foreboding omen
bumblebees on the decline
the worse yet to come
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Foreboding...
The air is thick, too still, too deep,
a hush that lingers, holds its breath,
as if the world itself won’t speak.
Foreboding...
Shadows coil along the walls,
not moving, yet not quite still,
watching, waiting—silent calls.
Foreboding...
The wind hums low, a hollow tune,
whispering secrets through the trees,
warning that something is coming soon.
Foreboding...
A footstep sounds—but you are alone,
your pulse quickens, your fingers shake,
a chill that settles in the bone.
Foreboding...
The door creaks open, darkness stirs,
a presence lingers, unseen, unknown,
a voice that whispers just one word... Run.
Scintilla experienced an eerie foreboding
the house at 125 Klondike Street felt unsafe
she sensed that it had brought doom to occupants
she was shaking her head no when her husband said “we’ll take it.”
She took him aside and explained her feelings, but he would not budge.
Something about it called to him as fiercely as she was repulsed by it.
Within five years they had experienced a fire, a flood, and a divorce.
Scintilla gave her husband the house and the equity.
All she wanted was to survive, to get out with her life.
Her odd immediate premonition came to fruition.
Her husband passed away from Covid-19 two months later.
Their children paid attention to her forebodings after this.
WOMB at WAR
Why couldn't I use protection
My condition gets me more rejection
...cord laced with grief and shame
INFANCY
My god!!! Shut up! I need silence
No, no, no....never resort to violence
...alone and needy
EARLY YEARS
Do not ask me for one more thing
All you do is want and cling
...shunned
MIDDLE SCHOOL
Hey you, you wanna have some fun
Get away from all your Mama's done
...escape
GRADUATE
He entered in silence and pulled the device
Aimed at the voice, bam...no more lies
...peace
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-012024
Note: Hearing dialog between parents and children at work is overwhelming sometimes.
I fear today
For my country
There's anarchy.
Dead leaves in a pond...
a withered silence surrounds...
winter approaches.
Melancholy stirs within...
storm cloud mirrors somber mood.
The worldwide burning,
One minute to 12:00 o'clock
Nuclear churning.
Accepting my costumed friends dare, I cautiously pushed through the weeds to the unlit dilapidate porch. Before I could knock, the door creaked open.
"Come on in.
We've been wait- ing for
you." Croaked the emaciated little girl with the basso profundo voice.
Something pushed me from behind ...
Death burns
holes in my mortal heart—
I am not opposed to it
yet I detest how it looms over
everything and everyone
I love.
How I cringe
thinking about how
in this lifetime I will
face more absences,
more voids, more tears.
It is the
foreboding of
a storm—the clouds
form gradually, making
you so very alive and
so very aware—
yet you do not feel
the true impact of
the blow until
it rains.
6.14.22
and suddenly darkness crept up
with an eerie november sky
~ a sign of things to come
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
They walk towards me
and away
from left to right,
right to left,
creating foreboding, in silence.
It happens every time
like images of rhyme,
visible silent words -
right to left, left to right
at night towards me and away -
creating that foreboding.
I know they'll be here,
in this shortcut,
the way I take to my cottage.
So strange what fear will do,
such foreboding.
Images master the mind.
(Jul 2022)
There is pain in the eyes, if time was taken, it would be seen.
Busy are they, no time but to be blind, no visual hygiene.
Dirty, is the way of the worldly, covered in the devils boweled releasing.
Enthralled, as they flow down lavatory piping.
Developing gills for the sewered waters of living.
The pungent odors of its stench begins normalizing.
As the vague scent of yesterday rides the breeze, fading into the winds
of passing.
Pursuing and ridiculing the remaining few into hiding.
The old giving way to the new world orders enslaving.
War, famine, and disease, released to finalize controlling.
While the strangle hold around hopes neck is firmly choking.
dimming the light of life, for the curtains closing.
As the final stage is set, for God's ending.
Outside the hospice,
a crow's raucous cry portends
a stark sense of foreboding
Change is in the air
the death knell sounding at dusk
An end of a life is nigh?
BRIAN'S SELECT 4,any form,any theme
Contest Judged: 6/5/2020 (Winner: 3rd Place)
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
GIF 2 Your Best Anything Poetry Contest (Winner: 1st Place)
Sponsored by William Kekaula
Date written: 04/01/2020
Once upon a Monday manic morning I awoke in panic,
Panic with foreboding wrapped, into a world of troubles trapped,
I felt distinctly I’d been slapped, and from my bed of warmth been torn,
My eyes went wide, I cried and cried, that manic morn when I was born.
Submitted February 25, 2020 for the "Poe-etic Verse" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina.
Tomorrow a foreboding — where a shovel and daisy thrive.
Prepare yourself with the wind of the sea and coconut-salt.
Stand upon the dock where the ribboned sky cuts the dark,
and call to your sailor who heartily drinks your honeysuckle ink.
Seal words of love in a bottle, one last shot of absinthe.
Tie with the bow from your crimson hair and kiss with your tears.
Tomorrow’s ship drowns a slow death.
The seaweed a trap that steals his kind-breath.
A sailor shall hit the rocks, the sandbar of hard knocks.
Tomorrow will be too late to land upon your pallor-lips.
He sleeps with sirens - their nightmare shrieks deafen his ears,
for he cannot stand to hear the pounding of each scrape of dirt
upon your wooden bed with silken sheets and coins for eyes.
Tomorrow’s ship drowns a slow death.
The seaweed a trap that steals his kind-breath.
11/6/2018
Sponsor - Edward Ibeh
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