Each morning I wade through fog,
hands outstretched, grasping at wisps
that dissolve between my fingers.
The weight of unknowing
bends my spine like scoliosis,
and yet, I stand.
Questions carve canyons
into my thoughts, deep gorges
where certainty once lived.
Each step forward scrapes
against rough stone, leaving
bloody footprints of trying.
But pain is a chisel
that shapes the soul,
and doubt is the hammer
that breaks false foundations.
Even as I bleed, I bloom
like flowers forcing through concrete.
The meaning I seek
may never fully form,
but in this holy ache of searching
I find something better:
the courage to keep asking,
the strength to stay uncertain,
And in the end, perhaps
the journey itself
is the meaning I sought—
not a destination to reach,
but a path that shapes me
with every excruciating step.
I don’t like cats, really,
They scare away birds, pretty ****,
The robin, the blackbird so smart,
They think only of eating weaker than them,
That to jump the balls of innocent wool,
My garden had a sweet music yesterday,
Today it is quieter than a grave,
Cats scare away, nice birds,
They don’t see much further than their pretty nose,
Oh the caresses they expect, what false money,
Turn your back; they devour all your friends.
Je n’aime pas les chats, vraiment,
Ils font fuir les oiseaux, les jolies mésanges,
Les rouges gorges, les merles si intelligents,
Ils ne pensent qu’à manger plus faibles qu’eux,
Qu’à sauter les pelotes de laine innocentes,
Mon jardin avait hier une douce musique,
Aujourd’hui il est plus silencieux qu’une tombe,
Les chats font fuir, les gentils oiseaux,
Ils ne voient pas beaucoup plus loin que leur joli nez,
Ah les caresses qu’ils attendent, quelle fausse monnaie,
Tournez le dos, ils dévorent tous vos amis.
Massive, monumental, mammoth, mighty, and marvelous
Has my magnificence been devoid of arduousness?
With an unknown collision of plates, as though two hearts
With folding, faulting, and fondling, nature creates my parts.
There's in me, life-like evolution and involution.
Volcanoes and earthquakes bring me inner persecution.
I try to grow tall with my steep, sharp, sloping, sliding sides.
Within my compassionate folds, any scared creature hides.
With snow capped peaks, valley glaciers, and river gorges
I've flora and fauna that are gorgeously glorious.
Caring cliffs call the creatures to the peaks to touch the sky.
Fountains, streams, and rivers from me towards the sea flow by.
Amidst strong stone shifting, rock rifting, and boulder bouncing
Amidst storms, rains, avalanches, landslides, and floods, astounding
I exist, as the plains and seas, a part of the cosmos.
When and how I'll rise or fall, the Almighty alone knows.
Put on your lovely swimming suits
Let's go, Let's go to the Belle-Mare
For diving, swimming, water skiing
In the beautiful blue lagoon
Fun time, fun time, It's October!
Put on your comfy jogging suits
Let's go, Let's go to Le Petrin
For a trail down pretty gorges
admiring the nature's beauty
Fun time, fun time, It's October!
Put on your cool spooky outfits
Let's go celebrate Halloween
The spooky yard, spooky cuisine
Little ghosts, Trick or Treat magic
Fun time, fun time, It's October!
Put on your trendiest ethnic wears
Let's go celebrate Divali
Sharing sweets to all our dear ones,
Exploding the big fire crackers
Fun time, fun time, It's October!
I have been to the top of lesser mountain,
they were okay, the view
was a little cloudy.
I have been to the bottom of
of deep gorges -
it was not that bad,
there were yellow weeds in the shadows,
a trickle of water.
It is thought that the pleasant valley
is the place,
but of course, that is where we
all hope one day
to comfortably die.
Other’s struggle to the highest peaks,
yet if they have anything to say,
it’s just:
“The struggles was too long,
and the summit disappointing.”
The ones that did not struggle,
took no path or journey,
nor sought to travel anywhere,
they alone know
the Way.
Corrupt farm, disdainful politics
Corrupt farm, unedifying ethics
The Lion gorges the subservient animals but not grass page
Or even does he gobble other feeds in the forest sage
The pronghorns fight it hard to progress
And they feed with apprehension and distress.
When they do require of the Lion—
To give a good reason why he devours them like any minion,
He reminds them of being "The King of the Jungle"
So he continues his diabolical project as a noble.
The grass and fowls of the air remain spared
'Cause no, not sufficient antelopes to make them seared.
The foreign vipers intrude awry
With an acclamation of being their profound territory
But they have come with the interest of politics
Dirty politics!
So they play it well, even more than the crown himself.
These adders bite the innocent beasts of their treasures to will of self.
With the injection of putridity and selfishness
Their anchor of theft and greediness.
Corruption drinks poverty!
All because of a bad conductor of no hearty.
Adjust and move four words for worth/
Aghast at July 4th I’ll power forward north /
Away from what’s been uncovered worse than I’ve ever been coerced
I devour and nourish as the demeanor looks gorgeous/
He could just be mean and cook gorges/
Or spree clean to book and flee out of storage in the mind/
Got to get adorned oranges to be hoarded all timed and primed/
For the reminiscence of my minutes to cinch/
Or seconds to seize as I inch through this decadence towards reverence/
I’ll replenish and diminish the sacks and lost yardage/
It’s 4th and 4 hence the past porridge to sift in historic pork/
Let’s get to the meat of the stork like underneath the bark of an oak/
I won’t sulk I’ll spark and soak in my marinade/
I stare and gaze with a glare and a glaze/
Going through phase after phase/
Placed in places where there are no choices just voices/
Demands, directions, reprimands and disciplinary actions for noises/
Their discrete dealings and doings drive dimwits down from poises/
Disillusioned durations debunk the punk directly to become disinfected from a disenchanted situation and he rejoices
I'm mad as hell
I thought I had it in the bag
But this leftie groundswell
Throws in an unexpected snag.
The Media blab my name
Gorges on the outcome
They shout it's me you have to blame
To the beat of their usual drum.
DeSantis isn't helping
The guy needs worship at my shrine
I'm the one who did the selling
Kudos for his win should be all mine.
As to my wife her instincts proved so wrong
Dr Oz was clearly not a match
For a muddled guy who simply came on strong
And that unexpected win did snatch.
Another curve ball in my life
I'm sick and tired of all this tripe
While I'm great at handling strife
I so detest such lousy hype.
Still today's another day
My foes should know me well by now
I'd suggest they start to pray
As through their fields of hope I'll plow.
Run I will and watch me swing
I'm a winner through and through
My bark and bite will sorely sting
And if all fails, I'll simply sue.
sweet deer feeding
black bears thieving
blue sky stooping
to bless the forest
canyons yawning
salmon spawning
pine trees reaching
to caress the clouds
wolf packs singing
eagles winging
Clasping talons
in mating dance
Wheat fields stretching
snowy hills
cold mountain streams
spawning fishermen
serpentine Snake
proves its name
winding, turning
through deepest gorges
Always ancient
Always new
Timeless beauty,
view upon view
Heal my heart
I give it now
and I'll sing your beauty,
this I vow
every fold
every curve
deep mystery
green verve
as the eyes
roam the summits
beauty turns up
shapes allure
waves rising
clouds on mounds
waves descend
fogs in the waist
ascent and descent
an exciting dance
once over
a deep trance
uphill journey
downward return
cups of tea
thorns and flowers
deep in the gorges
Babylonian darkness
your and mine
for a bath in light
Slick, quick, lickety split
Opportunity arrives on spot
The gilded glide, slides
To take possession of her lot
Chunks of honey drips, drops
Off lips of galvanized gold
Sounds of flowering rounds
To soften the hardened blow
Click, tick, lock and load
Up the ladder she goes
Floor after floor, opening doors
Til her glory radiates constant glow
Raising daisies gather gorges
For loser cruisers to fall
Altitude attitude flicks the ticks
Without a thought of remorse for the small
...as her schmuser cruiser zooms by
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-14-2022
movie about
Preparing the dead
Was moving
In so many ways
It celebrates life
And the beauty contained
As a heart wrending
Story relays
My favorite scene
Is the one
Where they feast
After closing up shop for the day
As one of the
Leading men
Gorges himself
He looks at his partner to say
I hate myself !
The embracing of
Life so voraciously
After dealing with death
And it's sting
Fills the viewer
With hope
As for answers they grope
As to if their own lives mean a thing
Though it's written
That we
On the scales
Are mere dust
This observation
I've
Come to trust
He sees me!
her spine that musical instrument
I strummed plucking sounds chords and tones
in axis, the toothed vertebra
she turned her head saying she knew
everything I know she didn't know
about heathen nights and their shifting moons
or all jesus christs in christianity but it's a lie
as I climbed my fingers now in atlas
carefully completing the bone contour
even in her eye there was a grimace
the rain started at that unexpected time
hence the absurd and sudden silence of the dogs
before scared of the moonlight.
I have walked these medullary paths for centuries
watching a vertebrate world under warm skin
the panting breath of one who will love
and on the outside the metamorphosis that makes us replicate
honeyed songs and languid concepts of what's sensual
because the touch that compresses the column
squeezes and grabs the body planet by the spine
allows me to foresee the rheumatic pain of tomorrow
the thorny gorges we'll walk through in trauma
sneaking us away from the blatant truths
that no one really wants to know.
Babies cry, sleep, change nappies, feed. Toddlers drink water from cups. Younger brothers, younger sister, older brother, older sister, small town, large country.
One lane roads, one lane bridges, unsealed, 60mph, in the dark. Bush covered gorges, rail lines across the river, small waterfalls, windows down, no seatbelts in the back seat, lying down, sleeping on the rugs, stopping for carsick ones on the edges. Mum singing, Dad driving, children counting dead possums.
The ways into town run through a long winding gorge or a longer winding coastal road, both prone to slips. Nearest cities Christchurch, Nelson, 200 miles away. Only referred to as the Coast, with its own dialect, only belonging when born there.
Biscuits four trays, oven
Bread hot water cupboard rising, Dad late
Holden Kingswood written off, dead bull
Packs, boots, carbide lamps, white fizzy hosing down leggings, parkas, gumboots, bikes, back porch full.
Flames warm quality coal
Sheet lightening children’s window race
Nothing more calming than the thunder of the rain.
Blood tells you a Lie.
Its dirt will, strip you clean
Its teeth rip out your beating heart
like a statue,you stand De robbed
cold in its shredding winter blast.
It deals out numb, gorges on your dignity
steals your guilt pecked last crumbs
leaves them hanging on your feeble trust
like dissolving icicles mingled and minced
in your candy-flossed threaded mind.
You,mix,the details around in your
night sweat damp sheet silence
Cwtched up,too nighttime’s loneliness.
Pillows whisper advice for hours, they
deal a hand of confrontation, and calm pond
outcomes are known, from flown by past time
where you sat in a cold moons drip
wringing pale, nail picked caring hands
again shaping truths into clay happiness.
Sifting the grains that remain into
many wasted castles of sand, while
hours swim, Looking for the end game plan
but It does not come, morning does though.
The adhesive of blood, or genes produce
no repair, your left holding cupped hands
a smashed egg timer, Its grains spilt,
In the kitchen of your pain.
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