigning death,
we always rose to draw more breath,
to rain hell on our enemy.

We shed our youth
in blood soaked trenches,
lighting up war in fields and hedgerows,
fighting against fascists and foes;
and when one fell ordaining death,
another rose to draw more breath,
to rain hell on our enemy.

We shed our lives
for our flags and countries,
disdaining war in fields and hedgerows,
plowing fertile land for corn rows;
and when we lay down to our death,
our Lord will someday restore our breath,
to shame hell, and our enemy.

Amused Owl

Amused owl was enjoying his day in the best of circumstances.
He had memorized some chants, some clogging and dances.
His attitude and humor was on fire, he was doing lively prances.
Some sourpusses were giving him disdaining eye glances.

Abecedarian Monokus I

Actual aptitude and action almost always align aright.

Beautiful bliss, beastly belligerent behaviors: both burn bright.

Caringly convinced, cantankerous curmudgeons collapse, contrite.

Disdaining darkness, devoted disciples dig deep, discover delight.

Erudite, eager efforts encourage, energize, even excite.

For faithful few, fortitude, ferocious fight favors failed, feeble flight.

Gesticulating graders generate ghastly groans grinding graphite.

Happily, Horton has highly honed hearing; howler has humble height.

Invite ideas, ignite ingenuity, illumine insight.

Jaundiced jackboot juxtaposing "justice", jubilation: Jacobite.

Kindly koala kid keeps knitting knotted kaleidoscopic kites.

Levity lifts languishing leanings, leaves listeners luminous, light.

Mellifluously mild merriment mellows mad, malevolent might.


----------

Lol, this is an abecedarian monorhyme of alliterative monokus.
Not sure I'll get to the second half

Eye Contact That Releases Sweet Hello

Eye contact that releases “Sweet Hello” 
And as many times “Sweeter Cheerio”,
Budding love sung with optical stereo 
The kick started by A Romeo.

Eye Contact that says “Nice to Know you”
Though I’ve yet to be told “who”
Wires of love spark in her eyes, 
Speedy request for his names wise
A longing to have her number 
His first call to be sure a Bomber!

Eye contact praying for the others E-mail
And this goal achieving without fail 
Plus the Spellbinder's residential address
One’s first visit in adorable dress.

But suggest I won’t eye contact 
By Adam and Eve disdaining Tact;
Mine happened to have been a rushed pact
That Lord God and Christ lacked…
To soon a relationship enter 
With libido at its center;
A love affair start having,
With a precious lot waiving…
 
Chiefly, knickers, dropping on the floor
Just beside a hurriedly slammed door!

No Repentance In Grave 2

No pardoning of graveyard bones;
I have my head been shaking at those of the late Jones.
A sinner falls asleep and God withdraws His interest
Whether in the East domiciled or in the West;
Always disdaining our intercessory prayers
And their supposedly anointed Sayers
The lifeless bundle on a stretched out bier
I myself would look at but still mind my beer;
All supplications before their voicing already meaningless
If the lived life of the late was an emptiness
All requiems on its behalf to bump against heaven’s shut doors:
Every priest a mere comedian while begging God on all fours.

Soul Sounding Music

Lazily, disdaining up above the sky to pursue
As the setting of the sun is to indolent to hold
Such a tournament is lengthened and embedded in gold
While the sun passively darkens for a night barbecue

I sit beneath a silvery moon hearing barking hounds
for some men have orgies near the Genious of the South
with blood-shot eyes and sweet sugar caned-lips and scented mouths
such surprising sounds while making folk songs like soulful sounds.

Their music vibrates above pine trees made up like guitars
Strumming, picking and singing songs of endearments in vain
many are now caroling a vesber up to the stars.

Mighty singers, I hear resinous in your throaty of songs
they are heard so sacredly like a whisper within the pines
were they given to virgin lips and cornfield concubines
To hear dreams of Christ till I meet dusty cane-lipped bongs.

Nameless

worlds within
and without are all waning
insatiable
chaos
vacuum
the void
which sat between heavens
heavens splitting the waters
the waters, the weeds
create living geometries

etch-a-sketch drawings
of silent mandalas

now the dreamweaver
lotus
now the lucid unwaking ones
who appear at your bedside
disdaining your closet

while you lie
awake
sleeping
hypnogogically paralyzed
their eyes burning green
freeze your skies
red
as

Christ
comes

you
trapped in misogamy
you
flying through tattered air
you
stoned off this oxygen
burned by the stare
of a mirror

Sunshine - Much Maligned

Sunshine at dawn blasts sunbeam holes in clouds.
A celestial searchlight celebration,
with silent cheers unheard by sleeping crowds
who slept through their snooze alarm dictation.

When sun's up high in sky it's warm and bright
all paramount, pervading, endearing.
People scurry about in new day's light.
Ignoring the sun as source, disdaining.

Noon is so hot, it's time to cover up.
On goes the slip, slop, slap, perhaps a hat.
People duck, hide, in shadows envelop.
Sun becomes a lethal glare to combat.

Sundown, is the only time when sunshine
gets worshipped - toned down, dimmed to red, in shrine.

---------------
6 March 2018

Steering

Ever wondered
What steers us through
This enormous journey
Guides us & directs us
Its the amalgamation
Of number of  things
Experiences of people
Guidance of parents and teachers
Also most importantly
By the conscience
The moment an act is to be performed
There it comes telling us
The right from wrong
Dissuading us disdaining us 
If we stoop to do wrong
Reminding us of hell
When something good 
Is undertaken
It silently pats us
The guidance of parents 
Is a major factor
In keeping us on track
We may retort saying don't lecture us
"Don't tell me what to do"
But somewhere in our heart 
we store their advise
Slowly these advises
Make our conscience
Conscience is not superfluous
Its the wisdom passed on 
For ages from generation  to generation
Thus our guides steer us through life
Saving it from becoming barbaric & savage.

Oh Home On the Range--Nothing Has Changed

oh home on the range—
nothing has changed


disdaining
and disagreeing

yet sharing
the same bowl

pilate’s children dip
fingers in common water

each washing
the other’s hands

with bloody towels
of innocence

indifference
is the american way

come let us play
cowboys and indians

no less a claimed massacre— 
last stand on somebody else’s land

not a mumbling word is heard
‘bout treatment of the ebony heard

at home on the range
seems nothing has changed

same beat…killing
same street…god willing

this is the land of the free
and the home of the brave

doesn’t include you and me—
children of the slave

race remains the country’s major issue
hued skin is still treated like used waste tissue

to making america great again
is returning to business as usual

let the chameleon poor heal their own pain
power for the masses is always met with refusal 

let not bomb-barded hearts succumb to trouble
liberty succeeds nothing without struggle

Change the Story

Change the story 
These words kept ringing in my ears
Change the story
That's not what people want to hear
Every morning you  saturate the airwaves
with  insentient and agonizing words
disdaining my intelligence
and rekindling a treacherous fire
You have gone down that road before
stirring up fear and doubt
Impeding upon history
And trespassing on my dignity.
You have eroded all civility 
spilling  vengeance , derision and anger
Catering to their weaknesses 
And making unrealistic promises.
Change your groundless theory and
work towards unity
stand up for what you believe in
and stop this useless masquerading
You have been hammering a tale 
that is so hard to bear
The chronicle keeps duplicating  itself 
resonating deeply in despair
The music is  playing loudly
Echoing mystics in the air
Change the precarious  story
and face the fight with decency.

How Were You At Six Years Old

How were you at six years old,
Pigtailed, jumping down the stairs,
Or further, at a sombre seven
Disdaining play at hounds and hares

How at ten you sang to sleep
Toddler siblings two and three,
Ran home having won a prize
For racing at the school soiree

How at nine you sang to guests
And, applauded, blushed rose red
How, still at eight you feared the dark,
Took your Chinese doll to bed

I saw a photo, at seven or eight
Silent, sweet, pretty and fair
A small and loving kindly face,
Long white frock and lovely hair

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