So many cloudy days
Moments where the sun beat down hot
Typhoons, hurricanes, tornadoes
Reminding us of what we ain't got
Sitting on a wooden bench
With a gentle breeze writing out hope
Feet in the creek without a care
Nibbling on the sweetest cantaloupe
The phone rings with unexpected news
Shattering the heart into a thousand pieces
Grieving all the losses of blunted connection
Trying to bargain with god through many fleeces
An act of kindness when depression rules
Takes the soul to the end of denying self
Listening ears open and expand
To take identity off the safe little shelf
Finally, LOVE has come and enveloped
The wondering mind into eternal flow
The refreshing water of connection
Has yielded to wherever spirit wants to go
...pulling up roots, and blowing kisses
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-29-2026
In the wee hours mansions where hushed glooms sneak flesh
Flesh that gossips furtive malice in minds' natural breath
Breath that stimulates crooked cravings inside the disappearing doom
Doom slopes upon the feeling’s ending, perverted plea
Plea shades its crimson mantle around the nocturnal mind.
Mind inspired by secret wrath below a pastel skin
Skin that fleeces a monster whose faintness shams piety sin
Sin that buds in plagiarized hilarity, deriding deadly impasse
Impasse on a land of walking humans in skins yet inner evils.
Poem by N. Mugisho
a young man bought a tight pair of fleeces
and their stranglehold filled all the creases
but the fit was so thin
that he couldn't begin
to pump blood to his bits ... and his pieces
well, they made him look chic as expected
though his girlfriend was feeling neglected
cuz from belly through bum
his poor junk was so numb
that he couldn’t QUITE get it ... erected.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden
At a giraffe like height, with eyes having clear view
from a cold icy frosty windowsill, 3 stories high.
I see a city forest, full of things and
snowy powdery pillows packs
and patches of icicle drops.
City streets drenched in a spill of snow white-out.
This created by and from old man's winter desk.
There are views of the season frozen tundra of
white sheets, piles of string laid pearls;
ivory, fluffy, flaky and chalky.
Mountain mounds with great white zenith peaks.
These abound in the quaintest of small shy snow-bound town.
Trees are huddled covered in pure white parka snowflake design fleeces.
This creating a blanket like canvas, for me the aspiring artist.
There hidden in this icy little village full of life like ice sculptures.
Also, are frosty paintings of nature's frosty experiences.
Youngsters enjoy wintery weather games in their childhood play.
Adults winter’s life priorities are of plowing and snow shoveling.
The town’s people chat in igloo like shops.
This to have a hot mint coffee, with some toast
and then converse to brag and boast.
A frosty winter small hometown scene.
Yet; “a very, very, warm community feel,”
and a "Yule-Time dream."
He dresses in robes, carefully coiffed
He enters the nave, mitre is doffed
He preaches a tale, to eager sheep
He fleeces their wool, his tithe to keep
He blesses the flock, they’ve had their fill
He slithers away, forked tongue now still
January 1, 2022
Image of Moon Clouds Air provided by Pixabay.
*Selenophila
Ballet of calm swans glissades, silhouette
placed culled singles tryst, pond sides by vast knoll,
balters few burbled matches. Grasped sunset
whilst espy eyes pry, as through a peephole,
faint lights pair, a porcelain minuet.
Lain on their fleeces, woolgathering whirled --
supine visages, prompt smeared tattooed rouge
-- upgrades furtive vagary functions, twirled
tendrils e'er sensing blond frames ... whelve amour
amongst enthused pristine hearts, fused refuge
sonder renaissance ere night's prism, savior
per drawn orphic sight, a ringed rainbow moon,
selenophiles resplendent moored grandeur
flame, epoch pairs euphoric dulcet swoon.
*Selenophila: Loving the moon and finding it soothingly captivating.
2021 May 19
*4th Place*
Summer love sonnet
~~John Hamilton: Judged 2021 May 24
I've these odd notions in my mind
oddball fancies like thread unwind
spooling strings of creative thought
stitch together the wacky lot
Loose ideas, patchwork pieces
smooth as silks (or fuzzy fleeces)
incoherent alone, single
yet together, mix and mingle
into quirky mosaic scene
so fresh and bright, and strangely keen
A crazy quilt of high ideals
imagination spins and reels
transporting me to places far
away from how things really are
and off to what might someday be
a better world, a better me...
Once broken,twice bitten.
By rampaging searches got I bliss.
Celebrations of wishes have I eaten.
On the first blissful night,the bride I kiss.
Oh heavens! To the tune of "ogene" dance.
Shower the earth,this I ask.
And to the bride calleth he Constance.
Tell to the world this,I give thee this task.
Aforetime preceded royal rumble.
Hither,he stood with muscles flexed.
At this stance,he wouldn't with his words fumble.
Time came his thoughts shown perplexed.
Once bitten,twice broken.
Because predecessors past had a curse cast.
Be-curse my blissful token.
Now these turned past.
Curse be bliss
Curse be me
Curse be these fleeces
My miscellaneous penchant thus flee
Spring is coming soon - and thank the Lord!
Resplendent blossoms renovate each tree.
It cannot get here quick enough for me,
Nor does it linger long. The shining sward
Gleams, garlanded with daisies. Every pond
Is laced with life! I love to see the spawn,
Surmising that the lambs, so lately born,
Can frolic in the fleeces they have donned,
Occasioning the watchfulness of ewes.
March hares are up on haunches, sparring hard,
Ignoring me with haughty disregard,
Neglecting normal safety norms. For shoes,
Gigantic oaks wear boots of bluebell blooms,
Surprising us with old-and-gnarled-and-new!
Obliging insects fertilize the plumes
Of furled-out flowers, iridescent blue,
Narcissus and nasturtium, breaking through!
Sunday 26 March, 2017
Penny dropped circular clocks on carved out emblematic wisdom cones. Be careful if it rains coal dust as radioactive drones, mobile phones, and teapots too could all gather to form lines of imperialism. How rather interesting it is to count the snot flung out of the window. It often lands in a rather interesting pattern do you not think? And waiting for parcels is akin to waiting for a slug or a snail to travel sixteen times down and up a highway. Ok then. Great. Floors fathom first flinging fleeces. And the traditionalism is always at the number two position on a compass compressed clock canister. And one hour forty-five minutes in a pressure cooker is quite often akin to racing up a right angled hill. A salted mist is a skiing zone. Where lots of whales and dolphins play and make snowmen. And a snow go e is neither a pickled onion nor a jester playing a harpsichord. Ok then. That is the latest from the p y q. Z
Biting winds and swirling flakes of snow had finally abated
We surveyed the deep drifts, which lay on the fields
The silvery moon peeped through the clouds and lit our way
It was bitterly cold, but the pitiful sound of bleating spurred us on
Some friends and neighbours had joined us – we had no time to lose!
Grabbing our spades we worked tirelessly throughout the night
Digging out the sheep and tiny lambs one by one
Their fleeces were matted with tiny icicles
As dawn broke we had rescued all but one of our precious flock
Suddenly our trusty sheepdog Shep started barking
We trudged to where he was frantically pawing at the snow
Our hearts lifted as we pulled the final sheep out alive
At last it was time for us to return to the farmhouse
In the distance I could see gold and silver lights sparkling
and scintillating on the Douglas fir tree in church in the village.
I raised my eyes to heaven and gave thanks.
A Winter Poem
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Required words
silver, gold, sparkling, flakes, icicles, drifts and spades
12~02~16
Seasons
With a chill still in the wind, spring arrives
Clutching her white coat that slowly melts
In Sun's warmth, coaxing blossom's birth.
Humidity heavy with the scent of Jasmine
Announces summer's steamy footsteps
As ripe strawberries share sweet savors.
A harvest moon greets lovely autumn, smiling,
When her frosty breath changes verdant leaves
To glorious hues, drifting down, dancing to death.
When winter white fleeces her snowy shawl,
Maple trees share syrup from their vitreous veins.
Hearth's smoke rises above naked trees at rest.
4-4-16
~Third Place~
Contest: Seasons
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
25 hours of sit down in a basket is not a notable worthy way to spend time or adjust. One should not place antlers in fridges for a gammon steak could rise to form a dough ball. Disregarding a helium balloon made from mashed potatoes is quite relevant at this time. And fleeing from fleeces is great fun in many fields. Always watch a magisterial mouse. They are quite fascinating and can tell the time backwards whilst spinning. Spiritual spirited sprites. *** hahahaha and number of pointed noses on the fishes. 1 2 3 4 5 inflexibility x.z.x
A shepherdess with a lamb to her breast
Against a dry stone wall on a windy hill
She cradles it with love so truly blessed
Over steep Welsh hills they roam best
Hardy hill sheep bred to wander at will
A shepherdess with a lamb to her breast
Long fleeces waving in springs unrest
Bleating lambs at teats taking their fill
She cradles it with love so truly blessed
A brooding landscape the ultimate test
The valley below a patchwork sits still
A shepherdess with a lamb to her breast
Her love is her flock she tenders with zest
Caring for her lambs with love and skill
She cradles it with love so truly blessed
A shepherdess her lambs so caressed
Her life with her sheep is always a thrill
A shepherdess with a lamb to her breast
She cradles it with love so truly blessed
At thirty-five imperial gallons
Or one hundred fifty-nine liters
Match a barrel of crude
Which every day, millions you export
To the disappointment of all others
Fellow citizens, to whom your gluttony assaults
Still, to Mother Nature
We should be grateful
Despite much energy resource
With which they generate poverty
And all sorts of mistreatment
Each and every corner I turn
In this concrete jungle
I face myself with a sad panorama
Where the crowd
Restless, complains
Of the public treasure, that old rogues
Without fear fleeces
O flabbergasted, but indifferent
How many of you
In the restless crowd review yourselves?
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