I dodge the mirror like it’s coming to get me
I lay around like something will change
I curse my frame and do not eat
then I mess it all up again
I spark one up as a way of releasing
then wonder why I feel the same
I’ve never been the jester type, I lose most every game
and how I tower, splutter and scour
putting in my two pence when the bill has been paid
Yet when I yearn for a different shape, different pastime, different state, every drop of me dries up
every lump, with it every bump, is part of my mosaic
every thorn has its rose, there’s a darkness behind every pose
Imperfect is my perfect; it’s me everyone knows
Yes, I bare all my emotions
I can be short, I can form oceans
I get things wrong, sometimes more than right
I don’t foresee with perfect sight
But I’ll be there when things feel off, when you’re drowning and it all just stops
I’ll prove myself when you’re not sure
when I fall down I’ll find another door
Imperfect is my perfect and will be for ever more
losing claim to fame
disappeared to hinterlands
nothing will be same
weary old folks fold their hands
others rearrange their plans
words too many say
imperfect in every way
stealing light from day
debts, too numerous to pay
selling dreams which won't convey
not what we came for
low dark clouds approaching fast
home with no front door
holding on to what has passed
restless dreams soon fill our glass
once alive and whole
now fully marginalized
laughter becomes droll
not what the experts advised
nothing comes as advertised
blown in with the storm
teaches those lessons wind knows
promises deform
not even gods can oppose
status quo soon turns and goes
secret dreams time stole
can produce a troubled soul
half but not a whole
but a name where fingers scroll
another for whom bells toll
Come all ye old fellers
Gather ye around
We'll talk of our dads
And have another round.
What's to say ? We all had our shares
Of getting out of his shadows
Some escaped soon, others were late
And some are still stunted right out of the gate.
Pointing at him, is like pointing at us
We are more like them than we admit
As we look in the mirror and ask ourselves
Would we have done any different?
So let us all toast
To our imperfect dads
And remember the apple
And where it lands.
It sits there, amongst its brethren.
Thrown in the back, out of view...
behind his newer, pristine siblings.
Brought onto the shelf, exactly the same
as the rest; having the same goodness
sought by all who absolutely love soup.
Yet.. this can.. is overlooked...
by virtue of a small tear on its label.
Condemned by an insignificant imperfection.
Encased in steel, lined with tin;
the delicious ambrosia is preserved
equally across its line.
Its label is a mere distinction
of what is truly of worth...
what's inside.
(~1990's)
A humbling human crack
in every theological
God v Man
divine spirit v human nature
oppositional relationship
Monotheistic belief
in our sacred past,
religiously fine
but anti-polytheistic hope
desecrating Earth's polyculturally wealthy future,
irreligiously not OK.
Anthropocentric passion
and sacred love pleasure
cognitively and intuitively fine,
but EarthCentric dispassion
and organic life displeasure,
not cognitively or intuitively OK.
WE compassion
good-natured climate conservation
definitely fine,
but THEY dispassion
bad-spirited caste preservation
infinitely not OK
Cracks that whet
shared Light inside.
Millions go without food
While feel-good stories blare
Vibrations shatter ideas
That prevent humans from care
Look around next door
Poverty parades the streets
Money minds mansions
While war drums methodically beat
The contrast is a golden calf
Erected at the city square
Rich and poor, sinner and saint
Playing at musical chair
At the front of the class
Suffering is our teacher
Trying to escape her rod
Humanity dives deeper
The soil aids our descent
The weeds gather 'round
We aim for TRUTH
While they purposefully crown
....intelligence
Written by Trudy Schrader on 11-10-2025
IMPERFECT ROSE*
the imperfect rose,
once vivacious and colorful under the summer sun,
its petals are now wilted, its colors faded and gone.
its time has passed
its dance is done.
the imperfect rose cries many petals,
last vestiges of her beauty wait for the wind to carry them to their rest.
each petal papery and thin
lies on the lush green grass, its veins blushing
glowing pink in the setting sun and to silence it doth humbly acquiesce.
even in decay, the imperfect rose holds a certain grace,
a reminder of glory days now past.
rose petals may be temporary
but are eternal in memories of love and sharing
enough to weather the storm, to outlast.
the imperfect rose
has thorns that make one bleed.
forgive the rose of its imperfections with compassion
for of her thorns the imperfect rose doth gladly concede~
we are all petals of imperfection, might you accede?
*Note:I originally posted this poem at Poetry Soup in June 2025 then deleted it. It’s my original creation and was not plagiarized (poetrysoup.com/poem/imperfect_rose_1738035)
When I’m with you, I’d do anything,
For you make me feel like a complete man.
In happiness or sorrow, I’ll always strive,
Even if it means risking my life, to thrive.
My love for you knows no bounds—
This feeling is new, it astounds.
I won’t turn back; I’m committed to stay,
You make me want to go all the way.
You make me feel wild, like a playful fool,
Be it in bed or by a sparkling pool.
You bring tears to my eyes, in the best way—
A joy so profound, it brightens each day.
With you, I find comfort like never before,
You inspire me to sing—my heart does soar.
Perhaps one day, a diamond ring may gleam,
But for now, I’ll cherish each shared dream.
Through thick and thin, in warmth or cold,
Your body, a masterpiece, more precious than gold.
There’ll be moments of sadness, that’s true—
But I’ll treasure every memory, for they’re with you.
You’re truly unique, always on my mind—
Your caring nature and kindness, I find.
No one is flawless, that’s understood,
But with you, the imperfections are so good.
you’re the bouquet i buy
on a whim at the grocery store,
cheap and a little wilted,
but perfect in a way
that makes me want to keep them forever.
even when the petals fall,
i can’t bring myself to throw you away.
I am imperfect
I think that it’s impossible to be anything but, and yet
I long to be humanity’s one spectacular exception
I wish that my subconscious would listen to reason… it tells me
I am deceptive
I feel that I am living a double life
I dream of and dread the day that people truly see me
I wish they were aware of the ocean of sins I carry
I am conflicted
I believe that if I’m perceived, they will be disgusted, worse, disappointed
I dream of finally bellowing out this polluted river in my lungs
Of being held and comforted in my filth without a second’s hesitation
Yet I know that I am lovable
I know my loved ones would do exactly what I’ve been dreaming
I know, deep down, that what I’m truly afraid of
Is seeing myself in all of my depravity, and knowing that I’m undeserving
I am imperfect
Imperfection abounds,
the evidence is everywhere,
misshapen leaves and tree trunks
hunched over and almost touching
the ground mark the morning -
a dog chasing a ball along the beach
has a bent tail, the owner a limp.
Across the road, a mower
that is cutting the grass
in the municipal gardens coughs
smoke out of a sick cylinder and a seagull
that waits at my feet for a scrap
is missing a foot.
And I and all the people that are here
taking in the morning air share
an imperfection written in our genes,
unseen, benign or a ticking time bomb
waiting to explode into disease.
Perfection is an ideal
that perhaps exists only in our heads,
a notion conjured up and given to grace
our departed gods. Everything carries
the seeds of its own decay,
is sentenced to pass away
and yet we swear we see it
shine through a crack in time,
in nature when caught sublime
in a moment of transcendent beauty
and in the love hiding at the center
of ourselves and our art
that threatens to break through
and illuminate our dark.
Sometimes, imperfect
Circumstances lead you to
Ending in perfect.
Lost myself looking around for the quality people love,
Perfection, it is called harder to find the Blue eyes ground dove.
Standing here,feeling lost seems like there is nothing I could do,
After all, it is I, who dragged myself too hard to become grey and blue.
I ,who grew you a flower that can't be bloomed,in a dream that can't come true.
I danced in the rain, though the tears of my loss were in vain, under skies of blue.
Late was I to know the truth, the world forever has been a liar so smooth.
The caliber I sought, a distant thought, beyond my grasps stare,
The perfection I pursued, forever eluded leaving me in despair.
Alas! this word tattered my beautiful soul,
Lastly, I stand alone with nothing but my inner turmoil and my shattered soul...........to console.
Though I long to be perfect,
So that God will see…
How much I love and respect,
When I fall on my knee.
Though my heart is frail,
And my failures so very real,
I know a God who isn’t for sale,
So my pains He can always heal.
Though I’ve been called ‘hypocrite’,
I know that love can overcome.
Far from faultless, I must admit…
Sometimes I feel like the lowest scum.
Though I believe, praying and praising,
There are times when I let Him down.
I seek, yet sometimes forget how amazing…
It is to know a love that turns the sinner around.
Though I feel fear and know dark’s shadows,
I remember that Jesus forgives all my wrong.
He doesn’t forget me and assures me He knows…
When I need His grace, His kindness, His song.
Though I’m a Christian - know that I fail.
But, He never leaves me to wallow in doubt.
I’m such a sinner – He should send me to hell.
But, because He is love, He made a way out.
Though I fail Him daily, He still understands.
His love never forsakes – I love Him from my soul.
Whatever comes, I’m so glad I’m in His hands,
Where I’ve found the grace who makes me whole.
My wife's not perfect
I still chose to love her
She's God gift to me.
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