They’ll always be another Eye of Newt around.
Or an ancient bone to be found.
But after the cauldron simmers down.
Better to not to find the unfound.
I should let the spiders take a rest.
As spiders always know what’s best.
Let the evening turn to shadows delight.
Trust in the process of fright.
After the last spell is cast.
At 3:00 am which comes so fast.
We can always break a mirror another day.
But for now, let’s just play.
With evening dew that looks like blood in the shadows of night.
The last spell cast helps us sleep tight.
Growing up with
You get what you got
You better be grateful
You weren't forgot
The South is unforgiving
The heart better be stout
If you show intelligence
You're booted out
Can't have thinkin' minds
Upsetting the cart on its way
Target children are carefully picked
For dumping what parts won't play
You can never expect care
And you better forget consideration
Your own birthday won't give you cake
But your presence is required for participation
Scarcity and sluggish movement
In the process of growing fruit
Gives every pawn a small portion
In accordance with what the person is willing to do
...for Leftovers
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-24-2026
In the process of
Trying to connect
Creative energy
Stood erect
Unbending, unyielding
Expression fully known
She knew self
And didn't need to be shown
...humility
They grabbed and mauled
Pulled her to the ground
Covered her mouth
So she couldn't sound
The alarm was mute
Her fight was gone
She was boxed and packaged
PROGRAMMED to carry on
...bondage
The spark was almost out
When a light arose from within
She saw the TRUTH
That had grown from sin
Separation from source
Trying to create without permission
Gave rise to empires
Dead set on derision
...sovereignty
When she came to be
The ocean surrounded presence
She couldn't be separated
From her god-given essence
Striving stopped, flow released
What was given, fully received
Clothed in golden light
Showed the TRUTH of how lies deceived
...Kingdom
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-18-2026
Remember me, why
not; weary am I
in the process of
splinters, of fractures,
of the glass.
Like a Picasso,
I’m admired through
fractals. Remember
my kindness,
absentmindlessness,
my madness.
Yes, my madness,
when I
clean the house,
(You must not touch
my lips, nor feathers)
when I am furiously
flipping knives,
cutting pieces of me
in the dark.
Remember me,
I speak quietly,
(your ear is hot
to the touch, wet
with whispers,
pangs of pleasure.)
I have many voices,
so many choices,
my lot in life.
(Roulette wheel
deciding my future,
if I did not believe
in God)
But I do; remember
me for my imperfect
compassion, the cracks
in my heart, how
I explode. A firecracker
that makes you laugh,
tickles your funny bone,
keeps you breathless,
finds your keys.
Remember how I awaken
under your eyes,
especially when they’re shut.
We are in a storm,
sometimes the umbrella’s jammed,
upside-down, flying off, but
in the end it protects
who we are as man and wife.
Remember me, more
than a wife, mother, child;
remember a friend, a fractal,
a conceived idea, a hope
of the future.
A year is a long time
without your smile,
hearing your voice,
seeing your face
I miss you, son
But I am grateful
that you are
at peace, and healed
from your illness and
addiction
I will always be proud to be your
Mom, ALWAYS
Just know that you are loved and
missed by more people than you
realize, because you held a special
place here on earth. You were still
in the process of discovering who you
wanted to be, but you were naturally
kindhearted and giving and your smile
touched even those who didn't know you.
It was so hard to watch you struggle with
trying to figure out life as an adult.
You weren't sure what you wanted
to do as a career, but you did work hard
and touched other peoples lives
You have reached the ultimate goal
of those who believe in Jesus,
you are present, healed and whole in heaven
Tell your grandparents I love and miss them
and give Jesus a hug for me.
Gracious evermore
Elegantly the one I adore
Never-ending love and good works
Tranquility and happiness has its precious perks
Lovely to be unlamentable
You don’t judge me and call me unstable — I’m unbreakable
Yesterday is gone and a sunset all along; tomorrow is coming before the break of dawn
Empath vibes completely
And endure the endearingless anxiousness inside me
Rage is a river and remnants leave me
Numb from head to knee
I see the sunshine behind the moon tonight
No one notices me as I make progress in the process of wondrous serenity’s shimmering sensations
Go, just go and don’t just stay there with mighty fake delight
- drenched in devastations and never, ever detest the frustrations of passionate havens
Sweet sorrow sheds upon me
Under the bridge, we are hopefully
Rowing the boat of benevolence
Ricocheting in the fields of deliverance
Epiphanies flood my soul’s song
Note this — I love to sincerely belong
Dreaming of you oh so true
Etched in the ocean breeze
Roses and thorns of eerie rue
I merely went across the shore
No, not once did I look back
Glow and grow and blow away the grief; receiving relief and getting back on track
My flower wanted to be his own plant,
But he would not be had he not been planted.
My flower would get frustrated by the realisation that he was in the process of blossoming —
He would need someone to hold the hose over him when the clouds had prioritised another,
Prioritised them so much that they
Seemed like salty sea.
That is, when he is finally accompanied by the others,
Outside on the big wide soil.
For the time being, he resides in his pot,
Like a baby in their cot,
Using it as comfort,
Yet crying out to leave.
The person who makes an app that translates
real-time thoughts into words on a screen
will change the creative process forever
… for good or ill
On the outside I sit outside in the dark silence
On the inside my bosom is clamorous with
Painterly disconnections of truth and grace
… I could go on
I could go on if I only had that app
For alas, the sodden night is dark and
I cannot strike my thoughts upon a page
… without parched light
This truth is as literal as it is metaphorical
For in the process of fetching parchment
My mind will corrupt these moments
… these raw moments
Many women feel they have lost themselves, either during pregnancy, postpartum, or maybe in the process of raising their children. We used to go have fun and do whatever we pleased, not worried about consequences. We used to wear clothes that showed off our bodies without hesitation or not leave the house without a full face of makeup. We used to be down to have fun anytime day or night no matter the hour. Now we take care of a house and family, worrying about getting everyone else squared away. Now we dress in whatever is fast, hiding the imperfections under baggy clothes just to feel comfortable. Makeup is never a thing unless it’s a special occasion or funeral. Now we have fun maybe twice a month if we are not too touched out by day's end. Never did I think I would have to schedule that quality time. You might not look the same. You might not feel the same. But keep pushing forward, I promise it will get better.
Love, your future self.
The world has changed in so many ways
It's nothing like the good old days
There was only 3 channels on the TV and we boiled a kettle to make the tea
Lots of fresh air playing outdoor in the sun
Football hopscotch just having fun
Having a Picnic in the park getting home
Before it gets dark
Jam sandwiches just a quick snack to eat
No named trainers just daps on your feet
Clouring pencils chalking on the ground
Children laughing what a wonderful sound
Things have changed that's no doubt to talk to our friend we had to go out
But that's all changed now in the process of time
Don't you miss your younger days I know I miss mine.
I will forever treasure the two of them.
One was a homeless man I met when
I was in the process of moving.
He said his name was Sky. My
Heart feels warmth each time
I think of him. You might say that
Meeting Sky was a 'going away
Present from God.
The other treasure, I never met.
She passed by and obtained a tool box
While I was away. It was free, but she
Was very happy to come across the rusty
Old tool box. It wasn't free because I did
Not value such a tool box, but rather because
I no longer needed it and wanted someone
Like her to have it and fall in love with it. She
left a thank-you note with her name on it. Her
Name was Crystal. Her note on the little
Piece of paper she wrote on connected us.
Crystal and Sky. Great gifts from God.
Grief never leaves you; memories keep loved ones close to your heart .
Quote by poet.
John and his young wife Maria had been apart for a year now,
but every week he'd drive across town just to speak with her.
On the passenger seat was a white rose, Maria’s favourite flower.
Their garden was adorned with them; they resembled a carpet of snow,
and in a gentle breeze in summertime you could smell their sweet scent.
He passed the sandy beach and remembered the walks they used to do,
and the time when he got down on his knee and asked her to marry him.
She answered straight away, and tears of joy streamed down her face.
He'd always tear up when he remembered when she said "Yes, yes, yes".
That was three years ago but now it seemed like it was only yesterday.
They'd often talk of starting a family and were in the process of moving
to a bigger house, but sadly it wasn't to be, and John decided to stay.
He slowed down and drove down the fir tree lined avenue and parked up.
Then he got out and picking up the rose placed it carefully on her headstone.
Inner Tides and Outer Moons
Just like Earth and her moon
Our own body-mind fluxes
With and within the cycle of tides.
Up-down, strong-weak, high-low
We swell and contract in a rhythm
That effects if not controls us all.
Maybe it’s even what makes us care
About others and what others think of us
Since without the flux
We’d be more consistent
And so more confident, less needy
And thus more independent.
But at a certain point,
Maybe what we call mid-life
We should have learned that no matter
The flux is ours and not up to others
To verify, confirm or even acknowledge
Who we are, our successes and failures.
A body-mind in flux
After all is a mystery
In the process of becoming
But after at least fifty years of becoming
We should have become familiar enough
To know what is and what’s ahead.
At least to know
That there will always be
Change and more change,
And that the key to a mature
If not always happy body-mind
Is a measure of self reliance.
(3/23/25)
Me and the wall
Like an imaginary friend when we were a child.
My thoughts bounce off the wall and then get filed.
Mrs. Beasley, Shilo, and Winnie the Pooh.
No matter what you said, they believed it was true.
My wall let's me figure it out with me and God.
And it's funny, but I never end up feeling odd.
And as I sit here amidst all the reflections.
Somewhere inside I'm ok with the recollections.
Having thoughts that no one else interrupts.
Allows time and space where nothing corrupts.
And in the process of sorting through the muck.
Insight and common sense prevails with any luck.
Introverts and extroverts and everything between.
Hopefully, you mean what you say, when you say what you mean.
Cause when this world get's it's way and in your head.
Sometimes, come what may, it's their thoughts instead.
So, hello old friend, it's you and me till the end.
We've travelled many avenues and around the bend.
Somehow I'm ok with the way things turned out.
Reflective perspective has removed most of the doubt.
X-Marks-the-Spot is a tickling game
Which is traced upon someone’s bare back.
In childhood, we played it and often it caused
A goose-bump filled giggling attack.
My kids got the treatment when bathtime arrived
And my grandson when he was a tot,
But it’s been a while since I’ve gotten the chance
To engage in some X-Marks-the-Spot.
Yet I came upon Henry, eleven years old,
In the process of donning his tee
And the canvas was waiting for X-Marks-the Spot,
Just the cue for a tickle from me.
“I remember this, Nana!” he said as he smiled.
“Can you write down the words?” which I did,
Just delighted to think such a game’s been preserved
From my long-ago time as a kid.
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